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“Right. He’s replacing Ethan,” Austin explains with a drawn-out breath. “I forgot to say that.”
My anger dissipates, completely forgotten. “Wait.What?Ethan isn’t coming? Why? Since when?” I ask, whipping my head around to look at Austin. “We just spoke last week, and he was still coming then. No one told me the plans had changed.” Ethan, the glue of our group and the person who convinced me to become a book influencer years ago, is the only reason I’m here. He’s the one who suggested this get-together, who booked the place, and who brought us all together. How can he not be here? And why wouldn’t he tell me?
“Sorry,” Austin says with a regretful grimace on his face. “I assumed you knew. He had something come up at the last minute and couldn’t make it. He told me he was going to send everyone a message, but I’m sure he didn’t mean to miss you if he did. It was super last minute. A family emergency. Anyway, he suggested I invite someone else, and Memphis was at the top of the list. I didn’t realize the two of you…um, had history.”
“We don’t,” Memphis and I say at the same time.
From where he stands, Logan shuffles in place and shoves a hand into his pocket.
Austin runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Right. Okay, well…are we good, then? Or…”
“It’s fine,” I say quickly. “It’ll be fine. Where’s everyone else? Has Mara gotten here yet?” I just need to get out of this space and take a moment to process all of this.
“Nope, it’s just us so far. Still have a pretty good pick of rooms, though.” He points above his head. “They’re all on the second floor. Need a hand with your bags?”
“I’ve got ’em, but thanks.” I pull my bags closer to me, still upset by the sudden change in plans. I hope Mara and Paulette get here soon. It’s silly, I guess, but I can’t help feeling out of place in a house full of men. Especially a house full of men who are, for all intents and purposes, still strangers.
While we’ve all interacted online for a few years, or at least a few months in the case of Logan and me, this weekend, our getaway together in a peaceful vacation rental, was meant to be the first chance for us to really get to know each other. Now, I’m wishing I’d just said no in the first place.
I climb the two sets of stairs on my way up, denying, even to myself, that I’m trying to hear the men’s voices down below. It doesn’t matter, though. I can’t hear a word. They’re talking so softly, it must be about me.
I hate that I already feel so out of place. I’ve always been jealous of the people who fit in wherever they go, who can find friends in the grocery store checkout line and in the doctor’s office waiting room. I’ve never been that person, no matter how hard I try. And now, just when I felt like I finally had somewhere I belong, Memphis’s unexpected presence has me feeling out of sorts again. I hate that I’m letting him do that.
I shouldn’t. I like Austin and Logan enough, and they seem to like me. They’re always helpful and interactive on my social media, and we’ve done a few promos and collaborations together in the past. I feel like I know them, but in reality, I don’t. And, obviously, they’re chummy with Mr.Of Mice andMeanBookstore Owner down there, which makes me feel even more like an outsider, as if he’s come in and overtaken the friend group I’ve worked so hard to cultivate and be a part of.
At the top of the stairs, there’s a long hallway with several doors. To my left, at the end of the hallway is a single half-bath. The two doors closest to the bathroom have been shut. Directly in front of me, there are three rooms with their doors still cracked open and another that’s been closed at the end of the hallway to my right. Not willing to risk the odds of sharing a wall with Memphis, I choose the bedroom in the center of the three open doors.
Pushing the door open all the way, I’m hit by the slightly stale scent that tells me this room has been closed up for quite some time. There’s a queen-sized bed in the center of the room covered by an old quilt that appears to be hand-stitched. Everything is very much on theme with the old age of the house. The walls are painted white with cherry-stained wood trim. There’s no television, and in the corner of the room there’s a decorative, antique wash basin and pitcher. On the opposite side of the bed, there’s a door and, when I open it, I find a small bathroom with tile floors, a pedestal sink, and a stand-in shower.
It’s nothing spectacular, but it’s clean, and the house is beautiful. Plus, it’s a weekend of privacy, something that seems to be a thing of the past since moving back into my parents’ house.
I don’t know how single people afford life anymore. How is anyone supposed to meet the requirement of making three times the rent when the rent is astronomical? And the idea of getting a roommate at twenty-four years old feels ridiculous. I’m supposed to be an adult now. Independent. I don’t want to have to go back to labeling my food and waking up to strangers in my apartment from unexpected sleepovers. I’m supposed to take care of myself, have my own life, though I’m not sure living with my parents is much better.
I lift my bags and place them on the bed. The antique, metal frame groans with their weight, which gives me little confidence in its ability to hold me.
I open my suitcase and pull out a bag of chewy Nerds, stuffing a few into my mouth. Instead of unpacking the rest of my things, I unlock my phone and pull up my text message thread with Ethan, ready to check on him. As much as I hate that he’s not here, I’m also worried about what sort of family emergency would’ve caused him to miss this weekend after he worked so hard to plan it.
Hey! Just found out you aren’t coming this weekend. I’m so sad to miss you! Hope everything’s okay.
I read the message twice, trying to decide if it sounds too needy or like I had too much riding on finally meeting him. I have no idea if he had the same hopes for this weekend as I did. After all, we’ve only ever spoken across social media and via text. Am I crazy for thinking there might be something between us?
The answer is yes, most likely.
I hit send without allowing myself to second-guess it too much and then tuck my phone back into my jeans pocket before I begin to unpack.
I’ve nearly gotten all of my clothes unpacked and placed into the drawers of the small dresser in front of the bed when I hear a woman’s voice downstairs. My heart soars with relief, and I dart out of the room, pulling the door closed behind me.
I slow my steps as I reach the stairs, careful not to trip as I round the corner. The moment I see her, my worries disappear.
“Mara!” I call, waving a hand at her. “Oh my god!”
She pushes the expensive-looking sunglasses up onto her head, blowing a piece of hair out of her face as she takes in the sight of the room before her eyes land on me. She grins with her hands on her hips.
“Well, hey there, stranger!” she says with a laugh. Though I’ve heard her voice in the live videos we’ve done together and in the voice memos we’ve exchanged, hearing it in person is something totally different. Warmer.
I pull her into a hug with sudden tears brimming my eyes. How is it that my best friend in the world is someone I’m just meeting for the first time?
She hugs me back just as tightly, and I hear her voice crack as she says, “I can’t believe you’re here.”
