Page 3 of Here We Go Again
“Vista Summit isn’t disgusting,” Logan says reflexively. Sure, the historically red voting trends in Vista Summit are abominable.
And the lack of openly queer people is less than ideal for a single lesbian.
And there’s the smell. From the paper mill up the river. So, in the literal sense, Vista Summit istechnicallydisgusting, at least in odor.
And okayfine. Their current mayor is a former rodeo clown and current flat-earther who ran on a platform of bringing Chick-fil-Ato town (a promise he still hasn’t made good on after seven years in office). And yes, she’s known most of these people her whole life, and they’re all a bunch of busybodies who’ve kept receipts on every mistake she’s made since she was in OshKosh B’gosh.
But… the town is right along the gorgeous Columbia River, and on clear days there is a staggering view of Mount Hood and the Gorge. There are ungoverned trees and open spaces, boundless green and hiking trails in every direction, so many ways to escape into nature where there are no walls and no rules and no one to judge her. Of course, she’d dreamed of escaping for real as a kid—of fleeing this suffocating small town for a life of adventure, a list of places she wanted to see written on notebook paper, carried around in her childhood best friend’s pocket.
But childhood dreams, like childhood best friends, aren’t meant to last. So, she stayed. And she’s fine staying.
“I’m not sure my life plans are any of your business,” she snaps at Schaffer. “Like, we were just hanging out, and if you’re done hanging out, that’s cool, but I don’t think we need to make it a whole thing.”
“Just hanging out?” Probably-Hannah repeats slowly. “For four months, we’ve just been hanging out?”
Logan’s indifference falters for a minute.Four months?
No. It hasn’t been that long.
Has it?
“Four months?” she repeats. Had she really let it go on for that long? She usually knows better than that. Leave before you get left, because everyone leaves eventually. Logan isn’t the kind of woman people stick around for.
“Yes, four months. Did you forget to take your meds again this morning or something?”
And against all odds, Schafferdoesmanage to hurt her. Logan blinks back any signs of real emotion and juts out her jaw. “Look, I made it clear that this was casual from the beginning,” she says, “and it’s not my fault if you fell tit-over-clit in love with me.”
Probably-Hannah screws her fists to her hips and glares up at her. “Tell me something, Maletis. What’s my name?”
The entire Applebee’s has gone suspiciously quiet, and she gets the impression even the servers are watching this public flogging unfold. Sanderson is still holding up her phone. “Schaffer,” Logan answers with unearned confidence.
“Myfirstname.”
Kristen fucking Stewart. Logan’s eyes dart around Applebee’s searching for a hint or an escape hatch or a deus ex fucking machina, but everyone in this room seems firmly poised against her, mocking her the same way the Death card had. She swallows. “It’s… Hannah.”
Hopefully-Hannah stares at her in stunned silence. And then she throws her Captain Bahama Mama directly into Logan’s face.
Logan closes her eyes and feels the pink sugar drink splash across her face, up into her hair. It drips down onto her favorite button-up shirt, the one with pineapples on it.
“I should’ve listened when everyone told me not to waste my time on an apathetic asshole who doesn’t care about anyone or anything,” Definitely-Not-Hannah seethes.
And Logan pretendsthatdoesn’t hurt at all.
Not for the first time in her life, Logan flees the Vista Summit Applebee’s in disgrace.
It’s starting to rain as she storms through the parking lot, but it hardly matters since she already has Malibu and Captain Morgan all over her. Her bra is filled with sticky liquid that drips down her torso with each step.
She throws herself into her rust-orange Volkswagen Passat and searches for something to clean herself off with. But her car only contains empty Red Bull cans and Starbucks breakfast sandwich wrappers and paperbacks with dog-eared pages. She’s not shoving Roxane Gay down her shirt.
An apathetic asshole who doesn’t care about anyone or anything.
She wonders how long it will take for the entire town to hear the story of her Applebee’s humiliation. Perhaps Sanderson will upload the video to the town website to make it easier. Logan finds a single dirty hiking sock under the passenger seat and wedges that between her boobs to soak up the drink.
Something hot and frantic and terrifyingly tear-like builds up in her chest. There is no use crying over spilled garbage alcohol, and there is definitely no use crying over Not-Hannah.
It takes one… two…threetries for the car to start, and she fumbles for the tangled cord of her tape deck aux and plugs in her phone, pressing shuffle on her Summer Jams playlist. “Our Last Summer” from theMamma Miasoundtrack starts playing at an unholy decibel.
I can still recall, our last summer…
