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Sabrina
An hour later, I’m pulling up to Kroydon Manor, the nineteenth-century farmhouse-turned-mansion my best friend, Chloe Ryan, calls home. Her mother’s family were the original Kroydons a few hundred years ago. Chloe’s cherry-red Fiat is parked in the driveway, so my fingers are crossed that she’s home. I probably should have texted.
Mrs. Ryan opens the door just as I knock. She’s dressed much like my mother was. I’ve got to get out of Kroydon Hills before I turn into a Stepford wife. “I thought that was you I saw pull up, Sabrina. How are you doing? How is college life treating you?” She hugs me, which is a little awkward.
She never used to hug me, but ever since Brady got hurt last year while Mr. and Mrs. Ryan were in London, they’ve both made more of an effort to be present for their kids. Somehow that’s translated to me getting hugged when she sees me. I think it’s nice, but Chloe misses the freedom she used to have before her mother started vying for Mom of the Year.
“It’s treating me pretty well, Mrs. Ryan.”
“That’s wonderful.” Stepping back, she releases me. “Chloe’s in her room. You can go on up, darling.”
“Thank you.”
As I head up the stairs, I hear her say, “Tell your dad he has our votes.” Not surprising. Mrs. Ryan’s parents, the Kroydons, practically single-handedly fund my dad’s campaign each term. Walking down the hall, I knock on Chloe’s door, but she doesn’t answer. I hate just walking in. Most of the time, she doesn’t hear me because she has her noise-canceling headphones on. But once, I walked in on her flicking the bean, and that’s not a scene I want to repeat. Knocking obnoxiously loud, I crack her door open and slide one of my ballet flats off to throw in the room. Without looking, I throw it toward where I know her bed is and then hear a yelp.
“What the fuck?” Good to know that worked.
“Hey, you decent in there?” I hear her jump from the bed and open the door.
She’s wearing black leggings with a white “Save the Ewoks, Protect the Forest” t-shirt. Her purple hair is in two messy buns, reminding me of a cool Princess Leia. “You’re never letting me live that down, are you?” She hands me back my shoe.
“Nope.” We hug, and Chloe leads me into her room. The walls are a beautiful pale blue color with long black and white chevron silk drapes framing her windows. She plops down on her bed, and I kick my other shoe off and sit in the fuzzy bright teal chair she has in the corner. I’ve always loved this chair. It’s soft, comfy and just my size. “I’m so glad you’re home. I need to talk, but I need you not to yell at me.”
“No promises there, chick. I’m fucking stuck home while everyone else goes to the Kings game tonight.” She strangles her pillow. “My mom isn’t letting me go because it’s an eight o’clock game on a school night. Annabelle is taking Tommy, who’s ten years old, and I can’t go. How does that work?” Slamming the pillow back down, she looks at me. “I can’t take much more of the Stepford mom bullshit. It’s been a year, Brina, And the only time I have any freedom is when I sleep at Brady’s. What am I gonna do?”
I hold back my laugh. I love that I just mentally called our moms Stepford wives, and now she’s saying the same thing. There’s a reason this girl is my ride or die. Not that I’d ever get on a motorcycle or in a crazy car chase, but still...Ride or Die. “I love you, Chloe, but I’m having my own major meltdown right now, and I don’t think I’m capable of helping you with yours until I figure out mine.” I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, resting my chin on top.
Her eyes become the size of saucers, and she shakes her head. My bestie is nothing if not dramatic. “Holy shit. You never have a freak-out. Wait, you didn’t actually block off time in your agenda for a freak-out, did you? Cause that’s bad, even for you, Brina.”
My head pops up. “What do you mean, ‘even for me’?”
“You’re the most organized person I know. You’re so controlled and anal about your schedule, commitments, and responsibilities I’ve always wondered if you schedule time in your daily calendar to shower.”
Grabbing the black velvet pillow I’m sitting on, I throw it at her. “Bitch.”
“Whore.”
This is us. She’s the only person I can be this crazy person with, and I love her for it. I don’t actually write shower in my daily agenda, but you bet your sweet tush I know precisely how much time I need to get ready every day. “Anyway, can we please, please, please talk about me right now and how I screwed up?” I ignore the desperate pleading I hear in my voice.
“Why not. It’s been a few years since I’ve gotten to be on this side of the screw-up talk. Shoot.” She crosses her legs crisscross-applesauce, and puts her hands in her lap, giving me all her attention.
Ok, Sabrina, rip the damn band-aid off. “IsleptwithMurphy.” There I said it.
Chloe leans forward. “I’m sorry, what? I don’t speak Muppet.”
“Muppet? What are you talking about?” I throw my hands up in frustration.
Cool as a cucumber, she looks at her watch, then to me. “You wanna stop stalling now? You just sounded like the Swedish Chef from The Muppet Show. Don’t try to change the subject, Brina. Repeat what you just said so a human can understand it.”
I try giving her the stink eye, but she laughs at me instead. Deep breath in, slow exhale out. “Ok, smarty pants. I slept with Aiden Murphy last night. Well, slept, as in the same bed, not as in doing the dirty deed. The deed happened this morning.”
I see the look of amazement on Chloe’s face. Shit.
“Not that deed. A lesser deed.” I stand from the chair and will myself not to cry. “But then I got nervous, then upset, and then bitchy. And he left before I could fix it. And now I’ll never get to do that deed with him, because he’s gonna hate me forever.”
Moving to the bed, I plunk down on the black and white comforter and dramatically throw myself backward.
Chloe lays down next to me. Our heads both turn to face each other like we’ve done since we were kids. “Alright, Miss Genius IQ. I love you, but I’ve never figured out how you can be so smart and so stupid at the same time. What dirty deed did you do? I’m gonna need specifics because you’re hot, and so is Murphy. And I’m gonna want a visual to go with this story.” She smiles and wiggles her eyebrows at me.
