Tangle of Tinsel

“By Jove, I think she’s got it,” Ollie calls. His personality has always been larger than life. I’m glad to see nothing has changed over the years. The traditional beer pong tables are up and surrounded by competitors. It’s a well-known fact that everyone’s welcome to crash after drinking.

“Here’s the code. Wine is in the fridge, beers are in the red cooler, and cider’s in the green. The lighter drinks like spritzers and hard lemonades are in the blue cooler.”

“Thank you,” Laurene says as she’s taken under Finley’s wing. Ollie nods toward another room, and we find a quiet spot to talk.

“What’s up with the blonde bombshell?” Ollie whistles. “I thought that was over and done with.”

“It is. This was unexpected and not welcome. She literally called me from the airport.”

Ollie sprays his beer. “Are you serious?”

“I took her to dinner with my family and screwed up with the girl I’m currently crushing on.”

“What? When did this happen? I just talked to you last week there was no girl. Or was there?” He leans closer. “Tell me about this lucky lady.”

“Her name’s Romy, and I doubt she feels that way.”

“Romy? Tall, with curves?” He moves his hand in a wavy pattern. “Braids and light brown skin?”

“Yes. Wait. You know Romy?”

“Yeah, Nona introduced her when she dropped off her pie at the shop. I invited her tonight.’

“Is she here now? Have you seen her?”

He smiles. “Why don’t you go and see.” I move into the crowd, looking for the familiar braids with my heart in my throat. I spot her shaking her hips and laughing hysterically as she tries to get ping pong balls out of the tissue box tied around her. The song “Jingle Bells” turns off.

“And ... Shana is the winner.”

“I was this close.” Romy holds her thumb and her pointer finger an inch apart.

“The hips don’t lie.” Shana wiggles.

Romy unties her box and hands it to the game moderator.

I follow her into the hall away from the loud crowd.

“Romy.”

Her body tenses, and she turns slowly. The smile slips from her lips, twisting a knife into my gut. I lunge forward, grabbing her hands. “Please don’t run.”

“Where’s your friend from New York?” she asks.

“My impulsive ex for over a year is somewhere around here and very clear on the fact that we won’t be rekindling a damn thing.”

“Women don’t hop on planes and make trips like that without getting some kind of signals.” She tugs to free her hand, and I hold on tighter.

“‘We’ll talk about this later. I have to work at Nona’s shop’ was all she got.”

“What?” Her face screws up in confusion.

“Exactly.”

“How long were you together?”

“Two years, but it was just about appearances and monogamous sex.”

Her jaw drops.