Chapter 2
Rory
“What the hell does that light mean?” I ask, squinting at the display on the dashboard. This stupid truck was fine the entire drive home, and it chooses to malfunction on the hundred-yard trek across the parking lot, while I’m still trying to process the whole reunion thing?
I decide to ignore it while I pull into a spot that’s reasonably close to my apartment.
I look around at the parked cars, but I don’t see my roommate’s car anywhere.
She usually works later than I do, and she stays at her boyfriend’s place most nights, so I’m used to coming home to an empty apartment.
I’m kind of relieved that she’s not here, honestly. Moira is…prickly. I’d rather have the apartment to myself so I can relax while cooking with a glass of wine. A big one. And a phone call with my best friend.
I make a mental note to check the source of that light tomorrow.
I don’t have the mental energy to find out there’s something else going wrong in my life.
Plus, nothing sounded or smelled weird, so it should be fine.
I mean, if the engine was about to fall out or the truck was about to explode, it would do more than light up a little symbol on the dash, right?
I slam the door behind me and turn the key to lock the door, because I’m not fancy enough to have one of those cool remote door locker things.
My apartment, on the other hand, is fancy, or at least modern enough that the lock is a key card, like I live perpetually in a hotel. Just without maid service.
The apartment is quiet when I open the fancy door, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Alone, at least for a little while.
I slip off my Tevas and leave them at the door, then I toss my bag on the couch as I make my way toward the kitchen. There’s an open bottle of Pinot Noir sitting on the counter, just waiting for me. I pull the cork out and pour a glass, then hold it up, assess, and pour a little more.
There we go.
“He said what?” Allie shrieks, her voice echoing from the speakers of my iPad around the tiny kitchen.
I look up from the serrano peppers I’m chopping to meet her eye across the video call. “Yeah. He said the same party line. The usual. I’m a great girl, but he doesn’t see it for us.”
My best friend presses her arms over her chest. On the video call, I can only see the very top of it, but I know the expression well. She’s pissed and about to do something that would be classified as vigilante justice. I’ve been dragged along on more than one of her missions to make things right.
“Give me his number.”
“What? Why?” I ask, scraping the seeds out of another pepper.
“Give me his number,” she repeats. “I want to talk to this asshole. Tell him exactly what I think of him.”
God, I love her. Allie is a beacon of unconditional love and wholehearted ferocity when it comes to anybody who’s wronged their bestie.
Also, a devious mind and a dirty mouth. She may be a little impulsive, but we’ve always balanced one another out—she’s the wild one who doesn’t think things through, while I’m the chronic overthinker.
I scrape the chopped peppers into a bowl, popping one slice in my mouth and savoring the burn. I wash my hands before I pick up the knife again to slice an onion. No need to repeat last week’s incident when I nearly blinded myself by touching my eye after slicing peppers. It was red for days.
“It’s fine, Allie. I wasn’t even that into him.”
“Yes, you were,” she insists. “Remember how excited you were after your first few dates?” She pauses, her freckles getting larger as she leans toward the camera. “Are you crying?”
I blink and realize I do have tears rolling down my cheeks, but they’re not from emotions. “Chill, Allie,” I say, laughing. “It’s just the onions. You know how they always make my eyes water. I promise I washed my hands after the peppers, too.”
She still looks suspicious. “If you say so,” she says, “but let me tell you, if I find out this guy is fucking with my best friend, he’s so dead.”
I refuse to encourage her. I’m pissed, too, at least about the way he broke up with me. Really, a text? But I don’t want to kill the guy, and with Allie, you never know if she’s actually considering doing some of the crazy things she says.
Like the time I thought she was kidding about letting chickens loose in the high school to get out of a history test. We were in possession of two of Mrs. Alpert’s hens before I realized she was serious.
“Oh, hey!” Allie exclaims. “Did you get your mail yet?”
I thank my lucky stars that she was the one who changed the topic. I was about to try, but when Allie wants to talk about something, there’s no dissuading her.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Did you see the flyer?”
I know exactly what she’s talking about.
What I’m less certain of is why she’s so fucking excited.
High school was a long time ago—ten years, according to this invitation—and I, for one, have no desire to relive it, and I can’t imagine Allie is looking forward to it, either.
Parts of it were okay, I guess. Lots of it, actually.
Allie and I have been best friends since we were ten, and most of my memories include her.
Like our afternoons spent at the barn. Both of us spent hours after school each day mucking out stalls and helping with chores in exchange for horseback lessons.
And my parents were always around, happy and involved, even if they were a little too into all of the town events.
It annoyed me as a teenager, but it’s cute in retrospect.
High Lonesome is one of those small towns where they have town meetings and little parades at Christmas and on the Fourth of July and festivals celebrating absolutely ridiculous things, like beef jerky and moonshine and ClaraBeth Almentrot.
For the record, ClaraBeth was a girl who lived in High Lonesome something like 150 years ago and got famous for being an opera singer. So, naturally, HiLo has a yearly festival to commemorate her birthday, complete with opera karaoke.
There are few things more embarrassing as a teenager than watching your dad belt out an off-key version of La Boheme.
All things considered, I loved every part of growing up in High Lonesome. Living down in Denver, I miss it a lot.
The plan was always to move back there, but it’s too hard to see the reminders of Nate everywhere.
It’s even harder to see Nate. That’s why I’ve stayed away for so long.
“So, did you see it?” Allie asks impatiently, snapping me out of my memories.
I sigh as I scrape the onions into the hot oil and set the knife down. “Yeah, I saw it. Are you going?”
She smirks. “God, no. Even if it wasn’t such a pain to get from Chicago to HiLo, you know I have no desire to relive my high school days.”
Looking at her now, her perfect skin and sparkling green eyes and flawlessly tousled hair, you’d never guess that she was such a late bloomer.
The two of us bonded over working at the barn, but not everyone was able to see past her glasses, acne, and penchant for wearing clothes that she’d thrifted, long before it was popular.
Their loss, as far as I’m concerned. Allie’s been there for me through thick and thin. You’ll never find a more loyal friend.
“Yeah, I’m not too excited about seeing Yvonne and her crew.” The self-proclaimed queen of our graduating class has had it out for me ever since I borrowed her favorite sparkly pencil when we were in sixth grade and, according to her, never gave it back.
I swear I returned it. Really. And even if I didn’t, it seems like overkill to torture me all through high school for something I did when I was eleven years old.
But then, she tortured plenty of people in our school, and I’m pretty sure most of them weren’t involved in any pencil-related incidents.
Allie laughs. “Yeah, something tells me that she peaked in high school and hasn’t moved on from bullying. Plus, it’s not like they really gave us much notice for this thing. Who sends out stuff like that less than two weeks before the event?”
People in HiLo, that’s who. Because most of our class still lives within a thirty-minute drive of town. Or at least, those who are likely to go to the reunion do.
“I could drive you.” I think I’d be stronger with Allie by my side.
Her eyes light up. “So you’re going?”
I should have seen that trap. “I haven’t decided. Why do you care so much?”
“Nate still lives in HiLo.”
“Yeah?” I say, the pang hitting square in the center of my chest, the way it does every time I think of him. Of course I know where Nate is.
Even with Allie, I can’t admit that I borderline stalk the guy.
Anyway, it’s not really that bad. I just look at his social media every now and then to see who he’s dating.
Read articles from our little hometown newspaper when they highlight the police officer of the week, or whatever. Scan the engagements section.
That’s how I know he’s single, or at least that he hasn’t posted anything about a girlfriend or gotten married. Not that I care about that. What we had together was a long time ago. I want him to move on and be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
“You should go to the reunion and catch up with him.” Allie nods as she speaks, like she’s already decided I’ve agreed to this.
“I don’t think he wants to see me.”
The last time I saw Nate was high school graduation. It’s not a memory I want to relive, and I bet he doesn’t want to relive it either.
God, I can still see the hurt in his eyes when I broke it off with him. I thought I was doing the right thing. I was doing the right thing. He went off to the police academy in Glenwood Springs, a couple hours from our hometown, his sights set on being a big-city cop.
I went farther, all the way to Fort Collins. My plan was always to go back to High Lonesome and work with Mandy at Lonesome Acres, the barn where Allie and I spent so much time while we were growing up.