“Nothing really.” I trace the tile design on the table to avoid her all-knowing eyes. “We talked for a little bit, caught up on a few things, then I went home.”
“Oh really?” she snaps. “Is that all? You talked, caught up, did a little bit of nothing in his empty house until after midnight?”
“Okay. You know I love you, Ash.” Yes, we’ve moved into nickname territory. You could say things are getting pretty serious between the two of us. “But I’m really struggling to take you seriously in that dress. You look like a kindergarten teacher who’s starting her own YouTube channel.”
Instead of wearing a pair of her ridiculous leggings, she stepped out of her home—into public—in a truly unhinged sundress. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a cute dress . . . for a child. There’s a mix of flowers, geometric shapes, and primary colors. I don’t know who the designer is, but I really believe it was not supposed to exceed toddler sizes.
“Well, figure it out, because you’re feeding me crumbs, and as your campaign manager, I demand to know more.” She picks up the unsweetened iced tea she ordered and glares at me over the rim of the mug. “This is unacceptable!”
“While I understand your thirst for good gossip, I really don’t have any.” I feel a tinge of guilt for lying to her, but not much since for once, I know my heart is in the right place. “We talked about things and caught up. It was actually kind of nice. I forgot that he’s not always a giant douchebag.”
In normal circumstances, I’d love nothing more than to spread gossip about Nate. However, as low as I claim to go, sharing what he told me about his ex is crossing a line—even for me. Now, if I had witnessed the extensive khaki collection I know he owns or walked in on him kissing a neighbor? I’d share in a heartbeat.
Also, after I got home and started writing, the annoying HOA president took a turn for the sexy. As dialogue flowed out of me, it became harder and harder to separate the fictional hero in my script from the man down the street. Traits of Nate’s that worked my nerves only days ago seemed so appealing on paper. It’s as if a lifetime of suppressed feelings are spilling out of me and I only have one person to blame . . .
Or thank.
“I know you’re holding something back, but I guess I’ll let it slide this once,” she grumbles before snatching an egg roll off my plate. “No.” She aims a polished nail complete with glitter and rhinestones at me before I can object. “If you won’t feed me gossip, you have to feed me egg rolls. It’s in the bylaws.”
She chomps down and arches an eyebrow as if daring me to argue.
“If it’s the law, then what can I do about it?” Plus, she ordered a Caesar salad with no croutons. She deserves a taste of happiness.
“Exactly, nothing.”
We both finish our food, me with gusto, Ashleigh with obligation, and are waiting for our check when Ashleigh’s phone begins to vibrate with notification after notification.
“Sheesh.” I look at the influx of notifications lighting up her phone. “Popular much?”
I deleted pretty much all the apps off my phone after my life blew up. Getting tagged in different versions and hot takes of your lowest moment is not the good time you might assume. Now the only things on my phone are Words with Friends and Candy Crush. I have the home screen of a sixty-five-year-old and I’m okay with it.
“This is so weird.” She unlocks her phone and starts to tap around. “Angela never texts me. And she tagged me in the HOA Facebook group?”
I’m draining the remaining drops of my margarita as she investigates this mystery when the familiar chords that have haunted my dreams for the last two months cut through the noise around us.
“What is . . .” Her words trail off as understanding dawns on her face.
I watch in abject horror as the color drains from Ashleigh’s rosy cheeks. I don’t have to see the video to know what she’s seeing. Every frame, every second from the video is scorched into my mind. The humiliation I was beginning to put behind me rushes to the surface and I worry everything I’ve eaten is going to make a sudden reappearance. I don’t wait for her to say anything; all I know is that I can’t stay.
“I . . . I have to go.” Panic finally pushes me out of my seat and out of the restaurant.
As soon as I push open the heavy door and the humid summer air hits, I start running and I don’t stop until I reach the main road leading back to the Reserve at Horizon Creek. The curls I decided to let free are stuck to my forehead and the back of my neck, and my lungs burn as they fight to get enough oxygen. I put my hands on my head in a weak attempt to slow my breathing and gather my thoughts.
I don’t know if I should go back to Ashleigh and try to explain what she saw, but the thought of showing my face again makes my stomach turn. The awful thing about going viral is you know there’s always a chance someone you meet will stumble across one of the lowest moments of your life. A little voice in the back of my head is constantly warning me not to get too close, that I’m always a second away from being plunged back into humiliation. I know I fucked up and that vandalism is never the answer, but it feels extra shitty that I’m still being punished for my reaction to the bad behavior Peter was rewarded for.
Since there’s no way to gracefully slide back into the booth and explain this away to Ashleigh—and also because I’m a coward—I continue walking the familiar path back to my parents’ house. The summer sun is high in the sky and every step feels harder than the last. My slip-on sneakers are like bricks on my feet, and by the time my house comes into view, I’m dripping sweat and absolutely miserable.
But besides the sugary tequila treat I decided to drink, something else isn’t sitting quite right.
I’ve been back in town for a while now. So long, in fact, that the internet has found more new targets than I can count. I know the video of me will never disappear, but I was hoping the times of it making its rounds on social media and having think pieces written about it had come and gone. The last time I checked, the number of views had stopped climbing and settled into a slow crawl.
So why, after all this time, is this video only now making the rounds in this sleepy suburb? How did Angela find the video to post in the HOA group?
There’s only one thing that’s changed, and I know exactly where to find him.
My dad’s outside inspecting how the white oak is coming along when he sees me. He aims his bright smile at me, but it falls the minute he gets a good look at me.
“Oh no.” Concern colors his words. “Are you okay?”
“Fantastic.” I look down the street, my pace never slowing as I focus in on my target. “I just have to take care of something real fast.”
You’d think that my hyperreactive ways would’ve changed thanks to the time they destroyed my entire life, but the opposite is true. Once the worst has happened, it loses its power. If I survived it once, I can survive it again.
Maybe.
I stomp up Nate’s brick pathway not seeing any of the beauty I noticed last night. I pound on the door that I’ve now decided is the ugliest effing door I’ve ever seen and hope my fist punches a hole through it.