Changing Lanes

by Vining, Season

  “Tell us what happened,” Reagan says, leaning forward in my grandmother’s rocking chair, resting her elbows on her knees.

  “Yeah. That’s next on the list,” I say.

  “Wait, what?” Kennedy says, as all eyes turn to me.

  “Well, this is a Red Alert Hen Party. There are steps to follow, preparation, wrap up.”

  “A red alert what?” Marley asks.

  I let out a sigh and realize that I’m going to have to do some Southern-splaining to these ladies. Not that I mind sharing such things, it’s just that sometimes I forget how different our worlds are.

  “A hen party is when a bunch of women get together for basically what y’all would call a ‘girls night in.’ A Red Alert Hen Party is when one of those women has been wronged or needs any kind of support. You prep,” I say, holding up my wine glass. “Then explain,” I gesture to Marley. “And then everyone determines if we need to go out and slash some tires or if we’re going to stay in and celebrate ourselves.”

  “Slash tires?” Reagan asks.

  Marley grins, a genuine smile that catches me off guard. “Stella Locke, you are a sweet, southern enigma and I love you for it.”

  “Slash tires?” Reagan repeats softly.

  I laugh and shrug. “Sometimes a girl has got to take action when her tribe has been wronged. The key is not getting caught.” Sipping my wine, I hold it in the air as a salute. “And I’ve never been caught.”

  The other three ladies raise their glasses before swallowing down more wine.

  “I think I love you,” Kennedy says.

  “Get in line,” Marley answers. “Behind me and Lane. In that order.”

  “We are not here to talk about me,” I say. I point at Marley. “Spill it.” She sighs and I can almost see her retreating back inside herself. “We’re your friends. We’re here for you. And we don’t judge.”

  Marley finishes her wine and sets the empty glass down on the coffee table. “I was in the middle of my afternoon meditation when my phone rang,” Marley starts. “I tried to ignore it, but it just kept ringing and ringing. So I fetch it from my purse and see that it’s a number I don’t know. I answer and the first thing I hear is Desmond’s voice saying my name.” She takes a deep breath and blows her hot pink bangs from her eyes. “It guts me,” Marley admits. “But I put on a brave face and ask what he wants.”

  “Fuck face,” Kennedy mutters. Reagan shoots her a look to quiet her.

  “Anyway, Mr. Fuck Face just called to tell me that he was engaged to this nice American girl with a wealthy, old East Coast money family. They were going to have a spring wedding.” Marley rolls her eyes and rests her chin in her hand. “Apparently, Miss Old Money smartened up and left him yesterday. So he calls to tell me what a mistake it was leaving me. That I’m the girl for him. That he still fucking loves me—he’s always loved me.”

  “No he didn’t,” I say, not even realizing the words have left my lips until they’re gone.

  “Yes he did,” Marley answers. “My heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to explode.” Her hands flail around now as her voice gets more frantic. “I’ve never felt so many emotions at one time. Hurt, sadness, blinding rage.” She abruptly pops up and we all jolt back like bowling pins knocked over. Marley paces behind the sofa. “How does he still do that to me, you know? Like, after all this time, how does he still have this effect on me? I’m over him. Aren’t I?”

  “Absolutely,” Reagan says. “He’s history, Marley.”

  “Yeah,” Kennedy says. “You are totally over him. You do not deserve that toxic bastard in your life. Oh, man. I gotta say I feel like slashin’ some tires all of a sudden.”

  We all chuckle and Marley takes her seat again. “He ruined me, you know? I gave him my heart and he wasted it.” She blows out a slow breath. “And I became a wasted girl.”

  “You are not a wasted girl!” I say. “You are kind, and fun, and a fierce friend. You made me feel welcome in this new place, introduced me to these amazing women, and never made me feel like a social charity case.”

  “Yes!” Kennedy shouts. “And you are a badass! You give zero fucks about social norms, you rock mixed patterns and you are your own boss. We all want to be more like you. And you don’t need Fuck Face. You don’t want Fuck Face. You are so far above Fuck Face that he’s not even in your universe.”

  Marley grabs a handful of potato chips and shoves them in her mouth. “I know,” she says, her cheeks stuffed with food. “I know,” she repeats. “I’m so angry that he can still do this to me.”

  “I know, babe,” Reagan says. We all sit silently for a while, listening to the sound of Marley crunching.

  “So,” Kennedy says. “Do you want to go out and get back at him or do you want to stay in and celebrate how amazing you are?”

  Marley raises her head and looks at each of us. Her mouth lifts into a tiny smile and I can see the light returning to her. “How amazing we all are,” she corrects. “Let’s celebrate!”

  “Group hug,” Reagan says, standing. We all meet in front of the sofa and wrap our arms around Marley. “We love you Mar.”

  “And I love you guys back,” she says. “But you’re squeezing so hard I can’t breathe and my left tit is pinched.” Everyone laughs and releases her.

  I open another bottle of wine and refill everyone’s glasses. “Now, does this town have delivery or take out food? I’m starved,” I say.

  “That’s a big no,” Kennedy says.

  All four of us are digging through my pantry, trying to come up with a meal when there’s a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” Marley sings, running over and whipping the door open. “Well, hello there Mr. Neighbor.”

  I join her at the door to find Lane standing on my porch, holding a casserole dish covered in foil. And three beautiful flowers in the other hand.

  “Hey,” he says. “I brought this lasagna over thinking we could share it, but it looks like you have company.”

  “We’ll take it,” Marley says excitedly, grabbing the dish from his hands and disappearing inside. “We’ve got food,” she calls out. Lane chuckles.

  “Thanks for dinner,” I say with a grin.

  “And these are for you, directly from Granny’s greenhouse.”

  “Peonies,” I say, bringing the white flower with magenta tips to my nose and inhaling. “My favorite.”

  “Noted,” Lane says.

  “We’re kind of having a girls night in.”

  “I see that.” His eyes move behind me. I turn to find all three women standing in the doorway, watching us.

  “I’d invite you in, but it’s kind of a hostile environment right now. I fear you’d just be the victim of some serious verbal man bashing.”

  “Is everything okay?” he asks, genuine concern paints his face.

  “It will be,” I answer with a nod. “Though I don’t need an audience,” I say louder, turning to face the onlookers. They scatter and close the door, leaving Lane and I on the porch alone.

  “Sorry, we stole your dinner.” I take a step toward him, needing to be nearer.

  He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s fine. I’m glad I could help.” He moves closer now. The setting sun is almost gone, but the sky is rose-colored fading into purple. Such a beautiful backdrop for such a beautiful man. “Though, I have to admit I’m disappointed I won’t be spending time with you.”

  I grin and drop my eyes to the wooden planks of my front porch. A few dried leaves have gathered in the corners as if fall has purposely decorated the space. “We have tomorrow, on your boat.”

  Lane’s fingers nudge my chin up as he drops his lips to meet mine. That spark that ignites every time he touches me comes alive. As his tongue moves across mine and his hands slide into my hair, I am lost. The whole world falls away and I want to live in this moment forever.

  The sound of giggling breaks us apart, both of us looking over to find Kennedy, Marley, and Reagan peeking through my curtains. Lane rests his f
orehead against mine as we catch our breaths.

  “I’ll never get enough of you, Stella.”

  His words fill me with an emotion I can’t pin down. All I know is that it gives me wings and makes me feel brand new.

  “I should go,” I say, motioning to the house. “I’ve got guests.”

  He nods and releases me. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Come over around noon.”

  “Okay.”

  Lane plants one more kiss on my lips before making his way down the steps onto the sidewalk. I watch him walk to his house, appreciating the wide curve of his shoulders and the way his body moves with easy confidence. Once he disappears, I get back inside my own house. There I find a waiting audience just staring at me expectantly.

  “Girl,” Kennedy says. “If that is any indication of how he’ll be in bed, what the hell are you waiting for?”

  “This!” Marley says, pointing at Kennedy. “I’ve been asking her this.”

  I shrug and drop my flowers into a vase and fill it with water before taking a seat on the sofa. “I don’t know. Sex is a big step, and he makes me feel so many things—so many intense things. I’m scared it might just be a rebound or the newness factor. And I want it to be real.”

  “That looked real to me,” Reagan says.

  “Anyway, who’s up for some lasagna?” I say, changing the subject.

  We all gather in my kitchen, eating and drinking around my table. The conversation is light. There is a lot of laughing and storytelling, and it makes me miss my sister and a few old friends back home. But it also makes me so happy to have found these ladies. They’ve welcomed me into their hive and I know that they’d slash tires for me if I needed that.

  “Those flowers are gorgeous,” Reagan says, her fingertips delicately lifting the petals to her nose.

  “They look just like the ones my neighbor grows,” Marley says.

  “Lane said they were from his Granny’s greenhouse.”

  Her wrist goes limp, her fork clattering against her empty plate. “Do you think Lane’s granny is my neighbor?” We all look at each other and shrug. “If so, I feel bad calling her a witch now.”

  “Did I tell you guys that my damn car broke down right outside of town the other day?” Reagan asks, as we’re rinsing off our dishes and refilling our wine.

  “No,” Kennedy says. “How long were you stranded? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Chance stopped to help,” she says nonchalantly. “Had his guy tow my car to the garage and fixed it up in under an hour. Didn’t charge me a thing.”

  Marley and Kennedy freeze, their faces displaying matching grins. “Oh, he wants you so bad,” Kennedy says.

  “Yep,” Marley says. “Not going to give him a second chance?”

  “No,” she says slowly. “But did you guys know he runs a free bike program down at the community center in Hamilton Bay?” Reagan asks. “He gets people to donate used bikes, teaches the kids how to fix them up, repair them, and then the kids get to keep the bike.”

  “What?” I say, my pulse spiking.

  “Yeah, it’s surprisingly decent, right?” Reagan smiles.

  I abandon the dishes and speed-walk to my bookcase in the main room. My fingers run along the spines of my Alaina Taylor novels until I get to the Rock City Mechanics series. I pull out book two and flip through it.

  “What are you doing?” Kennedy asks.

  “This book is about a mechanic named Chance in a fictitious town called Rock City. I know there’s a part where he runs a program for kids to earn free bikes!”

  “No way,” Kennedy says.

  “Yes way.” I continue flipping through the book and finally find what I’m looking for. The girls pass the book around, reading exactly what Reagan described.

  “So, she is using local people,” Marley says. “This Alaina Taylor is making the folks of Grace famous and they don’t even know it.”

  “This is crazy,” Reagan says. “Can I borrow this?” she asks as she waves the book at me.

  “Sure. So, none of you read Alaina Taylor books?” I ask.

  They all shake their heads. “Well, feel free to check out any from my library. But return them or I’ll cut you.”

  Reagan laughs, but it dies in her throat when she sees my serious expression.

  “I wonder if any of them are about Lane,” Marley says. “Hot tattooed guy into finance with a cute dog. Ring any bells?”

  I shake my head. “No, but there is a series that revolves around a diner. Wait!” I shout, slapping my hand to my forehead. “The Big Business series has a lead named Kane who is an accountant and lives on a lake.”

  “That could totally be Lane,” Marley says.

  “This is so trippy,” Kennedy whispers, her eyes scanning my shelves. “I wonder if we’re in any of them.”

  “Could be. Though I don’t recall any of your names being used,” I point out. “Wow. So, Alaina Taylor doesn’t do appearances, supposedly never leaves the house, but she knows just enough about the men of Grace to use them in her books? Do any of you recognize her picture on the back?” All three women take a look and shake their heads.

  “Maybe she’s got a spy or personal assistant who does all the research,” Kennedy says, tapping her finger on her chin. “Maybe she’s got a good friend on the outside, feeding her town gossip. Who’s been around awhile and knows everyone’s business?”

  “You’ve literally just described everyone over the age of 40 in and around this town,” Reagan points out.

  “All this thinking is making my brain hurt,” Kennedy groans.

  “More drinks?” I ask.

  “Yes!” they answer in unison.

  I open the fourth bottle of wine as we abandon book talk and the sisters tell stories about growing up in Grace. They seem to have had a perfectly normal childhood, filled with small town charm and typical teenage rebellion. A few years ago, their parents sold their house here in Grace and bought an RV to travel the country. They always make sure to come home for all the major holidays and pressure the girls for grandkids.

  “When I turned 18, I shagged a member of the royal guard,” Marley says.

  “You did?” I ask.

  “Yep,” she answers with a sly grin. “Even convinced him to keep the hat on. It was epic—the story, not the shagging unfortunately.”

  We all laugh and I’m glad that she’s feeling better. Marley is just one of those sunshine people. As crude or outlandish as she may be, she’s got a great heart that brings joy to everyone—everyone except poor Joshua.

  When the fourth bottle of wine is gone, we’re all feeling happy and loose. We get loud and giggly, our words slurring a bit. I crank up some music as we dance in the living room and eat the delicious cupcakes Kennedy brought.

  “These cupcakes are better than sex,” I shout over the music while shaking my ass.

  “They’re good,” Kennedy shouts back. “But we’ll see if you are still saying that after you get Lane in bed.”

  I laugh, suddenly thrilled at the idea of sex with him. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or atmosphere, but all my worries are gone and all I can think about is him being inside me and the way he looks at me when he’s turned on. I’m shocked out of those thoughts as Kennedy presses her back to my front and we continue to dance together.

  “Is this a legit sleepover or what?” Marley asks, squeezing in behind me now. “Let’s play truth or dare.”

  I stop dancing and turn to face her. “We’re not teenagers. Are you going to put my underwear in the freezer if I fall asleep first?”

  Her face scrunches up in confusion. She turns the music down and everyone takes a seat, fanning themselves and trying to catch their breath. “Truth or dare, Stella?”

  The wine makes my head light and airy, but even in this state of bliss I know not to chance a dare from Marley. “Truth.”

  “What was married life like?”

  I groan. “I guess it wasn’t so bad at first. It was years until I realized I had
just settled for the first boy who came along. And a few years after that, I finally knew I wasn’t happy. But I stayed. Because that was what was expected of me. I stayed because I wanted kids—a family—and I didn’t want to start over. Twenty years later, all that unhappiness was for nothing.”

  “Well, that was depressing,” Kennedy says.

  “I think married life is going to be awesome,” Reagan says. “After I get my business expansion off the ground, I can’t wait to share my life with a partner. And I want kids too. Lots of them.”

  “Do you still want kids?” Kennedy asks me. I nod. “Well, it’s not too late. Hell, celebrities are having babies in their forties. If they can do it, we can do it.”

  “Except they’ve got the money to hire nannies and chefs and chauffeurs,” Marley points out.

  “Reagan, truth or dare?” I ask.

  She smiles. “Uh, truth?”

  “Bunch of prudes,” Marley mutters.

  “How do you really feel about Chance?” I ask.

  She lets out a startled kind of laugh as her shoulders rise up to meet her ears. Reagan shakes her head as if not knowing the answer. “Good thing I’m drunk, otherwise I would never say this out loud. I think he’s insanely hot, but I also kind of want to kick his balls up his ass, pull them out his throat and hang them from his ears. Is that weird?”

  We all howl with laughter. Kennedy falls out of her chair and swipes tears from her eyes. “I cannot believe you just said that,” she tells Reagan. “I need to get you drunk more often.”

  “Truth or dare, Marley?” Reagan asks.

  “Dare, of course.”

  “Of course,” we all repeat.

  “I dare you to streak naked around the cul de sac.”

  “Oh my god,” I say, giggling. “My neighbors!”

  Marley stands and pulls her shirt over her head. “Oh, you. You’re just worried about one particular neighbor getting an eyeful of my goodies. Blimey, I’m going to freeze.” She shimmies out of her leggings. “All the way?” she asks Reagan.

  “All the way,” Reagan answers.