by Piper Rayne
“What?” I look down at my shirt, no coffee, then give an indignant squawk as Charlene walks over and expertly yanks the little elastic band out of my hair with one pull. She fluffs my hair and gives me another gentle nudge towards the door.
“How about you go meet the new neighbors, Honeybunch?” Charlene folds her arms under her chest and leans a hip against the counter. “I saw a tall, dark and dreamy over there that I wouldn’t kick out of bed, no ma’am I would not.”
2
Enrique
“Looks good out here, Boss,” Jake meets me at the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag. “After all our talking and planning...it looks good.” He grins at me, tossing the rag aside and moving over to talk to the guys setting the plumbing in place for the bar.
Jake and I have been friends for years, met in college and chose the same brewing program in Denver. When we agreed to start a brewery together, Edmundston was the first place that came to my mind. It’s a beautiful river town just north of Omaha. I grew up a couple hours east, but I used to spend every summer here with my grandma. Even met a girl here, once. That was a long time ago, I’m guessing she’s long gone by now, married, maybe some kids.
The three huge copper brewing kettles have been set in place and my crew is busy working around them to get the main brewing floor ready to roll. I’ve been in the test kitchen setting up the more delicate 20 gallon system most of the morning. The weather is perfect for working, the December air is cool and crisp, but the test kitchen is towards the back and it’s hot as blazes in there, I need a break.
Grabbing a jacket, I head outside to see how things are going. Two guys up on scaffolding are maneuvering vintage work lights into place along the front of the building. The lights will illuminate the sign that arrives later today to be hung over the front entrance. This place is buzzing with activity. Every project I planned got scheduled for this week, contractors anxious to get things off their calendars before Christmas.
I step out to the wide sidewalk in front of the building to get out of the way. There are trees planted about every thirty feet, alternating with the street lights all along Main Street. I lean on the one right in front of the brewery and just watch for a few minutes.
Movement to my right catches my eye. I look at the little bridal shop across the alley in time to see a blonde woman step out the front door, zipping her coat up to her chin to ward off the chill. She gives a cute little shiver and flips her hair back off her shoulder as she steps out from under the awning to the sidewalk. She turns my way, looking at the brewery, her eyes taking in all the action. She hasn’t seen me yet, I have a chance to just drink in the sight of her and drown in memories. As she moves closer, her blue eyes meet mine and she startles visibly.
“Ohmygod, sorry I didn’t see you…” she trails off, staring at me, full lips parted in surprise.
“Hello, Freya.” She hasn’t aged a day in the years since I last saw her, she’s beautiful enough to be on a runway somewhere. Tall, slender, her coat can’t hide the curves in all the right places.
“Ricky?” She whispers, absently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear in a move I’ve seen a hundred times and my heart squeezes.
“It’s been a long time since anyone called me Ricky,” I laugh softly, “I only ever let you and Grandma.” Freya blushes, little spots of pink appearing high on her cheeks. “I still like it,” I add quickly, my eyes searching her face, unable to believe that she’s here.
“You’re right,” her eyes narrow as she reaches up to tuck her hair again, but that registers second after I notice she’s not wearing a wedding ring. “It has been a long time,” Freya continues, voice suddenly angry. “A lifetime ago I called you Ricky and you told me we would always be together. We were stupid kids, playing at love. And then you left.” She whirls around, walking quickly up the alley away from me.
3
Freya
My heart is racing. I reach my car and just plant my hands on the hood and breathe. Ricky, Ricky, Ricky, I can hear his name in my heartbeat.
“Freya, wait!” I swipe at the tears I just now feel on my cheeks. This is just because my life is in shambles. Maybe my hormones are out of whack. When I feel his hand on my shoulder I jerk away, turning to face him angrily. He pauses, eyes searching my face and I shamelessly stare back.
All of the promise that was there when we were eighteen has just gotten better with age. Those deep brown eyes that I looked into that night while he promised me everything. His dark hair, longer on top, always falling forward. Broad shoulders, strong. The scruff along his chin is new, the urge to reach up and give it a tug is compelling.
“No, you know what? Just, no.” The words tumble out of my mouth. “I can’t believe it’s you, after all this time, here you are, just standing here, looking like you do,” that part didn’t need to be out loud. “I don’t need this right now, we had a minute of happiness, it was a long time ago, and I’ve got too much other crap going on in my life. So...fuck...somewhere out there, past friendzone in the back forty? I need you to go sit there.” And while he processes that load of verbal vomit, I jump in my car, start it up and drive away, leaving him staring after me.
I live just a few blocks away in a colonial home in the historic district. Just the right size for a family, mental sob. Scott and I moved in less than a year ago. I’d hoped to be expecting by now, sadly, I’m just glad that it didn’t happen before he left. It feels big, living here alone, but I’ve decided I’m staying. It’s beautiful and has some projects I want to tackle.
“Mmrowll?” Mitzy wanders up, curling around my ankles to remind me that I don’t, point of fact, live here alone. She’s a beautiful orange long haired cat, just old enough to be out of the kitten stage. I consider her at the ‘very vocal teen’ phase. Reaching down, I give her ears a rub and head for the kitchen to feed her, refusing to let my brain return to Enrique just yet.
Mitzy’s bowl filled, a kettle of water boiling for tea, fire lit and crackling, I busy myself looking through the mail until the kettle whistles. Only when I’m in my favorite chair by the fire do I allow myself to think about what happened this afternoon.
It’s been years, but it feels like days since Ricky and I had one magical summer. Holding hands, kissing by the river under the stars...the last night I saw him he took me up to the old hayloft on his grandma’s farm. He’d strung twinkle lights and laid sleeping bags on a pile of hay. Ricky was my first time.
All the whispered promises in the world didn’t matter the next day, when I went to see him just in time to watch his car drive away. He didn’t answer my calls, I even sent him a fucking letter. Radio silence, broken only by my Aunt Amelia’s terrible attempts at consoling me.
I wonder what he’s doing back, if he’s one of the contractors…or if he’s the owner...that could get awkward. Well...more awkward. I wonder if he’s with anyone... or married. That makes my heart squeeze tight. He looked good. Really, really good.
Sipping my tea and staring into the fire, I settle in for a long night of feeling sorry for myself. I glance at the space by the fireplace where I usually put up the Christmas tree. I don’t know if I have the heart to do it this year. Aunt Amelia and I don’t usually do holidays together, I like to head down to Florida and visit in February when the weather here is utter crap. All of the friends I have were our friends. Sadly I don’t know which ones I’ll get custody of from the divorce yet. My heart gives another little squeeze when I realize I’ll be spending Christmas alone for the first time.
Mitzy jumps in my lap, her little paws kneading my thigh until I’m suitably softened before settling in and falling asleep. I smile at the furry little reminder that I will not actually be alone. Maybe I’ll put up the tree tomorrow.
4
Enrique
“Ouch, man, sounds like you fucked that situation up.” Jake snorts into his beer, pulling no punches as usual.
“Yeah, I did.” I agree, shrugging because it’s true. “The summ
er I dated Freya was the best summer of my life. Things got serious and I freaked.”
We’re sitting on the tailgate of my truck, it’s parked in the back of the building. This building was originally a lumberyard, the back has huge double doors and is open for two levels with storage shelves up both sides. Halfway up is a balcony accessed by stairs at each end. The third floor is an open expanse with skylights. I’m going to convert that into my living space, but right now it’s pretty rough so I’m essentially camping up there.
I’ve been looking around, mentally listing the things I want to get after tomorrow. My mind keeps putting, ‘go find Freya and talk to her’ at the top of the list.
“I mean, you were just a kid, what, eighteen? Nineteen?” Jake hops off the tailgate, taking a last swig of beer. “Alright, I’m going home, Maggie’s making meatloaf,” he grins, rubbing his stomach.
“She’s gonna make you fat.” We both laugh, knowing Jake could eat meatloaf six meals a day and never gain a pound. He’s tall and lanky with a mop of brown hair that has a life of its own. His wife Maggie is as short as he is tall with fiery red hair and a temper to match. They just dote on each other, happy as all get out. He waves and heads out the door. A minute later I hear the rumble of his old truck firing up.
I hop off the tailgate and grab our glasses, heading for the kitchen. Setting them on the drainboard, I wander around, shutting off lights and locking up before I head up to the third floor. I’ve got my bed and a recliner parked in the middle of the space. Some tubs of clothes and stuff off to the side, and a table holding my laptop. I’m not unpacking anything until I’ve had a chance to get this level cleaned up, the guys are planning to run plumbing up here tomorrow.
Settling into my recliner, I grab my laptop and look up the bridal shop next door. I’m pretty sure Freya’s aunt used to run the place, it looks like it belongs to Freya now. Freya has accounts on the usual social media. My heart sinks when I pull up her Instagram profile. Her smiling face is cheek to cheek with a guy named Scott in the photo. Looks like he’s some kind of businessman, successful, fancy watch, fancy hair. I already hate that fucker.
Scrolling down through the pictures feels like taking a peek into her life. She’s got an orange cat, a new house...and then I reach the wedding pictures. Damn, she was a beautiful bride. And that’s...that. Setting the laptop aside, I head back downstairs. May as well keep working until I’m tired enough to sleep.
Over the next few days, I keep tabs on the parking lot at the bridal shop. Freya’s car is never there. I try to shrug it off, maybe she’s taking a break for the holidays, maybe she’s already out of town. I don’t know what I would say to her anyway, it’s not like I’m planning to be golf buddies with her husband.
There’s a lady next door running the shop that has one of those helmets of black hair that gets ‘set’ weekly and never moves. I’ve been thinking about talking to her, finding out if Freya is gone or just avoiding me, but I don’t want to be that asshole that sniffs around a married woman.
Throwing myself into the work at the brewery, I try to put Freya out of my mind. There’s plenty to be done and we want to get this place ready to be opened by the new year. I’m planning to work straight through the holiday. I’d usually go to my parents, but this year they’re flying out to Oregon. My older sister had a baby not too long ago and they want to be there for her first Christmas.
“I haven’t seen your girl over at her shop lately,” Jake hands me the mail on his way to the back.
“She’s not my girl, she’s somebody else’s.” I gave her up.
“Did she tell you that?” Jake asks, surprised.
“Found her on Instagram, the wedding pictures were a pretty big hint.”
“Ah, cyber-stalking...classy,” Jake chuckles, laughing harder when I throw a ball of paper at him. “I thought you said she wasn’t wearing a ring?”
“She wasn’t. Fuck, I don’t know. I was just hoping to see her so we could talk things out a little. If she’s going to be right next door, it’d be nice if we could be friends at least.” I mutter, knowing that being friends with Freya would kill me slowly.
5
Freya
I put up the damn tree. I cried a little and accidentally-on-purpose broke Scott’s stupid mini beer can string lights. ‘They’re so ironic Freya’, eyeroll. I boxed up every single thing of Scott’s that he didn’t take with him, the temptation was great to light it all on fire in the yard, but it’ll go to charity, I can be an adult, dammit.
Still not ready to get back out into the world, I organize my pantry, haul out my label maker and go to town, scan all of my receipts in for my accountant, hope that doesn’t give her heart failure, sort my entire closet by color and make Mitzy a little Santa hat, complete with a bell at the end. Mitzy promptly ripped it off her head, mauled it and swatted the bell under the refrigerator. Eh, I tried.
I also, unsuccessfully, attempt to find Enrique on social media. Zilch. He has a horribly outdated Instagram profile that proclaims him alive and in possession of a computer at some point. The only good news is that I can't find a woman connected with his name either, so it’s possible that he’s single. I don’t know what to do with this information yet, but it’s a point of interest at my pity party.
Finally the need for groceries, to avoid living on ramen and yogurt that is reaching a questionable date, forces me to get out and go to the store. Edmundston is a pretty good sized town, about ten thousand people live here. I can tell that word about my divorce is getting around by the number of sympathetic glances I’m receiving. I keep my head high as I set a land-speed record in the grocery store.
After shopping I hit a drive-thru for a coffee. I’ve been gone about an hour when I pull back into my driveway. Right beside Scott’s car. Fuck. I’m not ready. He’s not waiting in the car, meaning he must be in the house. Clearly, ‘change the garage code’ should have ranked somewhere on my list higher than ‘turn my closet into a damn rainbow’. Lesson learned.
I sit in my car for a minute, trying to get a handle on the moment. Finally, I give myself a pep-talk in the mirror. Okay Freya, this is it. Don’t cry, don’t take him back, don’t claw his eyes out. Do say all those mean things you’ve been saving up, you’ve earned it sister. Getting out of the car, I square my shoulders and march into my house.
Scott isn’t in the living room or kitchen when I walk in, but he obviously heard the door because he comes walking up the hallway from the bedroom, smiling. I narrow my eyes.
“I’d say the bedroom is off-limits at this point.” I decide to fire the first shot. I’ve got a lot of anger for the man standing in front of me right now. His smile falters.
“Freya, Honey, don’t be like that, I wanted to see you.” He’s wearing my favorite shirt. Dick.
“Don’t be like that? Really?” I stare at Scott in utter disbelief and then the words just spill out of my mouth at high volume. “You packed your shit and left. I get a text, a TEXT, that we’re through and you’re having a baby with another woman. I get served divorce papers at my shop, spectacular for business by the way. How am I supposed to BE EXACTLY!?” I end at almost a shriek, chest heaving with emotion. I need to sit down or I’m gonna throw up.
Turning my back on him, I stomp over to the table and sit, in his customary chair to be specific. It’s satisfying to see his lips tighten before he arranges his face back into a loving smile.
“About that, Hon-”
“Don’t call me Honey again,” I snap, cutting him off. “I swear, if you do, I will make the effort to find an extension cord, take my hot glue gun outside and use it to write you a love letter on your car. I bet that paint would bubble something fierce.”
After a startled silence, Scott sits heavily in the chair across from me.
“Fine, Freya, I just...wanted to see you, to...talk.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong here, but I very recently signed papers that pretty clearly state that you don’t want to see or talk to me an
ymore.” I know I’m being snitty, but that seems to be the only mode I’ve got right now.
“There is no baby. Trina lied to force me to tell you about us.” Scott’s head drops into his hands. He looks up indignantly when an incredulous laugh bursts out of me.
“Sorry, but you’re telling me that you cheated on your wife with someone...and then found out they were a liar?” I blurt out another laugh. “Hello, Karma, it’s Scotty calling.”
“You don’t have to be such a bitch, Freya.” Scott sneers, “I came back to tell you that we could put this behind us, throw the papers away and be together for Christmas.” That feels like a calculated poke at my loneliness, you dick.
“I don’t have to be a bitch, Scott, but I think I want to. Get out of my house.”
Scott stares at me for a minute, clearly surprised. Finally, he shakes his head with a little laugh. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his keys. Following his movements, I see a little sparkle at the seam of his pocket. Curious, I look harder and realize his pants pocket looks funny...like, lumpy. That’s why he was in the bedroom, that snake.
“Like what you see?” Scott leers, rocking his hips. “If you ask nicely, I’ll give you a ride.”
“Ew, no!” I mock barf and he rolls his eyes. “I’m just wondering how much of my jewelry you have stuffed in your pocket,” I continue, crossing my arms and staring at him hard. Before he can stop himself, Scott glances down. Grimacing when he realizes that not only has he given himself away, but that the end of my diamond bracelet is dangling out of his pocket, he shrugs carelessly.