5 Bikers for Valentines

“Martin never liked me in high school, so I don't see why –” I stopped speaking though, when I saw where she was taking me.

Sitting in a chair directly behind her booth was her mother, whom I knew well, cradling a baby. Jenn's baby. Her mother looked up at me and gave me a warm smile. Sitting next to them though, was a toddler with blonde curls and brown eyes. She was staring back at me, trying to figure out who I was.

“I know you've seen them on Facebook, but I wanted you to meet my kids in real life, Hailey,” she said, holding my hand like she might not ever let go.

Her smile was stretched across her face and the light of pride in her eyes was brighter than the sun as we approached her mom and kids. It was hard not to feel happy for her – but I couldn't deny that pang of hurt and regret blossoming in my chest.

“I'm so happy you're here, Hailey,” she beamed “This is my daughter, Sophie, and my son, Martin Jr. We just call him Marty.”

I hoped the grin on my face looked a lot more real than it felt, the effort of maintaining it was hurting my face though. It wasn't because I disliked kids, but as I looked at Jenn's kids, so bright and beautiful, it felt like another part of my life had been torn away from me. Seeing the happy family together brought tears to my eyes, but not for the right reasons. “They're beautiful,” I said, squeezing my best friend's hand. “I'm so glad I finally got to meet them. And I'm so happy for you, hon.”

“Me too, Hailey,” Jenn said, pulling me into a tight bear hug.

And while she hugged me, I let myself revel in it, let myself forget about everything – forget about Leo, who was back in California, forget about moving back home and living with my parents, and forget about every horrible thing I'd endured over the last few years.

For the briefest of moments, it felt like no time had passed at all. Jenn and I were young again. We were best friends, by each other’s side, and celebrating in our shared awkwardness. The wave of nostalgia that washed over me was powerful. Almost overwhelming. And for that wonderful moment, all that existed was our love and friendship.

“I'm so glad you're back, sis,” she said to me, invoking the nicknames we once called each other, adding to the nostalgia enveloping me. “I know you always wanted to get away, but I'm so glad you came back. I have missed you so much.”

If only she knew the real reason I'd come back to Black Oak, maybe she wouldn't be saying that. But that wasn't something I wanted to share just yet. I needed to find a way to deal with it on my own, and to put it behind me. It was my pain, and in that moment, I couldn't share it with anybody.

Not even with my best friend.

***

“I can't believe you married Martin,” I said, taking a bite from a mocha cupcake topped with an amazing frosting and with Oreo crumbles. “Not that I dislike him, it's just so –”

“Strange?” Jenn laughed. “Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know. It's not like we got along back in high school either. But, people change, Hailey. We grow up, realize that the cliques in high school are bullshit and learn to just hang out with people we like, people that makes us feel good and happy.”

I shrugged. “I guess so,” I muttered, taking another bite from the heavenly cupcake, my eyes rolling back in my head, and making a sound probably best suited to an adult film. “I missed out on a lot, apparently. So what else has changed around here?”

“Not much, really. You know Black Oak – people are born, get old, and die,” Jenn shrugged, her laugh a little wry. She picked at a pink lemonade cupcake while nursing Marty. “Most everything you knew stayed the same. It's not all that exciting here. I mean, compared to your glamorous life in Cali and all.”

I scoffed. “Please, it wasn't so glamorous,” I said. “Far from it, actually.”

Jenn cocked an eyebrow as she licked the neon pink frosting from her lips. She looked at me evenly for a long moment and even after all these years, it was strange to me to know that she could still see right through me. She could see that there was something I was holding back from her – I could see it in her eyes.

“You still don't want to talk about why you came back?” she finally asked.

“Nope. Sure don't,” I said, leaning back in my chair.

I turned and let my gaze wander around the crowd and the festival going on around me. Jenn's booth was getting a lot of attention and I'd had to hide a few times, to avoid seeing or talking to people I remembered from back in the day. Jenn had no problem selling her sweet confections to them though, and they talked about school board meetings and field trips as if they'd always been the best of friends since the beginning of time.

I know her business depended on being friendly with anybody and everybody, but it made me sic

ker than the overly sweet cupcake I'd devoured in three seconds flat.

There was a BBQ food truck parked across the way from us, and the unbelievable aromas drifting from it made my mouth water. I hadn't had breakfast that day – I really hadn't felt like eating and wasn't sure I could actually keep anything down if I'd tried. I was sick with fear and dread at the idea of making an appearance publicly for the first time since I'd moved back. I worried what people would say or think. There was a line of people lined up and waiting at the truck, backed up almost all the way to Jenn's booth. I noticed that the people walking away had big smiles on their faces as well as racks of ribs and massive pulled pork sandwiches oozing with delicious, red sauce in their hands. It made my stomach growl so loud, I was surprised nobody commented on it.

“Good to see Driftwood is still in business,” I said.

My mouth watered as I remembered the famous cocoa infused barbeque sauce that you couldn't get anywhere else. Everything was made in house, and had been passed down from generation to generation of the Dierks family.

“Last I'd heard, Paul was the last of his family,” I said. “Who took over the business? He sell to somebody before he passed?”

Paul Dierks, the locally famous BBQ man, had died about two years ago, leaving his business without an owner. After hearing of his passing, I'd assumed I was never going to taste the sweet barbeque chicken I loved so much as a child ever again. He'd never married or had kids – after him, there was no one to pass down the family recipe to.

“Oh, didn't you hear? The McCormick brothers took it over after old man Dierks passed,” she said casually. “Yeah, Cason used to work there as a cook, and apparently Paul took him under his wing. Treated him like the son he never had.”