Beg, Borrow, or Steal (When in Rome, #3)(15)
That is, until May 23 of our senior year—the date is etched into my mind—when Liam came to my house with a letter in his hand. He had applied to a college out of state without telling me and he was accepted. Not only that, he was going. He had a plan B all along that didn’t include me and had kept it a secret, even knowing that I was planning for our future. Noah was there; he had been eavesdropping outside my bedroom door for the entire thing. I’m not sure I’ve ever told him how grateful I am that he never pushed me on it when I told the family that the breakup was mutual.
But I was destroyed. I locked myself in my room for one day and cried it out, and then I made myself pick up the pieces of my heart and move on. (Publicly, at least). Privately, I ached for so long. Between my parents dying and Liam leaving, my heart couldn’t take any more pain, so I boarded it up.
Now, romance is just not something I’m built for. I’ve grown into the soul of a woman made for getting shit done—something men don’t typically enjoy about me. A few years ago, I really put my back into it and set out to date as much as I could as a last-ditch effort to see if maybe my forever partner was out there. Not some great love, just a companionable person to spend my time with. None of them lasted long.
Brian couldn’t take it that I liked to stick to my daily routine. At least ten times he told me, Just go with the flow, Emily. Jeremy hated that if my order came back wrong, I’d (kindly) ask for it to be corrected instead of just eating it. Zane was offended that after two breakfasts in a row where he cracked shells into our scrambled eggs, I insisted on cooking them from then on out, because who wants to feel like they’re eating Pop Rocks while biting into eggs? And Harrison, he hated that I wouldn’t snuggle after sex. He was the only one who outright in the breakup speech said, I’m sorry. You’re just too cold for me, Emily.
Each of those guys were looking for women like Annie and Madison. But me? I’m more akin to a Brillo pad you keep under your sink for when you need to scrub out those really tough grease stains.
“Back to Jackson Bennett,” Maddie says, putting her eyeball so comically close to the screen I can see the outline of her contacts. “He’s your neighbor and he didn’t get married! Are you furious? Annie, tell me if that vein on the right side of Emily’s head is popping out.”
I take a leisurely sip of my coffee and then smile. “All this gossip is pointless. Believe me, Jack is nothing to worry about.”
“Why? And where did you hide his body?” asks Madison.
“There are much more creative ways to get rid of Jack. And you can rest assured that they’re all being implemented as we speak.”
Annie looks at me with a hesitant smile. “Okay, but can I just say this one thing?” She pauses. “Would it really be such a bad thing for him to be your neighbor? I mean . . . maybe y’all could become friends. Maybe if you stop fighting for a minute you’ll find something you have in common.”
Maddie and I exchange a look that stands as evidence that we were once best friends, and then I turn to my tenderhearted sister. “Oh, Annie, I love you. But there’s no way in hell that Jack and I will ever be friends. Or neighbors.”
I can’t have him here. This is my town. My safe place. Too much in my life already feels like shifting sand—I can’t have him invading the last solid plot of my life as I know it.
“How are you getting rid of him, then?” asks Amelia, pulling out a chair and sitting at the table with her coffee.
“My business is my own.”
All three of them groan. I could swear even Ducky makes a sound.
“How is it fair that you can demand that our business be your business and your business is your own too?” Madison is outraged.
“Simple,” I say, shrugging a shoulder. “Is your name Emily?”
“That is not an answer.”
We’re suddenly interrupted by a knock on my front door. I smile to myself because everything is working out exactly as I calculated.
I hold Ducky so she doesn’t dart out under my feet and leave me forever the second I open the door. On my front porch, I find Mabel, the woman who is like a second grandma to us. She’s wearing her favorite yellow sundress that brings out the warm undertones of her dark skin. Matching yellow hoop earrings peek out from under her shortish, curly, silver-and-white hair. And her smile—oh, it’s downright mischievous.
She was my grandma’s best friend but pretty much her opposite in every way. Grandma was gentle like Annie and Madison, but Mabel . . . Mabel and I are cut from the same utility cloth. We have both been likened to hot sauce more than once in our lives. And she’s clutching a casserole dish so famous around this town we’ve named it the Information Dish.
This is how the best secrets of Rome, Kentucky, get extracted. Mabel tempts you with brown sugar, marshmallow, and sweet potato goodness, and then snatches it away until you give her the answers she’s looking for. It’s a good thing the military doesn’t know about her or this casserole.
“Morning, sugar,” she says in her scratchy southern drawl, laying it on thick today. “Just thought I’d drop by with a little casserole.” On the word casserole she waves the vintage Pyrex dish under my nose. It’s the same color as Jack’s mustard trousers.
Normally I wouldn’t cave so easily. But since I want this piece of gossip to hit the town like a wildfire, I take one whiff, look her straight in the eyes, and waste zero time. “Yes, Jackson Bennett is single now. And yes, he bought the house next to mine. But no, I don’t want him there, and as far as I’m concerned, he’s not welcome in our town. Now . . . gimme.”