by Emma Nichols
Jamie found his way over to us almost straight away.
“I see you’re getting along better than last night.”
“Thank you, Jamie,” Maddison said.
“For what?”
“For what you said last night. For reminding me.” She winked at him, and I scrunched my brows in confusion.
“What did he say to you?” I asked after he’d walked away to say hello to someone else.
She just gave a secretive smile. “Nothing much. Just things I think I always knew but wasn’t willing to admit.”
“Like?”
“Like how much you love me.”
“I did try to tell you.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, but it’s easier hearing it from someone impartial. Someone who isn’t saying it to score points or get in my pants.”
After offering to get some drinks, I went to the bar and grabbed two piña coladas. When I returned and gave Maddison her drink, she laughed.
“You know, I wasn’t sure you’d get the reference last night.”
“A song about two lovers who both try to cheat and end up with each other. What’s not to get?”
“I do like piña coladas though.” She tapped her glass against mine.
“Me too.”
For the rest of the afternoon, we did exactly what I’d asked in my email. We put the history of everything that led us to where we were behind us. Instead, we relived the relationship we had at school. Back when everything seemed so simple, and life hadn’t twisted us into pretzels.
Later, when it was time to head to the reunion dinner, I was thrilled to walk in with her on my arm and set the record straight to everyone who didn’t know we were married.
Although a few of our old friends were upset about not being invited to the wedding—no matter how often we told them it was a decision we’d made mere hours before it happened—most just exchanged knowing glances and commented about how they’d known we’d be the couple who would make it.
By the time we left, we were the lucky ones with an enviable marriage according to everyone in the room.
It was the perfect reminder of just how easy it was to put on pretenses. They were comfortable and far easier than confronting issues. I just needed to ensure I never fell back into that habit with Maddison.
After far too many drinks over the course of the evening, Maddison came back to my hotel room and we spent the night reenacting many of our high school fantasies. Then we sank into the jacuzzi I’d promised her the night before. We sat at opposite ends of the tub and talked about the little details of our lives that we’d missed while we’d been apart.
It was everything I’d hoped for, and so much more.
When morning came, Maddison rolled onto her stomach. “I guess it's time to start thinking about heading back home.”
I suppressed a sigh. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Back to the kids,” she added with a dreamy grin.
“The mortgage.”
She groaned as soon as that one left me. “The dog,” she added.
“But not the divorce?” I asked, hopeful that whatever spell had fallen over us in the early hours of Saturday morning was enough to carry us back to reality.
Life was hard sometimes, but we just needed to find a way to be stronger than anything that tried to break us.
“We can maybe put that talk to bed for a while.”
I frowned at the idea that it was just going on hold.
“Another ten years at least, I think,” she teased.
“Promise me one thing,” I said.
“What?”
“Promise me that whatever else happens, you'll be my date for the next reunion.”
A tic ran over her features, and I figured she probably thought we might end up back where we'd been before the reunion weekend allowed us to reconnect and lay all of our truths out in the open. “I want to.”
“I'm done taking you for granted, Maddy. I'll never do it again. I can't live without you.”
“You can.”
I had no doubt she was thinking of our trial separation . . . when I’d walked out the door at her request for spending too much time at work. The separation that had seen her fall into the arms of the asshole next door. I pushed the thought out before the image of them together permeated any deeper into my mind. “Trust me. I can't. At least, not a life worth living. Definitely not one that I want to live.”
By the time we checked out, the fear I’d started the weekend with had crept back in. Maybe we couldn’t go back to a normal life as easily as I hoped. Maybe we really were too far gone.
Maddison offered me a small, shy smile as she gathered up her things and I grinned in return. We were in a better place than we had been. Far more positive.
Regardless of what happened next, it was definitely a weekend I wasn’t going to forget in a hurry. One I would learn from.
* * *
THE END
About the Author
Once upon a time, Michelle worked in a dreary office with only the voices in her head for company. Now, the voices in her head are characters on the page who will break your heart, lift your spirit, and make you feel like you have found new friends. You can find out more on her website www.michelle-irwin.com.
Always Just Us
Emma Tharp
Always Just Us
By Emma Tharp
Copyright © 2018 by Emma Tharp
For more about this author, please visit www.emmatharp.com
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Main category—Fiction
Other category—Romance
First Edition
Always Just Us
It’s been ten long years since she graduated high school and five years since she’s seen him.
But time and distance haven’t changed the way Caroline feels about Ethan.
She still loves him, but he’s in a relationship with someone else.
So much has changed since Caroline broke up with Ethan and left their band. Now she’s home for the reunion weekend and the band is getting back together for one show.
When sparks fly on stage between Caroline and Ethan, old feelings come flooding back that neither of them can deny.
Second chances don’t come easy. Will she be able to walk away this time?
1
Caroline
Nothing has changed here in small town Pennsylvania, but at the same time everything has. Ten years have flown by in the blink of an eye, but the regulars are still sitting at the counter drinking sodas and eating Reubens at Ralph’s Diner, with the smell of fried food wafting through the air.
“Who do you think is going to show up?” Rachel, my sister, asks with a conspiratorial arch to her eyebrows.
“How would I know? I don’t even want to be here,” I tell her, my tone flat and annoyed. I still haven’t forgiven her for dragging me back here.
Rachel swallows the large bite of lemon
meringue pie she just put in her mouth. “Listen, you know why we had to come; can you please stop harassing me about it?”
Reaching over to her plate, I take a forkful of the yellow goodness. “I’m sorry. You know how hard this is going to be for me.” The second the tangy bite of the lemon hits my lips, it’s like I’m transported back in time, sitting in this same seat. How I wish I could go back to when life was that good.
“I know. I think we’ll have a good weekend though. Let’s give it a chance, okay? And do you think Walter Haynes will be here? God, he was hot. His Facebook status says he’s still single.” Her blue eyes sparkle and she pretends to fan herself with her hand.
“Wasn’t he the lacrosse player?” I ask, unable to call up the memory of his face.
“Duh, yes. He’s tall, thin, with the cleft chin, and different colored eyes. You remember, right?”
“Oh, yeah. He is good-looking, but I think he’s in a relationship with a man.”
Rachel grasps her heart and begins to speak, but I’m pulled out of the conversation by that voice. I’d know it anywhere even though I haven’t heard it in five years. And there he is: the boy I’ve loved since I was a freshman at St. Martin’s Academy, Ethan Brooks, who is definitely not a boy anymore.
My heart leaps in my chest and butterflies swarm in my stomach. How is it possible that he still has this effect on me? He hasn’t seen me yet, so I take advantage and openly stare. He looks good. Like, really good. Not much has changed, same blond hair, although it’s cut shorter. The face is still devastatingly handsome, but it’s more angular now, no more baby face. His body is toned, but he’s filled out with bulkier muscles and wider shoulders. He must be hitting the gym. The clothes are different. He’s in a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt and tie. Huh. I’ve never seen him dressed up unless it was for a dance or something formal.
Ethan Brooks, my first love, is walking right toward me. Suddenly my mouth is far too dry. I take a long sip of Coke. His smile is wide and gorgeous just like I remember. “You’re here,” he says, staring at me. There’s an intimacy in the way he says it that warms me from the inside.
“Yes, Rachel convinced me,” I tell him, my voice monotone and shaky at the same time. I wonder if he notices.
“Thank you, Rachel. It would’ve been hard to have The Trees back together without the lead singer.” He looks pointedly from Rachel to myself.
“You know me, I always manage to pull through,” Rachel says, smirking at Ethan, whose gray eyes still haven’t left mine.
It’s suddenly too hot in here. I finish off my Coke and shake a couple of ice chips in my mouth, crunching them up just as Jane walks up to our table.
“Well, well. Look who we have here. The Carter girls are back in town for the reunion. Aren’t we lucky?” Jane’s tone is dripping with sarcasm as she puts her arm around Ethan.
Sighing, Ethan says, “Hi, Jane. Could you please grab us a table? I’ll be right over.”
With some hesitation, Jane says, “Okay, but don’t be long. I’ve got a story to tell you.” She makes a show of kissing Ethan on the cheek with her red lipstick, leaving a thin-lipped stain behind. She walks away without so much as a goodbye.
Balling my hands into fists under the table, I clench and unclench them. How can Ethan be with such a miserable woman? At least she isn’t wearing an engagement ring.
Ethan sets his palms on the table and leans in. “Let’s meet up tonight to rehearse. Eight o’clock. The rest of the band will be there.”
My belly does a strange fluttery thing having him this close to me again. He still smells the same, like citrus and spice. I fight the urge to get up and hug him even though I’d love to bury my nose in his neck and feel his warm arms around me.
“We don’t have anything else going on, do we, Rach?” I say even though I’m fully aware we have no plans at all.
“No. We’re wide open. Where are we meeting?” Rachel asks.
“Give me your phone.” He takes my phone off the table and adds himself as a contact and texts himself. “Ok, I’ve got your number. I’ll text you the address. We’ll go to Tom’s house. He just got a divorce but he kept the house. There’s a great space for rehearsing. I’ll see you guys later.” Ethan winks at me and takes off toward the table Jane is sitting at.
“Well, this is going to be interesting,” Rachel says and gives me a playful pinch on the arm.
Rubbing the spot she squeezed, I say, “What do you mean by that?”
“I saw the way Ethan was looking at you. The same way he always did. He’s still got it for you.”
“Shh, you do realize that he has a girlfriend and they are sitting a few tables away? Plus, I think you’re wrong. He’s over me.” It makes me sick to my stomach to say those words out loud. It feels like it was just yesterday and not five years ago that I broke things off with him and moved to Nashville. It took him no time at all to move on and start dating Jane.
Scooping up her last bite of pie, she says, “Nope. You’re way off. Couldn’t you see how drained and unhappy he looked when Jane was around?”
Sure, he seemed a little annoyed with her, but she was rude to Rachel and me. It doesn’t surprise me; she and I have never gotten along. I started dating Ethan in ninth grade and she was always trying to steal him away. Of course, she was waiting in the wings after we broke up nine years later. “Let’s get out of here.” I grab the bill that the waitress left on our table and pay for it at the cash register. There’s a sign asking for donations. Apparently, the owner’s young daughter is going through treatment for cancer. Searching my pockets, I pull out a twenty and tuck it into the jar. I hate to hear of kids getting sick.
Back at our mother’s house, Rachel and I pull the rental into the driveway. The grass is at least a foot tall and her flowers are overgrown and need to be weeded. My heart sinks seeing how unkempt everything has gotten since Dad died just over five years ago.
“Doesn’t look like things have changed since the last time we were here.” Rachel swings her legs out of the car.
We get our bags and instruments out of the trunk and head for the house.
“It’s too bad,” I say as we walk by the rose bushes whose leaves have either fallen off or are full of holes. I wonder if insects have ruined them. Mom used to love taking care of her garden, weeding and pruning for hours at a time. She always took great pride in her flowers.
Swallowing hard, my feet shuffle behind Rachel as we walk in the unlocked door of our childhood home. Once inside, our mother is sitting at the kitchen table with a half-finished bottle of beer in front of her, at one in the afternoon. There’s a sink full of dishes and a strange mildew smell in the house. She hasn’t changed the décor. The mauve paint is chipping and oak cabinets are missing handles and one needs new hinges.
“My girls are home,” Mom says and she hiccups. “There’s beer in the fridge if you want one and some food over there.” She points toward an open pizza box sitting on the counter but doesn’t even get up, just moves her head to the side so she can see the TV around me. You never want to interrupt her while soap operas are on.
“Thanks a lot, Mom,” Rachel says and gives Mom an awkward side hug.
“Hi, Mom.” I rub the muscles in the back of my neck and don’t bother with the fake signs of affection. It’s no secret that my mother and I have never been close. She was always jealous of the bond my father and I shared. There was a time when I ached to share a close relationship with my mother, but as time goes on, and she slips deeper inside herself, I know I’m wasting my time dreaming of a fairytale bond between us. It simply isn’t meant to be.
Rachel and I stand around staring at our surroundings while Mom continues to keep her gaze glued on the TV. Unable to handle the awkwardness of the situation, I say, “I think I’m going to go to my room and take a nap before we have to go to rehearsal tonight.” There’s a small pang of guilt as I lug my bag and guitar up the stairs.
Rachel follows behind me.
&nbs
p; “It wouldn’t kill you to be nicer to Mom,” she says and flops herself down on the oversized beanbag next to my bed.
Sighing, I pick up the picture frame on my nightstand. It’s covered in an inch of dust. I wipe it off with my fingertip. Dad and I are sitting next to each other, both with our guitars on our laps, huge grins on our faces. A wave of sadness washes over me. God, I miss him. Taking a seat on my bed, I say, “I know. It’s hard for me to pretend. I’ll try. It’s only a couple of days.”
“Thanks, sis.” She plays with the chain she’s wearing, staring at the blue stone. “We should try to cut her a little slack. We both know that she’s still not over losing Dad.”
She isn’t, but neither am I. We had a strong bond. I was his first child, his Caroline, and when he passed away unexpectedly from a heart attack five years ago, it threw me. My entire world shifted and I didn’t know how to handle it. How could love get ripped away so swiftly and without warning? “The early morning wake up is starting to get to me. I think I really do need a nap.”
“Okay, I’ll let you sleep. I’m going to go downstairs and clean up.” She gives me a tight-lipped smile and walks out my door, closing it behind her.
I should go down and help her, but it’s too painful to look at all that once was homey, tattered and ruined. My mother and I have more in common than either of us would like to admit. We’re both stuck in the past and miss Dad more than anything.
“Wow, it’s great to see you guys,” Tom says as he pulls Rachel into a hug and then me. He has always been fit, and in high school played on the varsity lacrosse team that won the state championship two years in a row. And he’s attracted to pretty things, which included his ex-wife. I’m not sure why things ended with them. I’m sure I’ll hear the story over the weekend.