I’d never tell that to anyone. Not even the qualified therapist I clearly needed because I carried a torch for a high school boyfriend. There was no amount of tequila that could make it go away. That was the sad fact.
“Okay, we’ll pretend we believe that,” Nicole said. “What do you guys think about getting some tacos?”
“What I always think about it—bring on the tacos,” Trixie piped up.
“Ditto,” I said. “Bring it on.”
We toasted to ordering tacos. Then we talked about how Trixie was expanding the party rentals at her flower shop to include a couple of party inflatables.
“I thought they’d be great for kids’ parties, but I just rented the obstacle course blow-up for a bachelorette party in Overton!”
“That sounds hella fun,” I said. “I wish I was invited. But they’re probably not fun old broads like us. They’re probably nineteen years old wearing crop tops and shit.”
“Want me to ask if they need an older woman to chaperone?” Trixie teased.
“Shut up,” I said. “Or I’ll eat the cheese right off your taco.”
“That sounded really filthy,” Nicole said. “Just saying.”
“Um, are you on lesbian TikTok too?” I demanded, cracking up. We laughed really hard at that one and made some tasteless taco jokes for the rest of the night.
By the time we left, we had laughed so hard our makeup had streamed down our faces and we’d used a ton of paper napkins to clean ourselves up. It had been exactly the kind of fun night I needed. When I got home, I told myself not to think about Drew at all. I should just go right to sleep like it never happened, like I never ran into him or even noticed him at all. I had a library to run and friends to hang out with and—maybe I’d get some more impatiens to plant in the pots by my garage. The white ones were too boring. Maybe bright pink.
Speaking of too boring. Me, worrying about which color of plants were outside my house. I would practically be a Golden Girl by the time I was forty if I kept this up. But it was either studious boredom or a wild fantasy about the one that got away. And the fact was, that ship had sailed. That sexy ship with its hard pecs and spicy, musky soap smell and the best sex I’d ever had—that had sailed away a long time ago. Running into him was just karma feeling like a laugh at my expense tonight. A hands-on demonstration of what I could have had if we’d worked things out. I could’ve been in bed with a muscular, handsome, caring man instead of contemplating whether or not the impatiens were on sale outside the feed store in town.
2
Drew
When I got home with my takeout, I sat on the couch, kicked off my boots and stretched my legs out, feet on my beat up coffee table. I opened the bag, trying to work up my usual enthusiasm for the bacon burger. I loved that burger—it was my favorite, dripping with cheddar, lots of crispy bacon and fried onions. Too bad I didn’t care about it at all right now.
Now bacon burgers made me think of her?
Add that to the list.
The list that included things like snow and bookstores and reading glasses and flashlights and flannel shirts and pickup trucks and Mexican food and those yellow Easter flowers that grow on the side of the road in early spring. Hot chocolate and ramen noodles and blue nail polish, seashells, cats, calendars—now bacon burgers too.
Michelle ruined everything. There was hardly one damn thing in my life that didn’t remind me of her like a knife twisting in my gut with a sharp, breathtaking pain.
Okay, I ruined fucking everything.
I flipped on the TV, but I couldn’t find anything that interested me to watch. Not even reality shows about motorcycles. Because it was in California, and she always wanted to go to Santa Monica Pier. We were going to drive out there with the top down all the way. Then we’d eat cotton candy, kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel as the sun went down. Goddamn, why did I have to remember everything about her? It was years ago. So long ago we could’ve been raising teenagers by now. Kids with my dark hair, rolling their eyes at us, those blue eyes just like hers. I swore and shoved the bag, burger and all, away from me.
I didn’t need to think about this.
Most of the time I put it out of my mind. Only when something made her memory crop up or when I literally slammed into her at the bar did I get preoccupied with the one that got away.
The one I threw away.
Officially, eighteen years down the line, still the worst goddamn night of my life.