It Started with a Kiss

I really do, too. Life was so much easier back in college. Cammie, her, and I living together, having the time of our lives, being there for each other through heartbreak and happiness, job losses, promotions and personal struggles. We’ve been together through life’s ups and downs . . . and now—

“Oh, yeah?”

“You both were always cooking or had stocked the fridge with groceries.” The memory has me smiling again.

She laughs, and even though it’s light, I pull the phone from my ear so my head doesn’t pound even harder. She says, “You can’t live off champagne.”

“Wanna bet?”

Her laughter continues, but this time, I can’t stop from laughing either. “How about this? I’ll have a full spread of greasy hangover food and a hair of the dog bar set up. All you need to do is show up.”

“What time?”

I’m already feeling better because the happiness heard in her tone begins turning my mood around. I take the coffee mug and sip, the warmth of the liquid along with my friend still being so present in my life comforts me.

“We’ll be ready for food and cocktails before kickoff.”

I grimace. “Football. Ugh. I had blissfully forgotten there was a game today.”

She laughs. “You know the guys are going to want to watch it. We’ll let them so we can chat. I can’t wait to hear about what happened after that kiss. I’ll text everyone to get the ball, pun intended, rolling.” She laughs at her own joke. God, I love my friend.

“Sounds good.”

As soon as we hang up, I snatch a shirt from the hanger and a pair of fitted jeans from the shelf and slip them on, eyeing shelves of purses and shoes from every luxury label—Hermès, YSL, Gucci, Chanel, and more. My gut twists at the thought of having to sell my babies. I pat a few and say, “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

I walk into the bathroom and start to get ready. Depending on when this get-together is happening, I might have time to go through my accounts once more since my paycheck deposit finally landed. I just wish I could access my trust fund, but since he’s listed on it, that seems to be a dead-end because of my dad’s bankruptcy in play.

A text pops up from Tealey: Come over. Football and food at one.

I love that she wants to continue our tradition. It’s not easy being surrounded by so many in love, but it feels good to always be included. I text: I’ll be there with queso and chips.

Cammie replies: YAY! We’ll bring hot wings and beer.

My stomach growls. I’m not usually one for greasy food, but that sounds good after a night of drinking.

A text pops up just as I’m about to set my phone down in the kitchen. I glance before reaching for a glass from the cabinet but then stop and return to read the message.

Jackson: Sorry, guys. Can’t make it.

The message is a punch to the gut. He never misses a get-together, and that the message is fewer than five words is unlike him. Dragging a finger over my lip, I read it again. And again. He never cancels. Never.

I start to feel sick to my stomach. Is he upset? Should I call him or text him privately? The reason I left was to preserve our friendship, but did me leaving do the opposite?

Cade: The fuck you talking about? Get your ass over there before kickoff, or I’ll drag it over. This is tradition, man.

Like a train wreck you see coming, I stare at the screen watching the messages roll by, unable to fully process what’s happening since I’m still caught up in wondering if I’ve caused unintended damage.

After Rad sends a message telling him to come over and even Tealey hops back on the thread to try to sway him with his favorite tacos from a place across town, I finally take my shot and type: It won’t be the same without you, St. James.

The thread comes to a halt as those three dreaded dots linger on the screen too long, then go away again. When they appear and then are replaced with words, it reads: Things change, Marché.

I pause to take in the words and, more importantly, to decipher their meaning. There must be more than just a casual response in that, a double meaning that clues me in to whether he’s mad at me or just doesn’t want to come today.

I text Tealey on the side: What does he mean?

Tealey: I’m not sure. Maybe that it’s just not the same since he can’t make it?

Me: I don’t know. It feels like there’s more to it.

Tealey: Want me to ask Rad?

Rad’s his best friend, but I don’t want to make it a big deal if it’s not. Or come off as clingy. That’s something I’ll never be. I’ve seen strong women marry my dad and then turn into desperate ex-wives as they try to hold on to a lifestyle and his money.