Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
avery
imgonnagetyouback – Taylor Swift
“Okay babe, I knew you were mentally unstable, but this has me ready to get your therapist’s number ready to dial. What would Susan say, Avery?” Morgan asks, reaching for my phone.
I swipe it from its resting spot next to my laptop before she can grab it.
I’m hunkered down at the kitchen table where I started my covert plan a few minutes ago.
I’m googling numerous music stores around me—yes, plural, because once I’m committed to something, I will not do it half-assed—and find the numbers for the ones Kane is most likely to call.
One good thing about spending the last couple of years with someone, you know how they think, even though I do wish I could forget sometimes.
“Oh please. If this is the biggest sign that I’m not mentally stable that’s occurred in the past twenty-three years of my life, that’s just sad.
I need to step it up,” I tease. “And Susan doesn’t get my humor.
I told three self-deprecating jokes last session, and she didn’t even crack a smile.
” I hold the phone out of her reach while searching the store’s website for their contact information.
Why do some businesses make that impossible?
“Well babe, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think your therapist is supposed to laugh at you,” Morgan says, placing her hands on her hips. Her curly blonde hair is in a somehow chic messy bun even though she just rolled out of bed.
“I just can’t have a therapist who doesn’t get me. The vibes were off. Aha!” I shout when I finally find the right number to talk to a store associate. I’m so sick of having to yell at an automated machine just talk to a human.
I hold the phone up to my ear while it rings as I sit at our kitchen table in our dimly lit cottage. I was awake tossing and turning all night letting this idea simmer when the first prank struck me.
The morning sun is streaming through the front windows, another sunny day shining down on us.
The spring is hitting us earlier than usual, a welcome reprieve from the seasonal depression that has clung to my skin.
I realize that I probably could benefit from some vitamin D today and not lock myself in my room before I go to the shelter later.
“Thank you for calling Music and More, my name is Jess. How can I help you?” a chipper voice says from the other end of the line.
“Yes, hello, I need to purchase all your G strings for a Martin acoustic guitar,” I say proudly while Morgan snickers behind me. I throw a middle finger up at her, staying in character.
Morgan continues laughing, now fully on board with my potential disastrous plan that came to me overnight.
“Uh sure, we have five on hand and two of the phosphor bronze strings coming in the next week.”
I can hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background, along with a low male voice I can’t quite make out.
“Perfect. I’ll be by soon. Can you put it under, uh… Anne?”
When I hang up, I turn to Morgan with a huge, and slightly manic smile on my face.
“Oh, she’s lost the plot for sure,” Morgan whispers to herself as if I’m not sitting one foot from where she’s washing the dishes, always taking care of me. My heart warms at that thought.
As someone who basically raised herself, with a mother who made time for everyone but me, it’s nice to have someone around to help out with the small things. Someone who sees that you need help and just steps in because she knows I won’t ask for it.
I grew up in an environment where love and care were not freely given, if given at all.
She finishes up our dishes and takes a seat next to me at our brown, well-worn table that has seen its fair share of game nights and tears—mostly from Marcus when he loses Pictionary.
I smile at the memory, then stand to get ready for part one of my mission.
“Look, I need you to call Marcus and convince him to let me in so I can grab it. Kane taught me how to replace them. I’ll be in and out in minutes, but if I show up with just my key, he’ll be suspicious.
I told him last week it’ll take another threat like the giant bee apocalypse of 2022 to get me back there. ”
I shudder at the memory of when not one, but two large beehives took up residence in our attic, slowly leading our little old cottage to a full-blown infestation.
Morgan and I called Kane and Marcus with tears in our eyes, incoherently babbling to them, which then led to them showing up with bats, ready to jump into whatever was threatening us.
After they finished going through the house, Kane took over calling an exterminator and going back inside for my things since I refused to step foot back in the cottage while those little demons were present.
Three weeks later, we were finally able to move back in.
It’s a day that will forever live in infamy.
“No,” Marcus says before I even finish my sentence.
I stand outside the townhouse he and Kane have rented since freshman year. The pale blue exterior shines against the white door, the sun beating down on me. The sadness of being here after so much time away starts to cloud my thoughts.
I’ve seen many things here in the past few years—the parties that inevitably ended in disaster, Marcus’s revolving door of girls, Kane and I growing through the years and the family get-togethers we used to have weekly when life started to get busier for everyone.
“Marcus, I need you. This is your time to shine. Your chance to run a covert mission like those video games you’re always playing,” I say sweetly, trying to butter up my oldest friend, now turned into my biggest obstacle.
He’s still blocking my entrance into phase one of my master plan I’ve dubbed Make Kane Eat Shit.
It’s a working title, but I think it has a nice ring to it.
“Or you could just talk to him. You know, communicate. We learned how to do that in Mrs. Meyers’ first grade class.
” He shoots me a look that says I’ve lost my mind, his vivid green eyes imploring me to see reason as he places both hands on top of the doorframe, using all six-foot-three of his height to bodyguard the apartment.
“Please, you know the only thing we learned in Mrs. Meyers’ class is that she’s been cheating on her husband since 2002,” I reply with sass, my hand going to my jutted hip, the irritation simmering that this plan isn’t as foolproof as I’d hoped.
“And pull your shirt down, Marcus Allen White. Those abs don’t work on me,” I add indignantly.
Marcus has always been a ladies’ man, complete with the stereotypical fear of commitment.
I quickly hit him in his lower abdomen, and his arms drop to block himself from other potential assaults. He stammers enough that I’m able to slip past him into their place for the first time in forty-six days.
Not that I’m counting.
I steel my spine and walk to the corner where Kane keeps his old guitar—next to his well-loved record player and the extensive vinyl collection he’s been building for years. A shiny blue record I don’t recognize is laying on the turntable, recently listened to.
What else have I missed?
I tear my attention from the vinyl, my eyes landing on the guitar that has played me every song I’ve ever shown an interest in since senior year of high school. It rests on its stand, the light brown wood still gleaming even after all these years.
The rest of the apartment looks exactly the same too.
Looking from the kitchen to the living room, I expect to find things that have changed in my absence, but nothing has.
The dark green pillows we bought together still rest on the couch, and some of my romance books are stacked haphazardly on the bookshelves lining the sides of the TV.
A mess of paper sits on the kitchen table, suggesting that Kane was working late and likely fell asleep before finishing, just like always.
I even spot the photo of us from the time I forced him to get on a ferris wheel down in California, tucked beside his “reading” glasses on the side table. He really needs them all the time, but he will never admit to being nearsighted.
I contemplate asking Marcus to remind him to wear them…but that’s not my problem anymore. Tears start to well in my eyes. This place has always welcomed me and warmed me from the moment I’ve crossed this threshold, but I feel like an outsider now.
I am an outsider now.
I force my thoughts in another direction, reminding myself about Kane leading the blonde back to a private table at The Grunge and doing my best to ignore the lingering feeling of homesickness.
“Look, it’s not that I’m not on your side—”
I whip my gaze to Marcus, my eyes narrowing at what might come out of his mouth next. He raises his hands in surrender where he’s still perched near the door, as if I’m a live bomb ready to go off.
I just might, so I’m glad he’s on alert.
“I’m just saying, is this really the best way to get his attention?” Marcus finishes, still standing away from me, like I might reach up and smack him at any moment.
“No, what I think is that he shouldn’t be parading his new girlfriend around the bar he knows we all go to. He could have taken her anywhere, and he chose our bar, Marcus!” I shout, reaching a volume that will probably have Mr. Wright calling in a noise complaint any minute.
The neighbor in the other half of the townhouse is known for being a little crazy.
One minute he’s throwing a raging party for the local retirement home, the next he’s whining about noise in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday.
How Marcus and Kane have lasted this long in this duplex when both could afford much nicer, I’ll never know.
“Whoa, what do you—” Marcus starts, his brow furrowing and a slight frown forming across his olive skin.
“Enough,” I demand, turning my back to him and resuming my mission. “Either help me, or forget that I was here, Marcus,” I plead as I try to keep the tremble out of my voice. He catches it anyways, his eyes softening around the corners.
He lets out an overdramatic sigh but finally relents. “Fine. But if anyone asks, forget I was here. Kane won’t be back until after six. His seminar is in the city this week.”
I mentally calculate how far with traffic and know even if he was on his way, I still have time.
I’m tempted to ask how it’s going, but I shake off the thought and return to my task.
I’m giggling to myself as I undo the first string to free it from the guitar with the pliers Kane keeps in his bedside drawer—Marcus could see how badly I could not face that today and took pity on me by going to grab them for me.
I untie it from the tuning peg and wiggle it free.
Kane taught me how to do this years ago, so he only has himself to blame.
I stuff the string into the bag and phase one of my plan slides into place.
“I also need you to intercept any packages he gets,” I say, looking back at Marcus.
“Why?” he replies hesitantly, my behavior clearly scaring him.
“If he gets any packages, I need you to take them and call me.”
“You’re going to stop him from getting a new string?” he muses.
“Of course I am,” I scoff. “He can get all the new girlfriends he wants, but they’re not getting my music, that’s for sure.”
It no longer is my music, but I ignore that.
“Oh okay, so you just want me to casually commit a felony,” Marcus gripes, leaning over the counter. His elbows rest on the granite countertops, messy locks falling over his forehead, his headphones perched on his head.
“It’s not a felony,” I say, rolling my eyes at him.
“Uh, yes it is. Tampering with someone’s mail is punishable by a fine and even prison time. Prison! Do you know what they do to pretty boys like me in prison? I’ll be someone’s bitch, Avery.” Marcus throws his hands up in the air to emphasize his point.
“You already are, Marcus. Would you rather be mine or some bald guy named Big Jim’s?”
I chuckle, showing myself the door, knowing Marcus won’t say no to me.
Growing up as neighbors from the ripe age of five has made Marcus my oldest and closest friend—though I’ll never say that in front of Morgan, because she wouldn’t speak to me until I took it back.
The competition between these two is never-ending.
As I walk out, I faintly hear Marcus say, “I’m jumping back on now, some random girl scout at my door wouldn’t go away,” into the headphone mouthpiece as he walks away.
I snort as I get into my car, the high of pulling off phase one already starting to fade.
I wrap my hands around the steering wheel and drop my head against them for one breath.
Then another. After a few seconds, I start the car, pull up Taylor Swift on my phone, and let the queen of heartbreak fill the cab as the streets blur in front of me.