Muffin Top

“I didn’t know,” Lucy said. “I’m sorry.”

“You think I care what you think?” Constance asked as she tossed the balled-up towel into the trash can, her gaze studiously avoiding Lucy’s as her chin started to wobble.

“Yeah, I think you do,” Lucy said, working to keep her voice neutral when all that was going through her head was thoughts about how someone who had been through something as life-altering as Constance had could still be such a royal bitch all these years later. “I think you care what everyone thinks, and it’s killing you to see everyone back here again and realizing that you missed out on everything you wanted your life to become. I’m sorry you were sick. I’m glad you’re better. Don’t worry, I’m pretty damn shocked by that feeling, too. Still, who you were and what happened to you before doesn’t have to impact who you are today and how you act now.”

The only sound in the bathroom was the buzz of the fluorescent lights as she watched her high school nemesis’s face go mottled with emotion.

“Why don’t you just—” That’s all Constance got out before the dam broke and tears started rushing out. Maybe it was because Lucy was the only one there, maybe it was because Constance needed something solid to hold onto in the crazy whirlwind of her life, but she rushed to Lucy, wrapping her arms around her and holding on as she sobbed. “The doctor has diagnosed my daughter as having the same aggressive breast cancer gene I have,” she said, her whole body shaking. “It runs in the family. It’s my fault.”

And everything clicked. If the reunion   had been a reminder for Lucy about all of the crap she’d lived through, it was just as horrible of a reminder for Constance. Add to that her daughter’s diagnosis and…yeah, being a raging bitch may not be the best way to react to that kind of news, but it was understandable, if shitty.

“Oh God, Constance,” she said, squeezing the other woman tight. “I’m so sorry.”

They stood there—former high school enemies, holding onto each other in the girl’s bathroom under the harsh lights. It wasn’t the most bizarre hug Lucy had ever been a part of—that would be the five-way group hug between warring defensive linemen whose angry grudge match had nearly brought their team to its knees—but it was pretty close. Who would have thought it? Her and Constance? Hugging? It should have been weird, but it wasn’t. It was proof that they both could move on, move forward—maybe even be friends.

“I don’t know what to do,” Constance said when they moved apart, and she dabbed her face with another damp paper towel. “How do I tell her that it’s gonna be okay when it may not be? What if she has to give up on all her dreams like I did? What if her future is over before it even began?”

“What do the doctors say?” Lucy asked.

Constance’s jaw tightened, and she set her shoulders as if she was getting ready to go into battle. “To do monthly self-exams, get checkups, and to pray.”

“So let’s do that.”

And they did, holding hands right there in the middle of the bathroom. Lucy didn’t pray often—to be honest, she didn’t remember the last time she had—but this was a moment that called for it. If adding her voice to Constance’s was all the comfort that she could offer, then Lucy figured God would listen. After they were done praying and finished touching up their makeup, their gazes locked in the mirror.

Constance gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for everything—for this week, for last night, and for back in school. I let my own bitterness back then and fear for my daughter now find an outlet by picking on you. It was wrong. Can you forgive me?”

A few days earlier, Lucy’s reaction may have been different, but tonight she didn’t even have to think about it. “Absolutely.”

Peace treaty signed with another hug, they walked out together into the deserted hall. There was a crowd gathered just inside the open double doors leading to the gym and a god-awful sound coming out. It took Lucy a second to process, but once she did she rushed inside the gym. There, sweating in the spotlight onstage, mic in hand, eyes glued to the karaoke screen like a man staring down the headlights of a runaway semi, was Frankie doing his best Danny Zuko bragging to his boys about summer loving. It was the worst singing she’d ever heard, and she loved it.

She loved him.

Oh shit. That couldn’t be right. It wasn’t smart, it wasn’t—anything she could change, she realized with a sinking sensation. She’d fallen for the guy who’d slept his way through most of the women in Waterbury and had driven across the country to take her on a pity date.