Flavor of the Month

by Georgia Beers

  Now what?

  Chapter Two

  Vicky Stetko’s roast chicken was legendary in her house. Legendary. Charlie had watched her make it hundreds of times, and it wasn’t like she did anything odd or secretive—that Charlie knew of—to make it so. It was just, to quote Shane, freaking food of the gods. Charlie’s waning appetite wasn’t something she could easily hide, though, and she was already trying to figure out how she was going to trick her mother into thinking she ate more than she did once they sat down to dinner.

  Two chickens had gone into the oven right after they’d finished with the cookies, and the scent of them, of the roasting seasonings and spices, wafted down to the basement as Charlie pulled clothes from her suitcases and put them away, set her toiletries up in the bathroom. Her mother’s offer to help had been sweet, but Charlie promised her she was fine and knew her mom had other things to do.

  Half of that was true.

  She dropped down onto the bed—its firmness telling her it was probably brand new—and tried not to think about how she’d gotten there, but her head summarized for her anyway. Long story short: her girlfriend left her for somebody else and pretty much threw her out. Life had been good, for the most part. They’d been happy, for the most part. Charlie was. For the most part. Well, she thought she was. God, did she even know anymore? Everything she’d thought she was sure of, she suddenly wasn’t. Having the rug pulled out from under you was a horrible cliché, but that’s exactly how she felt. Exactly. She’d been standing there on the rug of her life, perfectly content, unsuspecting, and whoosh! It was yanked from under her feet, hard, sending her crashing to the floor, blinking up in a shocked and painful heap of confusion, all What the hell just happened?

  Darcy had happened. That’s what.

  Darcy Wells ran one of the most successful marketing firms in the country, and she spoke at Charlie’s college four times during her junior and senior years, back when Charlie was working toward her degree in business and advertising. To this day, she had no idea how she managed to snag Darcy’s attention, but she had, in a big way. Despite the stories going around about her, Darcy Wells swept Charlie right off her feet. Charlie had always thought that was just a silly figure of speech, something only talked about in romance novels and rom-coms, but she was so wrong.

  This was the part where she sarcastically laughed at all the clichés about balance…the rug, the sweeping. Apparently, she couldn’t stand on her own. With a sigh, she threw a sweatshirt onto the laundry pile on the floor.

  It helped to understand that Darcy Wells was a woman who got exactly what she wanted, exactly when she wanted it. Always. A simple fact, but an important one, and if Charlie had been privy to it sooner, she might’ve saved herself a lot of pain. But she’d been with Darcy for over four years, and she still didn’t know how she did it, how she just had whatever she desired fall right into her lap. Maybe she was a witch? Had magic powers of some kind? Knew sorcery? Sometimes, Charlie definitely wondered.

  The internship had come first. Darcy had sweet-talked Charlie into interning at her office in Manhattan. Which, if she was going to be honest, didn’t really take much. It was Manhattan, for God’s sake. Four months after that, she’d talked Charlie into her bed…not that Charlie needed much convincing there either, because there was nothing about Darcy Wells that wasn’t magnetic. Next, she talked Charlie into moving in with her, into her Manhattan penthouse. That was a mere three weeks after they’d slept together the first time, which made Charlie cringe now. Three weeks? That was it? Seriously? Charlie could admit, though, that she fell hard for Darcy, settled very comfortably and easily into that new life, and before she knew it, four years had flown by.

  Pinpointing when the new girl showed up was still something Charlie hadn’t quite been able to do. She should have anticipated her, should have been on the lookout, but Charlie had already outlasted all Darcy’s past girls, so she naïvely assumed she was The One for Darcy.

  God, was that a stupid thing to think.

  Commotion upstairs tugged Charlie’s train of thought back to the present, thank God. Stomping of feet, exclamations of greeting, the sounds of dishes and cutlery. Ready to be done with the unpacking and sad reminiscing, she abandoned her things and headed upstairs into the kitchen.

  “Sharlie!” Her brother Shane always called her that, insisting that she’d ruined the perfect alliteration their parents had created with Charlotte, Shane, and Sherry by insisting she be called Charlie. He started it when he was around ten, and it stuck. She was his Sharlie now, and she always would be, and she was good with that. He opened his arms and swooped her into a bear hug. He smelled of the outdoors and motor oil and guy.

  Shane was a big dude. Tall, broad, muscular. Charlie grabbed his full sandy beard with both hands, tugged on it. “What’s this, Paul Bunyan?”

  “Part of the new uniforms,” he said with a gleam in his eye.

  “You’d think it actually was,” their mom said. “I think every firefighter has grown a beard over the past couple of months.”

  “Beards are in.” Charlie noticed Shane staring at her. “What?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen you, it’s hard to believe you’re really here. You look good.”

  Charlie’s heart squeezed. “Thanks, Shane.” He was lying, of course. She did not look good and she knew it. She’d lost a bunch of weight, which would normally thrill her, but she’d gone past sensually slim and into sickly thin a couple weeks ago. Dark circles under her eyes had become part of her daily wardrobe because she couldn’t seem to get a full night’s sleep. She hadn’t exercised in ages because her emotional state had drained her energy, so much of her muscle tone had gone soft. No, she did not look good, but she loved her brother for saying she did.

  “Where’s that girl of mine?” Brad Stetko’s voice boomed through the house the same way it boomed everywhere. He was not a quiet man, that was just fact. “Is she here?” The side door slammed closed and in the next minute he walked in, his blue eyes twinkling with happiness when they found her, and then filling with unshed tears.

  “Aw, don’t cry, Daddy.” Charlie went to him, let him wrap her in his strong arms and hug her tightly until she had to ask for breath. Her dad was a big guy, too, just like Shane, and of her parents, he was the emotional one, crying at the drop of a hat, which melted Charlie’s heart every time. He cried the first time she started in a high school volleyball game. He cried when she graduated from high school and then again when she finished college. And she was told he was practically inconsolable for more than a week when she’d moved to New York. Brad Stetko was six foot three, two hundred and forty pounds, a contractor by trade who looked like he could kick the ass of anybody who glanced at him sideways. He also wore his heart on his sleeve, loved his family fiercely, and wasn’t embarrassed when Christmas movies made him tear up.

  Finally letting her go, he laid his big calloused palm against her cheek and looked her in the eye. “It’s good to have you home, Bug.” A moment passed, and then he blinked, pulled his gaze from Charlie’s, and said, “Where’s my woman?”

  Her mom rolled her eyes as he went to her and kissed her. High school sweethearts, her parents had gotten married and started a family very young and were still sickeningly in love with each other. Charlie found herself both filled with love for them and also insanely jealous that she was pushing thirty and hadn’t found that kind of connection for herself yet. Here she was, back at square one.

  Within twenty minutes, the four of them were sitting down to dinner, laughing and stuffing their faces as if Charlie had always been right there in her designated chair, as if she’d never left and it hadn’t been two years since she’d been back. Finding a small bit of appetite, she put the last tiny new potato into her mouth when the side door opened, closed, and a voice called out, “There’d better be chicken left.”

  People found it hard to believe Sherry and Charlie were sisters. It had always been like that. Fir
st of all, they looked nothing alike. Sherry was tall. Charlie was of average height. Sherry had dark hair and their dad’s blue eyes. Charlie was more of a dirty blond—who had come up with that description anyway? she’d always hated it—with their mom’s hazel eyes. Sherry was long and lean and small-breasted, where Charlie was curvier and…not small-breasted. Secondly, they acted nothing alike, completely different personalities. While Charlie was outgoing, an extrovert, talkative and curious about others, Sherry related better to animals than people, had little patience for crowds, was happier on her own or with her very small group of friends than at any kind of party or large gathering. All that being said, she and Sherry had been very, very tight. Or they used to be.

  Sherry came into the dining room and saw her sister. “Oh, hey. You made it.” A hug from behind kept Charlie from getting up, a quick squeeze of one arm around her shoulders that was much less of a warm greeting than Charlie was expecting. Sherry went around the table, sat in her usual chair, and reached for the chicken.

  “I did. How are you? Mom said you’ve got a new job as a vet tech?”

  Sherry nodded as she forked some chicken onto her plate. “It’s going pretty well so far. Hey, Dad, can you look at my car? It’s making a weird noise.”

  Apparently, that was all Charlie was going to get from her little sister, as Sherry turned back to their father and discussed the timbre and pitch and rhythm of whatever sound her car was making, apparently, a metallic knocking of some sort. Charlie wasn’t all that surprised—she hadn’t been expecting party horns and confetti—but more than a passing glance would’ve been nice. A sip of her water helped to stifle a disappointed sigh.

  Welcome home, she thought.

  * * *

  One a.m. Eyes wide open.

  Unsurprising, as it was par for the course of Charlie’s life at that point: hardly eating, barely sleeping because her brain just would not shut off, constantly working to try and figure out exactly how she’d ended up in the situation she was in, having gone from luxury Manhattan penthouse to her parents’ basement in a matter of weeks. Add to that stress the cool reception from her sister and the fact that she needed to find a job, at least for a little while until she figured out her next step—and what the hell could that next step possibly be?—and sleep was beyond elusive. While she’d always been in her own head a lot, this had gone way past normal for her. Out of her head would be nice, on occasion.

  The new bed was firmer than she was used to, but the bedding had all been washed to a softness that felt lovely, and it smelled like fabric softener and home, so she cuddled down into the pillows as she lay in the dark, scrolling on her phone…which was not the best way to harness sleep, if all the studies were correct.

  Scroll, scroll, scroll.

  Thank God she’d never changed her phone plan from her parents’ to Darcy’s, which was something Darcy had suggested more than once. One of the only things Charlie hadn’t instantly jumped on board with. Why not was something she still wasn’t sure of. It had been so easy to follow Darcy, to do whatever she wanted, to agree with everything she said. For a while, it was all Charlie wanted to do: please her. Make her happy. For a while, she had.

  Memories swirled in the darkness, came into focus, then faded like smoke. Not for the first time, she tried to remember exactly when she’d first felt that niggling in her gut. That tiny seed of dread that kept telling her she was failing, that she, in fact, wasn’t making Darcy happy any longer, that Darcy was tiring of her, that she was looking over and around and beyond Charlie for something different, something new, something better. Fear was tricky, though. Tucking the niggling away, ignoring it, pretending it wasn’t a thing seemed like the only thing to do.

  Dumb.

  Second-guessing herself was one of her finest talents, so before she could do that, she typed out a text, a simple I miss you, and sent it to Darcy.

  Nothing.

  Charlie felt herself beginning to spiral downward as she let her memories take over—another common occurrence in the wee hours, lately—when her phone pinged. Her heart leapt. Darcy? Maybe she missed her after all. Maybe she was making sure Charlie had made it safely. Maybe she wanted to tell Charlie she’d made a huge mistake, that she wanted to talk about working things out. Charlie looked at the screen.

  Not Darcy.

  Why wasn’t Charlie used to that feeling by now? The letdown. The disappointment. Common enough at that point that she should be, and really, she’d known the text wasn’t going to be Darcy. Felt it in her heart.

  She read the text.

  Heard you were back in town. Yes? Let’s get together!

  If Charlie had to name somebody to fill the role of new BFF in her life, Amber McCann would be her pick. Close friends in high school, they had stayed in touch despite going off to different colleges. Not instantly liking Amber wasn’t an option in life, couldn’t be done. She was sweet, bubbly, and kind, and her presence filled the room with happiness and fun. They had drifted a lot when Charlie moved. No, that wasn’t true. Charlie had drifted when she moved, and it was right then, in that moment in the dark, that she realized just how much she’d missed Amber.

  Yes! I’d love to see you. When? She hit Send. Waited. Amber always was a night owl, so getting a text from her anytime after midnight wasn’t at all surprising.

  OMG, I can’t believe you’re still up. Hi! Tomorrow? I have an appointment at 5…is 3:30 too early?

  Something to look forward to. It was just what Charlie needed. I’m in. Where?

  Amber’s reply came within seconds. Chug?

  Charlie felt the smile bloom on her face as she read. Chug was older than both of them, and if you looked up the words dive bar in the dictionary, an illustration of the dingy, dark interior of Chug was probably right there. It was also a staple in Shaker Falls. Perfect. See you there at 3:30. Can’t wait.

  Amber sent back a smiling emoji followed by two beer steins clanging together.

  Kind of amazing how having something to do the next day shifted Charlie’s mood. While sleep still felt elusive, she was able to set the phone aside and pick up a book. The same book she’d been reading for the past three and a half weeks, but still. A book.

  Man, lack of concentration blows. Hard.

  She managed to get through almost an entire chapter before the words blurred, her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted off into a light sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Chug’s dive bar status still lived on. That was Charlie’s first thought as she walked in. Stale beer and the faint stench of cigarettes were the ruling scents—weird, because there hadn’t been smoking in public places for a long time now. Going to Chug had always been a ritual of sorts, a rite of passage for local kids who finally turned twenty-one—not that there hadn’t always been dozens of kids with fake IDs, because she was sure there were, Shane being one of them. She scanned the bar and wondered why, almost laughed out loud at what a dump it was. Why did we want so badly to be able to get a beer here? Kids. She shook her head, but the smile was there on her face anyway—she could feel it.

  She stood for a moment and let her eyes adjust. Like any dive bar worth its salt, Chug was very dark, and coming in from the sunny day outside left Charlie momentarily blind. She blinked several times, waited, then heard a voice from the end of the bar working hard on a Southern accent.

  “Why, if it isn’t Miss Charlotte Stetko. As I live and breathe!”

  More blinking. More adjustment. And there she was. Charlie felt her smile grow, spread across her face as she finally focused on her friend. Amber got off her barstool as Charlie approached, held her arms open for her, and as they hugged tightly, she was instantly transported back to high school. Amber was short, a little plump, and Charlie had to bend slightly. She still smelled the same, like the citrusy body spray she always wore, and she looked the same, her brown hair still straight and reaching just past her shoulders, blue eyes bright and inviting. Hugging her was like coming home, and Charlie’s eyes we
lled up unexpectedly.

  Amber held her at arms’ length and Charlie noticed the wetness in her eyes, too. “Look at us,” Amber said with a watery smile. “Two blubbering messes.” She paused, just looked at Charlie, then playfully slapped at her. “I missed you, you bitch.”

  “I missed you, too.”

  Charlie took the stool next to hers, and they were two of only four customers, which wasn’t really surprising given it was still midafternoon. The same grizzled bartender, wiry beard gone silver now, came over and stood, waited for Charlie’s order. She pointed to Amber’s draft beer. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  They touched their glasses together and each took a big swallow. The beer was surprisingly cold and hit the spot.

  “What did you do today?” Amber asked, as if they had seen each other just that morning and were now catching up.

  Gratitude. For the normality of the question. Charlie grinned at her. “Well, let’s see. I spent the day dodging questions from my mother and absorbing the fact that I am twenty-seven and living in my parents’ basement. All I need is some acne, an Xbox, and a bag of Doritos, and I’ll be high school me again. That was pretty much the extent of my day. How about you?”

  Blink. Another blink. Then Amber burst out laughing. That was the other thing about Amber McCann: she had the best laugh on the planet. It was loud and surprising and contagious, and within seconds of hearing it, you were laughing, too.

  “My life is so boring compared to yours,” she said. “I sold a house, showed three more, and signed a contract with a new client.”

  “I did one load of laundry. You were way more productive than me.” Charlie sipped her beer, and then they both turned as the door opened and a short blast of light filled the bar. A new customer came in and took a seat. Turning back to Amber, Charlie said, “So, real estate is your thing, huh?” With her bubbly personality and trustworthy demeanor, Amber was a born saleswoman. She could sell ice to an Eskimo.