Jade

by Sarah Jayne Carr

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, I rolled into K72.90, a bar owned by a surgeon and aptly named after the diagnosis code for liver failure. Locals called it K-7 for short. The entire way, I stewed, irritated and wishing I’d have said something clever or rammed his truck. I slammed the Jeep door once again and hurried across the parking lot. 5:01 p.m. Sixteen minutes late.

  My reflection didn’t lie when I reached the entrance. The pane of etched glass with frosted block letters “K72.90” did little to hide my appearance and confirmed what I dreaded. Disheveled hair left me resembling a troll’s distant cousin. Spaghetti sauce was bright on the left boob of my white tank top, the stain shaped like a misshapen eggplant. Smudged mascara crept under my eyes like I’d tried to fit in as a backup singer of an emo band. I quickly untied the fleece sweatshirt from my waist and covered the pasta mishap before putting on some lip balm. Not a great fix; I was already too warm. Time wasn’t on my side, though. An overhaul was out of the question.

  The front doors teemed with customers entering and exiting. Tuesdays were for tacos, and K-7 had the best in town. After shuffling my way through the clusters of people conversing in the elongated entryway, I surveyed the larger bar area and finally saw her. Annelies Taft.

  She sat at a round table, poised, with her legs crossed in her perfectly made-up glory. Her hair was the exact color of powdered cinnamon and styled into loose curls. The shade matched her shimmering tube top. Faint freckles dotted her porcelain skin, and her designer jeans displayed the brand in sequins on the cuffs. Just her style to let everyone know she’d spent a fortune on them.

  I cuddled into the worn fleece and experienced no jealousy.

  To the right, I saw a familiar and unexpected face. Mambo “Bo” Rodriguez. One of my two best friends. Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad. Then, my theory tanked when I made the mistake of looking left. Paige Parker. Next stop, frown town. For a second, I’d forgotten Annelies invited her, too.

  It shouldn’t have surprised me. Paige and Annelies were joined by an invisible umbilical cord most of the time. Paige even deemed herself H.B.I.C— Head Bridesmaid In Charge. I applied a much more traditional meaning for the acronym. Our paths had to cross with both of us being in the wedding. Yet, I remained hopeful she’d get taken up by aliens.

  Paige was an instigating, manipulative ice queen. Her family flowed in and out of town a handful of times over the years, leaving with each bankrupt business venture. The Parkers were the equivalent of the tide. There were rises, falls, and they were all shallow. In high school, Paige blew my boyfriend’s Swedish trumpet outside the band room the day before prom. She’d carefully crafted the maneuver to ensure it’d be too late for me to find another date.

  It started because I wouldn’t let her copy off my senior project. Her punishments continued as time went on. I did my best to stay away from her, but it was hard in such a small town without moving to another state, to a bunker, or to Jupiter. One promise remained sacred, and I’d made it to myself long ago: Paige Paisley Parker would never be the one to run me out of Cannon Cove.

  You can imagine how she felt when Annelies designated me to be MOH while the title of her best friend, Paige, had been deemed a “lowly bridesmaid.” Her words, not mine. She put up a fit over it, too. I wanted no part of the wedding, but my hands were tied. Thick rope. Zip ties. Duct tape. Cement boots.

  Annelies smiled at me, the only kind she knew how to summon— fake. Phony was the theme of our entire relationship. Every aspect. If it weren’t for her money-seeking mother being engaged to my father, I’d have steered clear of her completely. And the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in that regard. The budget for the upcoming wedding was endless.

  With an insincere grin of my own, I slogged toward them. “Hey,” I said, setting my frayed tote down next to Annelies’s Birkin bag.

  Annelies bounced around the table in her blinged-out wedge sandals to give me a dainty hug with a feather-light back pat. I hated those. Commit or don’t initiate because it rivaled a limp handshake. The air shifted, and my eyes burned. She smelled like expensive perfume. There was no doubt in my mind she’d imported it directly from France and on Cranston’s credit card.

  Paige stood up, towering over me in height. I’d silently joked she was tall on purpose and used that trait to her advantage, looking down upon the rest of the world, especially me. Her eyes scoured my frame, and it didn’t take a college degree to tell she didn’t approve of my clothing choice. She adjusted her stance to draw attention her way. Paige wore a lace mini-skirt with a matching crop top that exposed her torso. The front had a tie-up closure threatening to expose her boobs if she sneezed. Thigh-high boots completed her look, making her legs seem unnaturally long.

  Yep. My pilled-up sweatshirt and yoga pants left me underdressed for the occasion.

  “What’s up?” I sat down next to Bo. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

  “Me neither, but the legs led me here.”

  I lowered my eyebrows. “Bullshit. Your liver led you here.”

  “Hey. I grabbed a beer after work and stuck around to see if there’d be dinner and a show.” He tapped the near-empty glass in front of him. “So far, I have dinner.”

  “Ha. Let’s hope there’s no drama,” I mumbled before taking the ink pen out of my long hair to run my fingers through the tangles. “Am I it? Is this everyone?”

  “We’re still waiting on the photographer.” Annelies checked the time on her phone with judgment. “I thought you said she’d be here by now, Paige. Considering what she charges for pictures, she should be on time.”

  Cha-ching.

  Paige relaxed back into her chair. “Pop a Xanax. The girl’s top notch. She’s def not a camerateur.”

  Annelies wasn’t convinced.

  The H.B.I.C. picked up her pink-colored cocktail and swirled it around in the glass. “Jade, you look… like you just sucked on a bucket of death.”

  “Thanks,” I replied plainly before taking a swig from a cup of water I’d snagged on the way to the table. “Just a bad day.”

  She eyed my drink of choice. “Impressive. Living it up, too. Ice cubes and everything.”

  Annelies jabbed Paige with her elbow. “Be nice. She probably can’t afford anything besides water. I can’t remember the last time I saw Jade with a drink in her hand.”

  Bo puffed out his cheeks and let the air out audibly. “The show’s startin.’”

  Warmth flushed my cheeks. “If I wanted a drink, I’d buy a freaking drink.”

  The table fell silent.

  “And if I wanted to know why your day tanked, I’d ask,” Paige smiled, “but I don’t care.”

  I set the cup down, holding back from commenting on her cuntstipated expression. “Color me surprised.”

  “Speaking of surprises, this isn’t one. You’re late.” Paige rubbed her bright-colored lips together and made a popping sound.

  “I texted.”

  Paige replied, “Not me.”

  “No. Not you, punctuality police,” I snapped.

  “I didn’t get a text.” Annelies scrolled through a sea of messages on her cell. “It’d have been nice to know you were running behind. Although, I get it if you can’t afford the messaging rates.”

  I ground my teeth together again; proving myself was annoying. “Look.” I pulled my phone out, ready to shut her down. In my defense, I’d typed out the text. The bummer? I’d failed to hit “send.” The cursor blinked at the end of the last sentence, taunting me. Instead, Miles McCullough had distracted me at The Gas & Grind.

  Without outwardly admitting any wrongdoing, I tossed the cell phone in my tote. “Forget it.”

  “Oh, come on. Your day couldn’t have been that bad.” Bo gestured for me to scoot closer to him.

  “You sound like Roxy,” I replied.


  Paige said, “Couldn’t be as bad as what happened last night.”

  “Last night?” Bo asked.

  I slunk down in my chair a few inches, wishing I could disappear. The topic I wanted to avoid came at me like an invisible freight train.

  “Haven’t you seen the news or listened to the radio? It’s been top story all day,” Paige said.

  Choo choo! The horn blared inside my head, giving me a chance to make a run for it.

  Annelies added, “Someone drowned last night. Down by Jade’s place. Don’t forget, it’s July.”

  The headlights blinded me as I stood, glued to the metaphoric tracks.

  “Shit. The cove?” Bo raised an eyebrow.

  There it went. The invisible locomotive hit me head-on. Smack!

  “Bingo,” Paige replied. “I wanna know who it is… was.”

  I had no comfort in knowing I wasn’t actually put out of my misery. The conversation would continue whether or not I liked it, and I didn’t need a mirror to know my face faded from red to green.

  Bo noticed. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Good.” I chugged the rest of my water and bit into a mouthful of crushed ice. “Never better.”

  “Uh huh.” He studied my expression before turning to the group abruptly. “Well, I’m getting the heebie-jeebies talking about death.” He demonstrated a fake shiver. “Let’s hear about Jade’s day.”

  Paige dramatically slumped. “Bor-ing.”

  I gave Bo a silent but appreciative look, knowing he’d tried to help me out with his clunky segue in changing subjects. Scanning the table, his face remained the only friendly one. Annelies and Paige fell back into their conversation while I told Bo about what’d happened, shouting against the music. “A cash pay client came in this morning. Do you know what he did? Tipped me a dime. Ten cents! And the dime-tipping dickhead cut in front of me at the gas station.”

  But the chorus’s last line from Ugly Kid Joe’s Everything About You ended early when someone tripped over a power cord across the room, and I’d yelled the last two sentences into silence. Most eyes in the room were on me. But it got worse. My cheeks played chameleon again, changing from sickly gray-green back to crimson when I noticed something more mortifying.

  Why am I not a mumbler?

  Miles stood near the entryway, staring me down, nostrils flared. I knew he’d heard what I said because his scalding fury burned my skin for a second time that day.

  “Damn it,” I groaned and downed the few remaining drops of water, wishing I’d opted for something stronger.

  Annelies raised a confused eyebrow toward me, and the music resumed.

  I watched Miles walk through the room behind her chair, his attention lingering on me twice while he clenched a crumpled flyer tighter in his hand with each step. I recognized the aqua-colored advertisement offered by a small start-up band at the entrance. The mangled piece of paper didn’t stand a chance against him.

  Thankfully, he kept his distance from our table.

  Then, I homed in on another detail and became preoccupied from his angry eyes. He trailed after a girl, a very pretty girl. I did my best to not notice while I half-listened to Bo. Miles and Pretty Girl stopped three tables over, both of them speaking in hushed voices with overextended arm gestures.

  Pretty Girl wore a short leather jacket that’d been aged by wear and the sun. A cream-colored, crocheted tank top peeked from beneath, hugging her hips. She adjusted her posture, showcasing the holes in the knee of her jeans, and stomped her right foot. The flat-bottomed sandal made a firm thwack against the cement floor.

  Annelies craned her neck to assess the commotion within the sea of people behind her. Immediately, she whipped her head around again. She murmured something to Paige, gathered her keys, phone, purse, and focused on the back of the happy hour menu lying on the table. Something felt off. Annelies stared at the appetizer list hard, refusing to divert her attention. Her pseudo-tan complexion turned pale and then bright pink. Glad my face wasn’t the only one doubling as a mood ring. Her chest heaved with shallow breaths.

  Paige glanced over her shoulder with a sneer and whispered to Annelies, but it was inaudible from where I sat.

  Annelies’s eyes bulged.

  Paige murmured more, eyebrows jumping as she waited for Annelies to reply. When she didn’t get a response, she gave Annelies’s hand a squeeze and offered a few more quiet words. Paige’s eyes flicked toward me. “Promise.”

  Annelies relaxed her shoulders marginally, loosening the grip on her belongings before closing her eyes.

  Once more, awkwardness set in. That time because I was the brunt of their joke, even if I didn’t hear the punch line. They were the chocolate syrup to my steak. The slotted spoon to my coffee. The glitter to my grilled cheese sandwich. For us to coexist in any capacity was impossible. And then, in the blink of an eye, their chat consumed them again.

  I slunk down in the chair even farther and tugged at a silver-tinted beer sticker peeling away from the tabletop for what must’ve been longer than I realized.

  “Hello?” Annelies asked. “Are you even paying attention?”

  “What’s with you tonight?” Bo murmured into my ear. “You keep checking out. You sure you’re not sick?”

  “No. I’m fine. Sorry.” I chomped through more ice from my cup. “Just stressed.”

  “I said… have you been back to the dress shop yet?” Annelies asked me.

  “Back? I picked up my dress already. Why would I go back?”

  “My fault!” Paige bopped her palm against her forehead. “I must’ve forgotten.”

  The whites of Annelies’s eyes became more visible again. “You didn’t tell her?”

  My confusion grew.

  “Silly me. It slipped my mind.” Paige giggled.

  I turned to Annelies. “What’s she talking about?”

  “The dress.” She rocked her head left and right slightly. “For the wedding. I kinda… changed my mind.”

  “What does that mean? ‘Changed your mind,’” I spoke with caution.

  “When?” Bo asked. “The wedding has been in the works for over a year.”

  “I dunno. A few weeks ago? Maybe a month?” she said nonchalantly. “Don’t worry, Bo. It doesn’t affect you since you haven’t picked up your tux yet. I already updated Sabina about the color change for your accents. You’re good to go.”

  I heard dollar sounds ka-ching in my head like a Vegas slot machine paying out a jackpot.

  “But your wedding is in less than a week. You’re just now letting me know I need a new dress? Two months ago, I spent over four hundred dollars… and the cost of alterations…” Maybe Bo was right. I did feel sick.

  “It’s a minor tweak. Embrace the change. You understand, right?” Annelies asked. “I can spot you a loan if you’re broke—”

  I fought the scream of frustration in the back of my throat. “Embrace the change? Change is for butterflies, seasons, and whoever Paige is sleeping with that week.”

  “Hey!” Paige barked.

  “You hush!” My mood boiled over. “Things I don’t expect to change? And it’s a short list.” I counted on my fingers. “The past, my love for Brady’s cheesecake, and bridesmaid dresses less than one flipping week before a wedding!”

  “Be rational,” Paige said.

  “Trust me, I am. What I don’t understand is why I’m just now finding out about this.”

  “I really don’t want to bicker. There’s enough on my plate,” Annelies said.

  “I’m not bickering. I’m explaining why you’re wrong.” I turned my focus to Paige. “Did you get a new dress already?”

  Paige let her wrist go limp. “I was within my thirty-day window and the tags were still on it. A simple return. Plus, I ordered the last one from
an online store at seventy percent off. Got a sweet deal, too.”

  My return window had severely lapsed, and I was friends with Sabina. Using leverage for a return didn’t feel right. “What am I supposed to do with the pile of pastel taffeta that’s taking up half my closet? The dress I already paid for?”

  My eyes flicked up and over at Miles arguing with Pretty Girl again, and I couldn’t help but wonder the topic.

  Stop giving him attention.

  “I’m sure you’ll find a use for it.” Paige crinkled her nose in a failed attempt to be cute. “You know, that whole quote. What is it? Always a bridesmaid, never… you get the point.”

  I wanted to lunge across the table, wrap my hands around her giraffe-y neck, and squeeze.

  “Sabina has tons of dresses. Just show your face, and she’ll hook you up. I’ll even call to schedule an appointment. It’ll probably take five minutes.” Annelies grinned.

  And a sobbing credit card.

  “Right. Five minutes,” Paige parroted. “You’re getting worked up over nothing.”

  Fire surged through my veins, and I had a hard time not letting the events of the day add to my nosediving attitude. Yet, every time I didn’t think it could get any worse, the universe said, “Hold my beer.”

  My eyes connected across the bar again. Pretty Girl aimed to slap Miles across the face, but he’d blocked the blow by grabbing her dainty wrist in his oversized grip. The heat they shared was intense. He looked down upon her short stature, his presence dominating significantly. She was gorgeous. Long, dark, silky hair. Huge, doe-like eyes with lengthy lashes. Her aura screamed exotic. And then the unexpected happened. She gestured toward our table with an open palm.

  Wait. Did she hear what I said about Miles, too? Did she see me watching them?

  “Wanna tell me what else is bothering you?” Bo asked.

  “Not really,” I replied, trying to read Pretty Girl’s lips over the music without success. She shouted at Miles some more, and he didn’t appear happy. “Why? Do I still seem wound up?”