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I groan, wondering why I chose to share my calendar with her.
The high school reunion is in Snowdrop Valley; the town I grew up in, fell in love in, and left with all of my dreams in my pocket.
Apart from the obligatory dinners at my grandparents from time to time, I never go back there. When I got the email about the reunion, I thought Todd was going to propose and I stupidly RSVP’d that I was going. Mainly so I could bring Todd and show all my former classmates that I didn’t turn out to be a total loser.
But now the idea of having to go back and see all my classmates makes me feel like throwing up.
Leila seems to be reading my mind, because she looks at me with a frown so deep a little line appears between her neat brows. “Is this because of Logan?”
The question is so out of the blue it smacks me in the face. I almost drop the rest of my fudge square.
Even after all these years, hearing his name aloud hurts. They say time is a healer, but it’s not done much for me. I’m still just as sore as ever.
“No,” I say, stuffing the last of the fudge square in my mouth. I gulp, hoping to swallow my denial. Leila gives me a look of disbelief.
“What if you were supposed to end things with Todd last night?” she asks. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her. Leila believes things happen for a reason and looks way too much into everything. She’s the type of person to think accidentally wearing mismatched socks is a ‘sign’.
There was that one time in college she lost her locker key and had to go and get a replacement; on the way back, she found a ten-dollar bill on the ground. She took that as a sign of coming luck.
The way I see it, some poor kid lost ten bucks, which is, like, a million bucks to a college kid.
“I mean it,” Leila says, shuffling up to me, looking all starry-eyed now. “The timing is perfect. Your high school reunion is next week and you’re newly single…”
“Leila, I’m not running back to my ex-boyfriend after a decade of radio silence. Besides, we don’t know his relationship status,” I cut in, shutting her down.
My bluntness does nothing to quash Leila’s excitement. She gasps, lifts a finger, and dashes to her bag by the door. I take the opportunity to grab some clothes and get dressed as she rummages around for her phone.
“Aha!” she says, triumphant. She starts tapping away on her phone while I finish getting ready for the day, and just as I bend over to scoop my hair into a high ponytail, Leila utters a dramatic gasp.
“He was photographed in New York a few days ago. Josie, did you know he’s back in the city?”
I can almost hear the cogs turning in Leila’s mind as her breathing picks up pace. She’s getting way too excited over nothing here. I think if I agree to go to the high school reunion, she’ll pass out with joy. “I’m not going,” I say, meeting her gleeful face again. Her smile drops like a child who just got told Christmas is canceled.
“But, Josie, how many other opportunities will you have to reconnect with him like this?” she argues, and I know it’s just the first layer of the case she’s building. “I mean, think about it. The reunion is neutral ground. You’re both there for reasons other than to see each other. But I’ll bet when his eyes land on you, all of those feelings will come rushing back…”
I clamp my teeth together until my jaw hurts. Leila has been watching too many romcoms. She’s got some picture-perfect illusion of Logan and me getting back together, but it’s not going to happen.
It can’t. Not after the way he ghosted me. As if I never existed at all. For ten years!
When we both left for college, we planned to meet up during spring break. But within a couple of weeks, Logan’s calls and texts just stopped. No reason. I was so upset by it; the hurt grew into fury, and I made my grandparents swear to never talk about him or his family again.
Hot tears prickle my eyes and I sniff as I turn away, so Leila doesn’t see me getting emotional.
“No, Leila. I’m not going to the reunion, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
I compose myself and return to meet her disappointed stare, daring her to test me. She buckles under pressure.
Leila has a very dainty frame; she slumps her narrow shoulders with a huff. Her little button nose pinches as she frowns at me. She’s so tiny I could almost carry her in my pocket. But when she’s not happy, oh boy do I know it.
The look on her face is enough to fill a book. To my utter relief, she doesn’t say another word on the topic and her expression suddenly turns sunny again.
“Well, let me take you out shopping. To, at least, get your mind off men.”
I’m grinning now. “Finally, you’re speaking my language.”
Chessy, Leila’s baby sister, joins us at the mall, and the three of us spend the day looking through all the stores—trying on clothes, getting free makeovers at the beauty counter—until, before long, I’ve completely forgotten about my conversation with Leila this morning.
“You know, there’s no mystery to why they call it retail therapy. I haven’t felt this good in months!” Leila announces as we get pedicures. We’re sitting side by side in the salon.
