A blonde strides by and does a quick double take my way.
“Oh my God! It is you!” She sits down across from me with her over glossed lips rounded out in an O and her eyes wide with disbelief. “I’m Becca Carmichael.” She thrusts her hand out, and I’m slow to shake it. “I love your show—correction—I’m obsessed with The Social Experiment. I’m there every Thursday night, just waiting to see what happens next. Of course, tonight I had a study group that ran late, but as soon as I get home, I’m catching up. I can’t believe you let her walk all over you like that.” Her nose wrinkles, and I can’t help but think she looks a little like a Pug.
“Excuse me?”
“You know, all the snark and sarcasm. I mean, I get it. My ex-boyfriend’s sister was on last season. Sophie Meyer? She and my other ex—are actually a couple now.” She shoves her finger down her throat and pretends to gag.
Oh shit. My own eyes widen. This must be Braden’s ex, right? Unless Sophie has another brother lurking on campus somewhere, but I doubt it.
“Anyway”—her fingers dance up my arm as her eyes continue to hold mine hostage—“exes usually aren’t together for a reason. If you and Violet don’t work out, I’ll be here waiting.” A greedy grin blooms over her face. “I’m not an expert on love, but I know a keeper when I see one, and I’m pretty sure that’s you.”
A quiet laugh bumps from me as I casually pull my arm back. “Thank you. But I’m pretty sure we’re good. Vi and I have been through a lot, but it looks like we’re going to make it. I don’t think I could live without her. She’s pretty important to me.”
“Aw!” She lunges across the table and pulls me into a power hug that goes on a few seconds too long, and my mind races with a thousand ways to escape her clutches. She pulls back and gives me a light slap to the cheek. “You really are special. I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m not rooting for the two of you. When Violet kicks you to the curb, I’ll gladly help you pick up the pieces.” She dots a kiss to my lips before bumping her nose to mine and taking off just as spastically as she arrived.
Shit. A nervous laugh escapes me as I give a quick glance around. The last thing I need is for Vi to think I’m meeting up with someone in private. Trust has always been our biggest issue. My mood sours just thinking about it. I shove my food into my backpack, grab my coffee, and head on home. It’s been a long, long night.
* * *
Saturday afternoon, my date, my choice. Much like Violet, I chose to reenact an afternoon from simpler times. One of our last memorable dates that had a good beginning, middle, and end—and also happened to involve copious amounts of cheese in all its fantastic forms, goat cheese being the most prominent. I went to the deli myself and purchased every last dairy product I remembered hauling with me that day at the lake, the day we shared a picnic spread fit for a king, washing it down with a bottle of Dom, and that’s exactly what I bought for the occasion.
I drive out to Sugar Valley Lake on my own, hoping that Vi will drive back with me. That’s the plan. She’s already let me know she’s driving in with Seth. The snow is still glistening on the ground, but the TSE has erected a platform over it, and an entire army of tower-like heaters creates a half circle around a plaid blanket, a giant white picnic basket laid out over it like a bow. I hit basecamp, otherwise known as TSE Central, and surrender my groceries to Petra while three people attack me, one brushing my hair, the other dusting my nose with powder, and the third threading a mic through my jacket.
They send me in a tent while Vi gets situated in place. For whatever reason, Dexter prefers the girls to wait for their man. Just the thought of the guy sends my blood boiling. I can’t wait until someone calls him out on his bullshit. Who does he think he is running a circus without believing in the very foundation in which it’s performing? He stood us in front of a semi barreling down the freeway—that he claims not to believe in—and gave us a push. The dude is a sham. But lucky for him, Vi and I aren’t. We’re the real deal.
Petra pokes her head in. “You’re on, big boy.” She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “That kiss you two shared set the screen on fire. Any chance of a reenactment? Dexter says—”
“Let me guess. He’s got money on us in Vegas.” I frown as I make my way past her. “But I’ll do my best to get you that kiss.” I flash a grin her way as I make my way to the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on. Violet outshines the sun on this chilly afternoon, and I don’t need the heat from these fire-burning torches they’ve planted around us to keep us toasty. Vi lights a fire in me that heats me from the inside, a blaze so bright I wish I could take my clothes off. Take her clothes off, too. We’ll get there.
“Violet Hathaway.” I fall to my knees beside her and pick up that delicate hand of hers, so ghostly white it holds its own haunting beauty. “You look breathtaking today.”
Her mouth falls open as she takes in a breath. “Those are the exact words you said to me that day.” Her eyes spring red with tears. “You remembered.” She waves her hand over the picnic basket. “You remembered everything.”
“I remember everything about you, about us.” I instantly regret those last few words. There are some things neither of us wishes to remember. “And perhaps most importantly”—I open the picnic basket and pull out the champagne—“I remembered this.” I wag it at her before popping off the cork, and it pops in the air, taking a foamy trail with it, and I pull it away to keep it from baptizing us.
Vi lets out a howl of approval and holds the champagne flutes as I fill them.
I take my glass and raise it up to hers. “To the second time around. May it last forever.”
Her teeth graze over her bottom lip, turning it pink then white as the snow behind her. “I kind of like the thought of spending forever with you.” Her lips twitch as she struggles to hold back emotion.
“Then let’s.” I tap my glass to hers, and she smiles through the tears.
“Let’s.” She touches her glass to mine, and we imbibe together, downing our glasses as if we needed it.
Vi and I pull out the variety of cheeses, the briny Greek olives, the oily wrinkly olives I once chose to impress her with, and here, today, I’m right back to doing that very same thing. Vi scoots over and lands in my arms as we stare out at the sparkling blue water of the lake, a shade so rich it’s hard to believe it’s real. We watch the people passing by, the dogs trampling through the snow, and even spot a few trout jumping from the water. We eat until our stomachs threaten to burst, and since she’s not driving, she polishes off another few glasses of Dom. We keep our conversations low and light. And after a while we don’t even remember that the TSE is here with us, that an entire year of our lives has gone by without one another in it. We laugh, we cry, we get along, and not once does the TSE interrupt with that nebulous voice in the sky to throw us for a loop. And when the conversation runs dry, I pull her closer to me and land my mouth where it belongs, and we exchange a series of heated kisses, slow and lingering, nothing that screams let’s rip our clothes off—because we know that will come later. No, these kisses scream here we are, right at the beginning of something new, together forever, together at last. Vi and I are making it work this time. And we are not looking back.
But that unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach makes me wonder if not looking back is a good plan of action. It makes me wonder if Braden was right, as his words come back to haunt me.
Chicks never let you forget shit like that.
And deep down inside, I’m waiting for the other orthopedic boot to drop. My balls cringe because I’m pretty sure this one will finish the job.
Detrimental Documentation
Violet
Week five of The Social Experiment, they’ve announced a midweek Q & A with three other couples in Finley Hall. My stomach knots up at the thought of being put under the white-hot spotlight once again, but considering the fact Lane and I will be on stage with six other people, it takes the pressure off a bit
. Lane and I are solid. A satisfied smile comes to me as I drive the familiar street through my hometown. Ever since Lane and I came back to Snow Valley for that fabulously cheesy picnic date—and I mean cheesy in the yummiest way—I’ve had a hankering for home. There’s something about a small town and all of its charm that gives me that cozy feeling I yearn so much for. Not that Moon Ridge is big city living by any stretch of the imagination. Nope. It’s more or less a cozy small town itself with a big bustling university tied to the edge of town. But not Snow Valley. There’s not a soul here that has anything to do on a Friday night, certainly not a kegger at a frat house.
Mom and I are meeting at Winston’s Waffle House for breakfast. It’s renowned for its platter-sized pancakes and waffles that are soul meltingly delicious. People come from as far as Denver just to indulge in the oversized portions they’re famous for at Winston’s. There’s usually a line out the door, and an hour wait, but Mom does Elizabeth Winston’s hair for free in exchange for the right to have a table anytime she wishes. My mother has soaked up every benefit possible out of the Cut ’n Curl. She’s as much a shrewd socialite as she is a shrewd businesswoman, and I admire her for both. My mother is headstrong, and I think she’s gifted that attribute to me. It’s been both a blessing and a curse. For as long as I can remember, I’ve mimicked my mother’s actions, intentionally and unintentionally. So it seems understandable that when she and my father announced the fact they were splitting up for good that summer, I immediately began doubting my own relationship with Lane would ever work out. My doubts and suspicions got the better of me, and I’m not proud of what I did in the end, but, nevertheless, all of those doubts and suspicions were right. A surge of rage drifts through me as I settle in a parking spot near the front.
The sign on top of the restaurant is in the shape of a giant smiling waffle that rotates and waves. I take a quick picture of it and text it to Lane with the caption, Jealous much?
It took great restraint for me not to haul him out here with me this morning, but it’s too soon to bring him around my mother of all people. Especially since she’s already looking to set me up with other people. Not that I’d ever let my mother set me up. Not with Marty McNeal’s son, Jenson the dentist, not with anyone.
My phone lights up, and it’s a text from Lane. Hell yes, I’m jealous. What are you doing there without me? I don’t believe we ever had a proper rematch. I’m still down to straighten out my record. #truechampion
“Ha!” I belt out a laugh as I read his message. One of our last good dates was right here at Winston’s, where we held our infamous pancake competitions. Lane and I would challenge one another to a flapjack tournament of Olympic levels just to see whose stomach would threaten to burst first. Usually he won, hands down, and as competitive as I am, I didn’t mind losing the carb competition once in a while, but the last time we were here I went for the gold and beat him by six solid bites.
I text back as I head on in. It’s on. And if I weren’t meeting my mother, I would have dragged you here by the hair if I had to.
I hit Send and glance around the crowded establishment that holds the scent of coffee and bacon, only to find my mother waving wildly from the back. There are two other bodies occupying the booth, and just as I squint in to inspect them, Jenson McNeil looks up at me and offers a friendly wave. “Oh my God. I’m going to kill her.” My fingers move quickly across my phone.
Marty and Jenson McNeil are here! I think I might be walking into a blind date. My mother is the worst. I’m sorry.
I hit Send with a twinge of regret. I don’t know why I feel the need to disclose everything with Lane at the moment, but things are going so well I don’t want anything to ruin it for us, least of all my mother.
My phone lights up again. Wow. Have fun!? Tell Jenson I’m pretty good at rearranging teeth myself. Then ask him if it’s possible to perform reconstructive dental surgery on your own mouth. That should get the message across. Kidding. Sort of.
Nice. I stuff my phone deep into my purse as I come up on the tiny table. I can’t help but note that both Marty and Mom are wearing outfits in the same purple hue. I guess I didn’t get the lilac memo.
“Violet Hathaway!” Marty springs to her feet to greet me, as does poor Jenson. Marty is an entire foot taller than my mother with over dyed dark hair—my mother’s doing. Jenson is an entire foot taller than me—Marty’s doing.
Marty pulls me into an embrace, as does my mother, and once the hug-a-thon is over, Jenson and I exchange a quick handshake. We all take our seats, with me landing directly across from the blind date in question. I’ve met Jenson a time or two here and there. He’s older than me by like a decade? Honestly, I have no clue. He has classically handsome features and dark eyes that feel as if they’re looking right into my soul at the moment, and not in a good way. That’s sort of what I remember about Jenson—his dark mysterious prying eyes. He’s dressed business-casual, the requisite Saturday attire for a dentist, I’m assuming. We’ve bumped into one another around town as the years have gone by, usually while with our mothers. Marty and Mom are in about six different clubs together, and my mother’s conversations are usually peppered with Marty’s name. They are a trouble-making duo and, right about now, they are certainly making trouble.
Mom pulls my hand forward and pets my arm as if my sweater suddenly morphed into a kitten. “Vi here is double majoring in journalism and business!” She swats the air as she coos to Jenson.
Jenson raises a brow as if he found this scholastic tidbit impressive, but I quickly hold up a finger to correct my overeager mother.
“It’s just one major, and it’s communication. I changed it last fall.” I cast a dirty look my mother’s way. She is so going to pay for this once this catastrophe is through, and she knows it.
“Well, that’s great.” Jenson nods as if this still somehow held his interest. “I was initially a communication major myself.”
Marty and Mom work themselves up into hysterics at the thought.
“Would you look at that?” Mom cries as if she just scored the winning lotto numbers. “The two of you already have so much in common.”
Marty lifts her purse over her shoulder, and for a fleeting moment I’m flooded with relief over the prospect they might be leaving. Hey, maybe Mom simply ran into Marty and Jenson while they were busy wrapping up their own waffle-fest? God, how I hope that’s true. I could almost forgive my mother for this infraction. Almost.
Marty taps her hand over mine and offers a saccharin smile my way. “Please excuse us.” She looks to Jenson. “The Red Hat Society is meeting in Bridgeport this afternoon, and if we don’t leave now, we’ll be late for tea off.” She gives a little wink as she and my mother amble out of Winston’s Waffle House as if the roof were about to cave in.
“Oh my God.” I bury my face in my hands a moment before meeting up with poor Jenson’s confused yet smiling face. “I’m mortified. I apologize for my mother. I’m sure this was all her doing.”
“Oh no.” He settles his napkin over his lap. “You’re not letting my mother off the hook so easily. She’s done her fair share of ambush dating in my time. But I think this takes the cake—the pancake.” He leans in, offering a pitiful grimace. “And if you want to leave, I will completely understand. But if you decide to stay, I promise you’ll get a great breakfast out of it.”
“I did come for the pancakes.” I give a guilty shrug. “And, full disclosure, I’m sort of already seeing someone.”
“Oh, I know,” he says wistfully. “As soon as my mother mentioned your name, I thought it sounded familiar. I’m all caught up on the show. I admit to being a reality TV junkie. You seem pretty into your ex. So, it’s true?”
“It’s true.” And for the first time since I stepped into this place, I feel as if I can finally exhale.
“So it must have been strange at first, being thrust together like that. How long did it take for sparks to fly?” he teases as the waitress comes by and takes our orders.
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“To answer your question, about five seconds,” I say once the waitress leaves.
“Is he the one?”
“He is most definitely the one.” Wow, I’ve said those words out loud. I’ve sent them out into the universe. They are real—official. Just like Lane and me.
Breakfast comes, and we enjoy a warm conversation about Snow Valley and all of the points of interest that we haunted as teenagers. It turns out Jenson is a great guy with a budding dental practice, and I couldn’t be happier for him on both fronts. Once we’re through, he walks me out and offers me a pat on the back as we’re about to part ways.
“It was great getting to know you, Vi. Please, if you ever need a dentist, you know where to find me. I’ll be on the corner of Main and Rose Bloom.”
“I promise, first sign of a cavity, I’m booking an appointment.”
He winces with a laugh. “Please don’t wait that long.” He steps away, then jogs right back. “Oh, and Vi? If by chance things don’t work out with your ex, I would love to take you out sometime. Maybe something a little fancier than waffles?” He gives a light wink before disappearing into the parking lot.
Huh. Looks as if I’ve got prospects. I pull out my phone and text Lane.
Date went great. He says he’s open to having you as the best man at our wedding. The diamond on my engagement ring is the size of a—you guessed it—waffle!
My phone lights up as Lane texts back. I may never eat another waffle again. You up for dinner at the Underground tonight? I’m competitive as hell.
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