Page 25 of He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

‘Thatis called a 1-900-FUK-MEUP.’ He laughs. ‘It reminded me of you.’

I drop my head towards the table. Brothers are just fantastic. God couldn’t give daisies a proper scent, but he approved little brothers.

‘Hey, I have like, one minute.’ Mercy is suddenly at our table, yanking me from my chair and hugging me like I’ve just come home from war. ‘Donotleave here without me. Got it?’

‘I would never,’ I say in return.

Mercy and I met in the first grade. She was the kid always by herself, eating a PB&J sandwich with milk made specially by the lunch lady for kids whose lunch tabs were never paid. My heart couldn’t take it, so I asked my mom to make an extra daily lunch for my new friend. When you’re six, anyone who has anything in common with you becomes your best friend. At that time, we had lunch in common. It became so much more than lunch over the years, though. She’s my chosen family.

Tonight, she’s playing with her ex and business partner, Dylan Santiago, in their classical cover band, Violated. She’s a musical prodigy who plays five instruments as though she was born doing it. Violin, cello, guitar, ukulele, and piano. She grew up in foster care from a young age. Her first foster home was with a college music professor who got her started on violin. She fell right into it, spending every moment she had in the band room perfecting whatever song she was learning. Honestly, she shocks the pants right off anyone who hears her perform. She’s mesmerizing.

She looks the part of a sweet and innocent classical musician but has the mouth of a girl running a wild outlaw biker gang. I’ve always said she puts the ass in classical, and she’s never disagreed.

‘Hello, Portland!’ An employee of the bar is standing on stage, stringed instruments on stands behind him. ‘Tonight’s talent was well requested. Please welcome Violated to the stage!’ The room applauses.

‘Sorry we’re late.’

The hair on my neck stands when I hear her voice. She’s my mom so of course I’d know her voice anywhere. The fact that it immediately makes me disappointed in myself isn’t completely her problem.

‘There she is!’ She pulls a chair to my side. ‘My baby girl!’

‘Hi?’ I say uncomfortably.

‘Give me a hug, Hols.’ She doesn’t wait and wraps her arms around my shoulders, squeezing me within an inch of my life. A few people stare, obviously knowing exactly who she is since she’s well known by the locals. I’ve always been glad we lived miles outside the city because of it.

‘Look at me,’ she demands, touching my chin like she did when I was a kid, forcing me to look at her and listen.

We share the same pale skin, blue eyes, and freckles. Even our hair color is the same, but hers is shoulder-length, curly like River’s, and currently filled with dark pink, blue, and purple streaks. She’s wearing giant silver hoop earrings, and her colorful outfit and make-up look nothing like any of the other fifty-something-year-old women in the room. She doesn’t look a day over thirty-five, and she doesn’t act a day over twenty-five.

‘Tristan is a dick,’ she says. ‘Just a big ol’ capital D followed by an ick. An absolute wanker of a guy that you are too good for. Got it?’

I nod, a shy smile emerging on my face. Maybe I missed her a little.

‘Thanks. Can we not talk about him tonight? I’m trying to move past it.’

She lifts both hands to shoulder level as if the police have asked her to. ‘Perfectly fine. His name won’t leave my lips again.’

I don’t believe that for a second.

‘We’re here to see our girl perform.’ She claps loudly as the rest of the room settles. ‘Woo-hoo!’ she bellows, then whistles the same obnoxious two-fingered whistle she’d use to call River and me home for dinner with as kids.

Mercy’s now laughing to herself. She probably can’t see us with the lights, but she knows exactly whose woo-hoo that was. I’m sure of it.

After a few silent moments of her and Dylan getting into position, the notes of Billie Eilish’s ‘Bad Guy’ fill the room. Dirty song for the first choice, but I would have been surprised if Mercy hadn’t gone for a shock value right from the go. That’s who she is.

The grin on my face couldn’t be more enormous as she plays. She makes it look so easy. I tried it once; it wasn’t. I haven’t seen her perform live in forever, and I suddenly feel bad about that.

On my list of people to apologize to are my parents, River, Dax – after this afternoon – and now Mercy. I’ve left her behind for way too long.

As soon as her instrument is back on the stand when their set is over, she hops off the stage and beelines right to me.

She’s four inches taller than my five-three, and gorgeous. Big green eyes, lightly tanned skin, shoulder-length straight dark hair, and the curves every woman wishes she had. She ended up precisely the woman we both wanted to be as little girls.

‘You were outstanding!’

‘Why, thank you, darling,’ she says. ‘Maybe I’ll let ya buy me a drink.’

‘I don’t think that’ll be a problem.’ I link my arm through hers and lead the way to the bar.

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