Page 12 of Best Man Speaking

Chapter Three

Hallie

“Itold you, you can stay with us,” Erica implores for what I hope is the final time.

She looks bright and chirpy as hell, standing behind the heavy cement counter of First & Last, the coffee shop she opened a few years back.

I’d been lured here this morning under the pretense of bottomless coffee for the length of my stay as an apology for last night.

Not that I’ve seen a drop of it yet.

I eye where she’s holding my cup hostage, and it’s all I can do to shift my gaze from it to her as I respond. “Thank you, and I love you, but no. If I was staying here for a few days, I’d be in your spare room right now, settling in, but I’m here for a few weeks. I need space, and you’re about to be married. You need a place where you and Jules can be together without the rest of us making you crazy.”

“But it would be so much fun! And what do you need the space for anyway?”

I avoid the temptation to sigh in response. “I need to clear out my things.”

“Your things?” Erica asks, confusion evident in her voice, and really, I can’t blame her. I shouldn’t be having to clear anything out.

Eyes forward, I tap the black-painted nail of my index finger against the countertop. “When the sperm and egg donors sold up and finally moved to separate sides of the country, all my childhood belongings were put into storage. My gran’s stuff is there too. They organized it before they even knew the house had been left to me.” I shrug half-heartedly. “Since I’m here, I figured I’d collect what’s mine.”

My parents had done the “socially acceptable” thing: they’d waited for me to graduate high school before officially divorcing and moving elsewhere.

It wasn’t that they’d wanted me to grow up in a home with two parents. If they had, they would’ve both been in town at the same time at least once in recent memory. No, they just wanted to look like good parents who put their child first without having to ever consider what was good for me.

Erica pauses where she stands, cup in hand, and I suddenly wish more than anything that we weren’t having this conversation in person, let alone in public. This is the type of thing phone calls and text messages were made for. No one needs to see their best friend look at them with absolute pity because their parents decided they’d made a mistake they couldn’t fix. I can’t begin to imagine the absolute horror they must’ve felt when they’d realized a child, unlike everything else in their life, couldn’t be refunded, exchanged, or divorced.

“Hallie…” Erica starts, her eyes soft and her voice now low as if she’s approaching some sort of wounded animal.

I find the strength from somewhere to raise my brows in indignation. “Don’t ‘Hallie’ me,” I say, my throat starting toache with emotion. “You’ve always known they were shitty; I’ve always known they were shitty. At least I’m getting the opportunity to go through my things and see if there’s anything I want.”

What I don’t add is that I’m simply grateful I’m in town in time to see my belongings again. In the last few months, I’ve had to reject more calls than normal from the sperm donor. I figured he’d finally realized he was paying for something he didn’t care for, and everything would’ve been donated or thrown out of our storage locker sooner rather than later. He’d assume that, just like them, I wouldn’t want to hold on to any of my more tangible memories.

“You could do that with us there too,” she offers again.

I know it wouldn’t be an issue for Erica and Julian to have me stay with them for a day, a week, or a month.

“Not this time.” I’m the one with the soft voice now. “There’s multiple boxes I have to sort through…a family’s worth.”

A family in which everyone involved had been happy enough to leave without a second thought.

Erica finally puts my cup down in front of me, then places her warm hands over mine. “I get it, but don’t forget we’re your family too. Always have been, always will be.”

Her words harm me as much as they help me, and I attempt to tap my nail a little harder, blinking and swallowing past the lump of emotion that suddenly appeared in my throat. I blame my absence of emotional control on my jet lag and lack of caffeine. Erica and Julian are the closest thing I had to a family, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t expect it to change once they started their own.

“I know, and thank you, but I really need to have some space of my own to do this, okay?”

While I love Erica, and she loves me, she really doesn’t get it. She has a family who adores her, who’d never dream of gettingrid of her childhood mementos or baby clothes. They were most likely wrapped in soft tissue paper, kept safe and cherished, just like she is. Although I’d never wish for her to have experienced otherwise, it’s hard to not be a little jealous.

“Okay.” She relents, even though I can tell she doesn’t want to.

Luckily, the line of people behind me means she has to keep moving.

I give Erica a small smile, letting her know we’re okay, before I pick up my coffee and find a place to sit.

First & Last. It’s obviously a hipster’s paradise, and for a café located on California’s coast, it has a strangely Scandinavian feel. The place is clean but cozy—the definition of hygge, or as hygge as you can get for June in California. I’m beyond proud of the business Erica has built for herself.

Setting myself up with my laptop, notebook, and coffee, I stash my phone in my handbag on the chair across from me—social media temptation is not thy friend. My list of things to do is clear: attend my best friends’ wedding, pack up my belongings, and sell my last tangible connection to this city. Throw in a weekend away to Vegas, a dress fitting or two, and my time here is going to fly by, regardless of having to deal with Marcus.

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