When we were in high school, Emmett used to talk about leaving Plumpton. Of the three of us, he was the one who seemed the most restless, the most eager to explore the world.
I wonder whether he’s disappointed he never got out. Or whether he’s jealous of me, for up and moving to Los Angeles.
But I didn’t really get out. I wasn’t here physically, but in a way, I’ve spent every day of the last five years here. Other people moved on with their lives. Look at Nina and Emmett.
I’m still defined by everything that happened to me in my hometown. By my first husband, and the life I had in my early twenties. I’m like the football jock who never gets over peaking in high school, except I’m the tragic murder version.
Fuck, that’s depressing.
Emmett gives me a concerned look, like he can read that emotion on my face, and I quickly look away and pretend to be fascinated by the family pictures hanging on the wall.
“Can I get you a drink?” Nina moves toward the fridge, covered in papers with scribbles that are supposed to be art, and Christmas cards of smiling children, even though it’s August. “Emmett and I don’t drink alcohol much, but I can offer you a Topo Chico.”
“Sure, thanks.” I don’t need any alcohol after yesterday’s extravaganza. My head still hurts a little.
She opens the glass bottle of mineral water and hands it to me. “I’m really glad you came.”
“Well, I’m not exactly flush with invitations, if you want to know the truth.”
Emmett leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are people nicer than when you left?”
“Maybe. Less hostile, at least.”
He half smiles. “Folks have had some time to think about it.”
“And what conclusion have they come to?”
Emmett and Nina exchange a look, and I know exactly what conclusion people have come to. The same one they always come to.
“I think some people are realizing they were quick to judge,” Nina says. “The DA would have tried you if they had enough evidence.”
I suppress a smile by taking a drink of my water. Nina says it like she’s trying to convince herself. She’s been lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, coming up with logical excuses why I might not have done it.
“We always had our doubts,” Emmett says quietly.
“I appreciate that.”
They’re both quiet for a moment, exchanging another look I can’t quite pin down. Nina grabs a towel from the counter and twists it nervously in her hands.
“I still don’t remember anything, if that’s what you wanted to ask,” I offer helpfully.
Nina twists the towel so hard I think she’s going to rip it in half, and then turns away to open the oven a crack. “Hope you like lasagna!”
And then Savvy’s standing next to Nina, grinning with her smudged eyeliner, dark blond hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
I freeze. She’s a horrible, perfect hallucination. Everything I’ve been shoving into the deep recesses of my mind for five years come back to life to haunt me.
I want to force her out again. She shouldn’t be whispering to me, and she sure as shit shouldn’t be standing here with that familiar smirk on her face. Nothing good will come of it.
Of course, desperately pushing her away for five years hasn’t gotten me anywhere at all. My first therapist, the one I saw right after moving to Los Angeles, would barely be holding back an “I told you so” if she were here. She told me that ignoring Savvy’s voice wasn’t the solution. “She’ll come back,” she’d said. “You can’t ignore the past forever.”
The therapist was right, I was wrong. What else is new.
“Lucy doesn’t like lasagna,” Savvy offers helpfully. “This woman continues to be the fucking worst, Luce. No surprise there.”
I wince. Emmett looks concerned again.
Savvy saunters over to him. “He’s still super hot, though.”
“You okay?” Emmett asks quietly.
Next to him, Savvy sticks her tongue in her cheek like she’s giving him a blow job. She doesn’t look the way people always describe her now. They talk about her on the podcast like she was an angelic blond angel. Gliding through life with a halo shimmering around her head.
The Savvy in front of me is the real version. Highlights grown out, makeup half-assed, frayed red bra strap sticking out from her tank top.
I clear my throat and force a smile at Emmett. “Yeah. Fine. Great.”