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Casey never liked Blake. The first time she came up to Maine to visit me at my college, the three of us went out for lunch. I wanted to order chicken fingers, and Blake suggested a salad instead, reminding me that he was going to have to hold me in the air with one hand just a week later.
He never recovered in Casey’s eyes after that.
I mean, things like weight actually do matter when it comes to pair skating routines; but Blake could never just trust me to make my own decisions about things that affected my skating.
Casey and I polish off another glass of wine as we sit talking. This is one thing I missed so much being up in Maine. Just having nights like this with my best friend.
Of course, I had friends in Maine, too, but I never had a connection with any of them like I do with the girl who’s been by my side since third grade.
Obviously, that’s clear from the fact that I haven’t kept in touch with any of them since moving back to Pennsylvania. I guess they were all just the kind of friends you have when you’re near them, but never develop a strong enough bond to keep in touch when you or they leave the place that brought you together.
We’re up late for a Wednesday, but neither of us have morning classes tomorrow.
“I’m hungry,” Casey suddenly says, rubbing her belly.
I get up from the couch, and the sudden altitude change has me wobbly for a moment. I guess this wine went to my head more than I thought. But in a second, I’m steady. “I’ll go get us something to eat. I have some kale chips.”
“Phoebe.” Casey’s stern voice stops me as I go to move towards the kitchen. “We are not having kale chips as a drunken snack.”
“Why not?” I ask. “They’re healthy.”
“That’s exactly why! You’re not supposed to eat something healthy as a drunken snack!”
I frown. “But that doesn’t make sense. Alcohol is already unhealthy. You shouldn’t compound that byeatingsomething unhealthy at the?—”
She doesn’t let me finish. “Alright, we’re going on a snack run,” she declares, heaving herself up from the couch and striding towards the door.
As I walk over to join her, Casey’s face suddenly lights up. “Oh! Did you hear that Red Velvet Oreos are back?”
My eyes go wide. “No way.”
“Way,” she nods. “I saw them at the grocery store the other day.”
“Forget my stupid kale chips,” I say, beating her out the front door. “Let’s go.”
Red Velvet Oreos were, like, my favorite snack ever. I grieved horribly when they discontinued them a couple years ago.
I check my phone for the time as Casey closes the door behind us. 11pm.
Even though it’s late on a Wednesday night, the streets are far from dead as we walk towards a 24/7 convenience store located in town. There are a couple low-key parties going on in some of the houses, and now and then we pass groups of students walking the tree-lined streets tinged with the deep amber of the yellow streetlights.
Ridley might have a great academic reputation, but the kids here sure love to party. Even on a Wednesday night early in the semester I’d call the atmosphere lively—on a Friday or Saturday night, it’s downright chaos.
We turn a corner and see a small convenience store with a tiny parking lot in front of it. The warm lights shining through the windows are like a beacon, and my mouth waters with the still-vivid recollections of the Red Velvety goodness that I so badly hope waits for us inside.
“Oh, I want some Cheez-Its,” Casey says once we’re inside, walking off down the chip aisle.
I keep on my course to the cookie aisle, my eyes peeled as I peruse the selection. My heart soars as my eyes actually fall on something I’d so sadly resigned myself to having seen the last of—Red Velvet Oreos.
The wordsThey’re Backare emblazoned across the packaging, and I almost want to cry for joy. I’m definitely going to take advantage of the first positive Casey suggested earlier tonight—the fact that I no longer have to watch my weight—and shamelessly scarf down at least half of this package the second we get home.
But just as I see a sight that make my heart soar, I hear a sound that makes my stomach sink.
“Hey, Pheebs.”
I let out a sigh. I turn around, and there he is.
Hunter Landry.
