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I reach the open doors, take another deep breath, and step inside.
For a weeknight, the pub is busier than I expected. A bar takes up majority of the right wall, liquor bottles on wooden shelves against the brick, several beer taps at the heart of the bar. Dozens of stools are occupied by patrons catching up, having an after-work drink, or watching one of several sporting events on mounted flat screens. To the far left, brick archways separate pool tables from tables and a dancefloor.
Stepping farther into the pub, I scan the crowd for her.Kirsten.The girl I haven’t seen or spoken to in far too long. The girl I’d abandoned countless other friends to hang out with at every opportunity before she moved away.
For years, we’d been attached at the hip. Best friends.
She’d been so different from other girls our age. Sure, Kirsten loved to slip on a dress and put ribbons in her hair. But she also loved mud between her toes and swimming in the creek on hot summer days. Kirsten never acted as if she was better than anyone else. Never said a cruel word to make herself feel better. Kirsten was pure sunshine and I gladly orbited her with a smile on my face.
Halfway across the pub, I spot her. At a tall table for two, she scrolls through her phone with one hand and fiddles with the ends of her hair with the other. Patrons cheer around her after a touchdown on the televised game, but she ignores the cacophony.
A few tables away, her posture shifts and she lifts her gaze, searching the pub. Steel-blue eyes meet mine and a riot thrashes in my chest. Heart-pounding seconds pass and I forget how to breathe. Then she smiles and lights up the dimly lit room. My steps falter for a beat as I suck in a sharp breath.
Sliding off her seat as I reach the table, we both lift our arms and step in for a hug. But like the bumbling dope I am, my arms smack hers.
“Sorry,” I mutter as I shift my arms and reach for her again.
But she shifts her arms too, and we repeat the same embarrassing process. Heat climbs up my neck and face as I drop my hands to my sides and give up. But Kirsten isn’t having it. Still wanting a welcome hug, Kirsten steps forward and wraps me in her arms. Hints of jasmine and notes of peach hit my nose as I lift my arms and hug her back.
In one breath, with one strong embrace, my soul relaxes for the first time in years. With Kirsten in my arms, I finally feel at home again.
All too soon, she releases me and steps back. “Hey,” she whispers, her smile softer as she holds my stare.
“Hey.”Say something else, dumbass.“Have you been waiting long?”Lame.
Kirsten takes her seat at the table and shakes her head. “Five minutes, tops.” She plucks a small laminated menu from the holder on the table as I sit across from her. “How was day one of the new build?”
“How’d you know it was the first day?” I grab the other laminated menu and scan the food options.
She snickers and I peer across the table. “It’s Stone Bay. Gossip is a way of life here. Working in a restaurant, I hear abouteverythingin town. Even the things I don’t want to know.”
At this, I laugh. “Curse of a small town.” Smoky Creek isn’t a gossip mill, but it doesn’t take long before Viola at Thumbprint’s Bakery knows your business.
“Too true.”
After a momentary scan of the menu, Kirsten flags down a server delivering beers to a nearby table.
A guy around our age sidles up to the table, standing rather close to Kirsten. “Hey, Kirsten.” He flashes her a bright smile but pays me no attention. “What can I get you?”
She orders a local brew and barbecue wings. I opt to try one of the local brews with a burger and onion rings. Promising to return with our beers in a moment, the server winks at her, then walks off.
An awkward silence settles between us as my eyes drift around the bar. Beneath the table, I tap my thigh to the music, needing something to do with my hands. My thoughts spiral like a cyclone as I fumble over what to say. Phony conversation is the last thing I want with Kirsten, but my mind seems to have forgotten how to start genuine dialogue.
“So,” she says, breaking the silence.
My gaze snaps back to her. “So,” I parrot as our drinks are delivered.
“What have I missed in Smoky Creek?” She lifts the beer to her lips and looks at me over the rim as she tips the glass.
After a few sips of my own beer, I set the glass down and twist it back and forth as I figure out where to begin. More than thirteen years have passed since her mom packed up their car and drove them out of Smoky Creek. So much has changed, yet a lot remains the same.
“The park near the creek got an overhaul a few years ago. New equipment and coverings over the playground.”
“No more metal slide?”
I wince at the memory of my butt and thighs burning as I slid down the old slide over and over. At fifteen feet tall, it was the only slide in Smoky Creek for decades. A neighborhood mom bought a hose and left it at the spigot near the slide. In the hotter months, we unraveled the hose, dragged it up the ladder, and cranked the water to cool the metal.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Nope. Recycled plastic and rubber. The little kids have no idea how lucky they are.”
