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“Hi.” The word comes out low and slow and like I mean something by it. It’s the shock talking.
“You must be freezing. Come in.”
I eye the bat warily.
When she sees the direction of my gaze, she gives a sheepish laugh and sets it aside. I don't trust the situation, but like a robot, I stoically shuffle inside. I have a personal code with a rule not to bother people after ten—with the exception of a few of my closest friends. It’s not polite. Bothering my ex-girlfriend is an even bigger no. But it’s five degrees outside, and I refuse to sleep in my car tonight. Going inside Brie’s home is a necessary evil. “Thanks,” I mutter. “I forget how cold the nights are here.”
“And the days.” Brie shuts us inside together, and it’s not the warmth of the room shooting my internal temperature up ten notches. I haven’t felt this awkward in years. How is this happening?
My eyes go to the Christmas tree in the corner covered in teacher-themed ornaments and a pair of Brie’s old pointe shoes on the shelf beside a row of pictures. I reflexively scan them for a picture of her with a guy, and when I don’t see one, I glance to the back hall for Brie’s boyfriend to spring out behind a corner. Mom updates me regularly on all things Bearwood, which normally drives me crazy, but I would remember if she said Brie had married.
It doesn’t matter if she is dating, or single, or whatever. I talk fast so I can get out of here. “I’m sorry to arrive so late,” I smile automatically, like at work when I’m trying to please a client. “Can I get my key to the place?”
“A key?” Her brow rises. “Wow, the list skipped right to number five.” She mumbled the rest, but it sounded like, “Better late than never.”
What did she mean by list? Like realtor listings? I think she’s confused because I didn’t go through any realtor. Travis is hooking me up with a place to stay while I take care of my mom. I’m giving him some free work advice as a thank you—even if he thinks I’m here checking out his offer to partner with him. I try to clarify my situation to Brie. “Travis said you manage the place next door, and you’d have the key for me.”
Her eyes widen and she points to the wall separating the two sides of the duplex with her thumb. “No way. You’re renting next door? I mean, it’s fine for you to rent there. But youalreadytalked to Travis?” She shook her head like the whole thing was impossible.
“Is it a problem if I stay there?” I’m beginning to think it is.
She waves her hands in front of her. “No! No problem at all.” She steps closer to me, her index finger extended.
What is she doing?
She pokes me in the shoulder and looks up with an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, just checking something.”
This is beyond weird. She clearly doesn’t believe I’m stupid enough to show my face here after a good seven years, but thankfully a poke is a pretty tame reaction for barging in on her out of the blue. I need to retreat, and fast. “Can I get the key?”
She backs away a few steps before turning into the connecting kitchen. She opens a drawer and pulls out a set of keys. “Travis never told me he got a renter.”
“Serious? He never said anything?” I am going to kill Travis. “I’m not exactly renting it. I’m only here for the holidays, and Travis insisted I stay here.”
She taps her fingers on her arm. “So, it’s like Cinderella, except this time I get until the end of the holidays?”
Does she hope to kill me by then? There’s no hate in her eyes. “I’m not following.”
She shoots off a short, high laugh. “You don’t need to. Let me give Travis a quick call to make sure everything’s in order.” She must be in shock too. Her eyes are larger than normal and her smile so wide, it can’t be sincere.
Brie strides to the couch, graceful even in her sweats, and grabs her cell phone. I see a notebook on the ottoman with the shiny word Kismet across the front. Is this a new slang word? Kiss met? Wait, is this a journal of her kissing?
I whip my gaze up to Brie who’s scrolling through her phone for Travis’s number. My disobedient mind easily recalls my first kiss with Brie. I cough into my hand. Talk about a distracting visual at the worst time possible. I can barely look at Brie now without thinking about it. I make a mental note to look up the word kismet later. I don’t like the idea of her journaling about kissing men, even if it’s none of my business.
Next to the notebook is a pile of gel pens and the remote. Popcorn is strewn across the couch, so I apparently interrupted a movie night. Maybe it was a horror film, and she threw the popcorn when she got scared. My assumptions are all over the place. Young Brie hated horror shows and wouldn’t catalog kissing.
I suppose time could have changed her interests.
Now I’m curious about adult Brie who’s waiting for Travis to answer his phone. What has changed about her? It’s not as if I haven’t thought the same question a million times since I walked away from her. I shake my head. I don’t have any intention of getting to know her again, so those thoughts need to stay right where they’re at.
I didn’t travel all the way to the panhandle of Idaho to rekindle an old friendship—or any sort of relationship, for that matter. I’m here to assess Travis’s business and see if I can save him any money—as a favor to him for old time’s sake—but most importantly, I’m here to convince my mom to move back with me to the city. Everything else, including Christmas, is extra. Then it’s back to home sweet home where work is my top priority.
Travis answers on Brie’s second attempt, and she holds the phone up to her ear. “Travis, hey, it’s not like you to keep me out of the loop. When exactly did you arrange to have a guest stay next door?” She nods and puts her other hand on the back of her neck. I get a flashback of teenage Brie standing that way. A pang in my gut reminds me how much I miss those days. Everything was simpler and happier back then. Ignorance really is bliss. Once the bubble pops, there is no going back to living in a fantasy world. Ever.
After a few exchanges, Brie says bye and drops her phone to her side. “Travis didn’t think you were coming until Monday.” She tilts her head and examines me, and not in a check-you-out sort of way, but an are-you-for-real way.
“Does he mean he’s going to see me Monday for work?” We’ve both been busy the last few weeks, and we clearly didn’t communicate well. In truth, I don’t know why I flew out at the beginning of the weekend and not the end of it. The airline prices must’ve been cheaper then. “It doesn’t matter. It sounds like a simple misunderstanding.”
“It matters if you want working utilities.” Brie hands me the keys and grimaces. “It’s going to be a cold weekend.”
