A Hundred Ways to Love

by Ellie Wade

  I look down toward the boxer shorts and baggy T-shirt that I’ve been living in for the past couple of days. “You know this little playdate that you organized is going to seriously cut into my sulking time.”

  “That’s the plan,” she quips brightly.

  A minute later, I’m coming down the stairs in an outfit other than my pajamas to the sounds of Mimi and Emily chatting in the front room.

  “Leni!” Emily shrieks when she sees me and pulls me into a hug.

  “Hey, Em,” I say back with as much excitement as I can muster.

  I frown pleadingly at Mimi as I follow Emily toward the door. Mimi returns my frown with a reassuring grin, though it does little to make me feel better.

  When we’re outside, I take a moment to really look at Emily. She looks almost the same as she did in high school. She’s wearing her long blonde hair in a ponytail. Her face is makeup-free and as adorable as it’s always been. Her button nose is spattered with light freckles, and the dimple in her cheek is still present when she smiles, which she does all of the time. She’s a happy, bubbly little princess of small-town Texas.

  Then, I notice the belly, her round and out-of-place belly.

  “Are you pregnant?” I blurt out.

  Emily giggles, and a huge smile crosses her face. “Yeah, six months.”

  “Oh my gosh,” I say, bewildered. I can’t imagine being pregnant right now, let alone being happy about it.

  “Whose baby is it?”

  “My husband’s.” She grins.

  “You’re married? To whom?”

  She stops and looks at me with a squint to her eye. “Westley,” she says with a tilt of her head as if she can’t believe I didn’t know.

  I didn’t know. I had no idea that Emily would marry her boyfriend from high school.

  I know Westley, though I avoided him as much as I could during my summers here because he was friends with Liam. From what I remember, he was a nice enough guy, but as I look at little knocked-up, married Emily, I’m sad for her.

  “It’s a good thing, Len.”

  My facial expression must not be hiding as much of my thoughts as I would’ve hoped.

  We get into Emily’s car, and she pulls onto the road.

  Emily chats idly, catching me up on everything Elkwood, as she drives us to Twisters, the little family-owned ice cream place in town. I’m feeling a sense of déjà vu as I listen. Same people, same stories, different day. I hate that my ears perk up when she mentions Liam, but they do.

  “Have you seen him yet?” she asks.

  “Just once, briefly, when I first got into town,” I tell her.

  “Well, he’s dating Camila.”

  “Camila Banks?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

  There’s only one Camila in this town, and everyone knows her. She’s the daughter of Edgar Banks, who owns the grocery store in Elkwood along with several others in neighboring towns. For a place like this, a man who owns a handful of stores is a pretty big deal, and Camila grew up thinking she was a local celebrity. Her years in the pageant circle didn’t help shrink her bloated ego either. She’s exactly what my parents always wished I’d be. I never liked her, and I can’t lie and say that the fact that Liam is dating her doesn’t bother me.

  “The one and only.” Emily chuckles.

  “What does he see in her?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Emily parks, and we each order a fudge-dipped ice cream cone. It’s the worst kind of cone to order in Texas because the chocolate shell starts melting almost immediately in the heat. I have to scramble to eat the chocolate before it melts down my hand, but Emily and I always order it.

  We sit on the table beneath the red-and-white-striped umbrella. “Does Westley still hang out with Liam?” I ask between licks.

  “Yeah, sometimes. They’re both so busy with work, but when they can, they hang out.”

  Admittedly, it’s pretty easy to talk with Emily. My reservations on hanging out with her initially had more to do with me and my own self-pity than it did with Emily. I know that. Mimi, once again, was right. Getting outside and interacting with another person is helping my mood. For goodness’ sake, my entire plan for the day, prior to this, consisted of staring at the ceiling.

  “Do you want to see our house?” Emily asks, referring to her and Westley’s home.

  “Sure.”

  Emily and Westley live in a small brick ranch downtown. It’s a cute little starter home. Emily beams with pride as she tells me all about it—from how they decided that this was the right house, to why they chose different color schemes for each room, to their decision on whether or not to use the small space off of the kitchen as a formal dining area or a sitting area.

  She leads me to one of the bedrooms, which is completely empty, save for a mint-green upholstered rocking chair. “This is going to be the baby’s room.”

  “Do you know what you’re having?”

  “No, not yet.” She reaches for a sealed envelope that rests on a shelf on the sidewall. “Though the answer’s in here.” She grins wide. “We’re going back and forth on whether we should find out or be surprised. I want it to be a surprise, but honestly, I think we might crack and open the envelope. It’s really hard to decorate a nursery when you don’t know what you’re having.”

  “Well, green could be for either.” I motion toward the one piece of furniture in the room.

  “I know, which is why we originally got it. But, now, I find myself wanting to get purple items to go with the mint green. Don’t you think that would look great?”

  “Yeah, it would be pretty.”

  “Exactly, but not for a boy.”

  “Boys can like purple.” I shrug.

  “True, but we’d probably do more of a green-and-blue sports theme for a little boy. Westley has been waiting his whole life for a son. If it’s a boy, you’d better believe he’ll go all out with the sports stuff.”

  “Girls like sports, too.”

  Emily nods. “I know that, if it’s a girl, she’s going to be crazy into sports like her daddy. So, most likely, my only chance to give her a princess room is when she’s little before her daddy corrupts her into the world of football and baseball.”

  “Not a sports fan?” I ask.

  “Not at all.” Emily chuckles.

  “Me either,” I agree.

  “I think we might end up doing one of those gender-reveal parties with the pink or blue balloons coming out of a box or breaking something to be showered with pink or blue confetti. I’m not sure yet.”

  It’s hard to believe that I’m in a conversation about how to celebrate whether one is pregnant with a boy or a girl, and I’m actually enjoying the dialogue. It’s weird and not me. This entire day with Emily has been out of my comfort zone, but I have been having a great time. There’s something about Emily that makes me feel at ease. Truthfully, she’s simply a nice person. She legitimately cares for others and wants the best for them. She doesn’t have ulterior motives when talking to me. It’s refreshing.

  “Want some iced tea?” Emily asks.

  “Sure.” I nod.

  She hands me a glass of tea, and we take a seat on the sofa in the living room.

  “I feel like I’ve done all the talking today. I can’t help myself. I’m a chatterbox.” She chuckles. “Tell me about you. How’ve you been? How was art school? New York? Do you have a boyfriend?” she rambles off questions in rapid succession.

  The biggest saving grace about today was the fact that I could rely on Emily to fill any awkward silences with lighthearted conversation, and I didn’t feel like I had to talk. It was nice, getting out of my head for a while because, truthfully, my thoughts as of late have been quite depressing.

  “Not much. School was fine. New York was fine. No boyfriend. That’s about all.”

  “How long are you staying with your grandma?”

  “Until I can find a job that will support me. An art degree doesn’t always translate to
a good job, unfortunately.”

  “Yeah, that would be hard.” She frowns, and on her face, I see actual concern for me.

  “I’ll find something and get out of this state as soon as I can.”

  She laughs. “What’s so bad about Texas?”

  “I just can’t be here.”

  “But why?”

  “You want the truth?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  I know the words that are about to come out of my mouth have the potential to sound rude and condescending, but these thoughts have been suffocating me since I left my apartment in New York. I need to get them out.

  “I don’t want to be trapped. I don’t want to be tied down, married, pregnant, and stuck somewhere. Maybe it’s fine for you, and if that’s the case, then great. But it’s not okay for me. It would kill me. Do you ever feel like you’re stuck here?”

  “No, Leni,” Emily scoffs. Her hand goes to her belly, and she absentmindedly rubs it. “I’m happy. I’m not trapped in this life. This is the life I chose. This”—she circles her arm around—“is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  “But this will be your life forever.”

  “I know. How great is that?” She smiles wide, and it throws me off guard. “You know I love you, Leni. But, if we’re being honest here … you’ve always been a little too judgmental. You have to realize that what might be your dream or best for you isn’t what’s best for others. All I’ve ever wanted is to be a good person, wife, and mother. That’s more than enough for me. There’s nothing about my dreams that makes them less important than yours. Being a wife and a mother is my ultimate dream.”

  “I know. You’re right,” I tell Emily, and I mean it.

  She’s nothing like my mother, and I feel guilty, lumping her into the same category with the woman who raised me.

  She tilts her head. “But do you really know? Do you get it, or are you just saying that so as not to hurt my feelings?” She gently moves her glass around, causing the ice cubes to swirl in the tea. “I remember so many of our conversations when we were younger revolved around your desire to get as far away from here as possible. You never went into details, but I knew that you weren’t happy. I wanted all of your dreams to come true for you because everyone deserves happiness.”

  She presses her lips together in a grin, and I bite mine, warding off the unwanted emotions that this conversation is bringing.

  “You did everything you said you’d do. You left Texas. You went to a great art school and got a degree. Yet you’re back, and excuse me if I’m overstepping, but you still don’t seem happy. You seem like the same teenage girl who was filled with so much anger and angst. Everyone deserves to find their purpose, Leni, their happiness. I just don’t think your path is leading you there. If anything, the past few years have just led you back here.”

  “I know. That’s the problem.” I let out a sigh.

  “Is this place and the people here really the problem?” She shakes her head. “I don’t think it is. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find that what you need has been here all along.”

  “Doubtful.” I scrunch up my face.

  Emily stands and takes our glasses to the kitchen. “All I’m saying is that you’ve heard people talk about the definition of insanity. Right?”

  “Yeah, doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”

  “Exactly.” She comes back into the living room. “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve blamed your unhappiness on this place and these people. You’re still unhappy, and you’re still blaming this place and these people. Change it up, Len. Find another route toward your purpose. Your current one isn’t working.” She shoots me a wink.

  I roll my eyes and attempt a scowl, but I can’t muster one. A grin finds my lips. As much as I want to be annoyed with Emily, the girl has some fair points. I’m not sure how I’ll change or what I’ll do. She’s right though. I’ve been sad for a long time. I’ve been angry even longer. I’m desperate to find joy. I’ve worked so hard to reach it, and yet it always eludes me. I’m tired of failing. I could really use a win, and though I know that change is needed, I have no clue where to start.

  seven

  Leni

  Age Sixteen

  “I don’t want to go,” I stand tall as I address Mimi, who’s perched on the end of my bed, a Better Homes and Gardens magazine spread across her lap.

  “I think it will be good for you. You can’t just hang out with an old lady all the time.” She flips the page with a snap.

  “I like hanging out with you, and you’re not old. You’re actually pretty young for a grandma.” I cautiously eye her, hoping the compliment—which is a hundred percent true—helps my case.

  “You’re going,” she continues smoothly. “You need friends your own age.”

  I peer into the mirror above my dresser and pick at the purple hair atop my head, separating the random spiky chunks out more evenly. I clear my throat. “You know there might be alcohol there.”

  Her eyes stay trained on the article before her. “Then, don’t drink it.”

  “Everyone’s going to stare at my purple hair,” I tell her, feeling strangely self-conscious.

  Mimi looks up from her reading material. “If you don’t want to draw attention to yourself, then don’t dye your hair purple.”

  “I like it purple, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

  The side of her lip turns up into a grin. “Then, I see no problem.”

  I hold my black lipstick in my hand, an essential staple of my daily look back home, contemplating. I drop it into my makeup bag and grab the clear lip gloss.

  “You know my entire look is to piss off my mom,” I tell Mimi as I swipe some gloss over my lips.

  “Oh, I know that,” she responds with a small chuckle.

  “In fact, I think I’m going to dye my hair green before heading home in August. She’ll just love that.” I pop my lips together, rubbing in the gloss.

  “I’m sure she will.” Mimi shakes her head. “You about ready?”

  I run my hand over my black leather wristbands with silver spikes lying across the top of the dresser and opt to go without my routine accessories tonight. This is small-town Texas; my purple hair and horrible attitude push the limits enough as it is. Plus, my mom isn’t here to see me, so the extra time needed to apply all of my dark makeup and leather bands would be a waste.

  “Yeah, I’m ready,” I say to my reflection, which, besides my disheveled amethyst locks, appears quite normal.

  Boring.

  I’m sure all the other girls at the party will be wearing jean shorts and a tight shirt of some sort as well. At least my little T-shirt is black; it has that going for it.

  It doesn’t matter. I’m only going to appease Mimi. I realized last summer that, the more I hang out with Emily, the less Mimi asks about Liam, and I seriously need her to stop asking me about Liam. I don’t want to think about him because, when I do, it hurts—a lot. I miss him.

  Honestly, I don’t mind Emily. She’s pretty cool. I’m leery of tonight though because it’s a barn party, and Emily is dating Westley, one of Liam’s friends. I’m sure Liam will stop by. It’s awkward between us now, to say the least. Cutting one’s best friend out of one’s life is messy and complicated and painful, and no amount of purple hair dye will shield me from the consequences of it.

  Emily holds my hand as she pulls me toward the big barn. The grass is tall and scratches at my legs as we walk.

  “I really can’t believe it’s been a whole school year already. Did your sophomore year just fly by, too? I’m sure Westley had something to do with it. I’m not going to lie; I’m mildly obsessed with him. He’s just so sweet. I really want you to get to know him more this summer. He’s going to be a senior this year, like Liam. I’m going to miss him so much when he goes off to college next year. I mean, I know that’s still over a year away, but it’s something to think about. God, I haven’t shut up since you got i
n my car. I’ve hardly let you get two words in. Just tell me to shut up,” Emily says with a giggle.

  “Shut up,” I say in all seriousness before cracking a smile. “Kidding.” I nudge her arm with mine. “Talk all you want. It just means I don’t have to.”

  “You’re an odd duck, Leni Turner.” Emily chuckles. “Okay, I’ll let you off the hook tonight, but we will be having some serious chats this summer about your life. I know, over the past nine months, you’ve done something worth sharing.” She pauses. “Well, besides exploring new hairdos, which, by the way, looks adorable on you. You look like a little fairy, a purple Tinker Bell.”

  I whip around my face, utterly baffled. “I don’t want to be Tinker Bell.”

  Emily stares back with an amused expression. “Well, anyway … you look cute. I bet you’ll end up hooking up with someone tonight.” She shoots me a wink.

  “I don’t date.”

  “Right, right. I know; you don’t date,” she repeats my words, a hint of exasperation lining her voice. “Doesn’t mean you can’t hook up.”

  “I don’t do that either,” I tell her. “At least, not until college.” When I’m out of Texas and there’s no chance of me being stuck here. I know that hook-ups lead to feelings, which lead to poor decisions. I don’t go into all of this now, but Emily’s heard my reasoning before.

  “Fine, but at least talk to people. Otherwise, you’ll be sitting around, watching Westley and me make out.” She giggles again.

  “Can’t wait.”

  The barn party is exactly what I thought it’d be—people my age, beer, a bonfire, bales of straw as seating, country music blaring, and randomly scattered make-out sessions throughout.

  “So, when did you get back in town, Leni?” Westley asks before taking a sip of his beer, his free hand entwined with Emily’s.

  She is looking up to him with stars in her eyes, as if he hung the moon, and I guess, for her, he did.

  They’ve been attached at the hip since we got here. Emily wasn’t joking when she said she was obsessed.

  “A couple of weeks ago,” I offer.

  He nods politely. “Do you have any plans to …” His question breaks off, and I startle as he yells over me, his smile going wide, “Look who finally showed up! If it isn’t the birthday boy himself.”