Page 91 of The Shop on Royal Street
“It’s kind of hard to forget.”
“Sorry. Just trying to establish the time frame. Anyway, that was the night we were supposed to spend together bingeing true-crime shows and going through the hatboxes, and I’d invited Jaxson since Carly was out of town, and I had planned to make a nice home-cooked dinner for the three of us. And even after I knew you weren’t going to be here, I didn’t disinvite Jaxson.”
“Which shouldn’t matter since you’re friends, right?” I was listening eagerly, happy to focus on someone else’s emotional turmoil. I seriously doubted I could offer any advice since I was apparently woefully ignorant in matters of the heart, but sometimes listening was all that was required.
“Right. That’s what I thought, too. And everything was going fine until we were both sitting on the couch watchingSouthern Fried Homicideand he kissed me.”
“Wait—what? That’s a little disturbing.”
“Don’t be silly—where does your mind go, Nola? The episode was a little scary, so I sort of smooshed up against Jaxson by accident so we were sitting real close, and then... he kissed me.”
“I see. And then what happened?”
“He jumped off the couch and apologized. And then told me that he’d already bought a ring for Carly but hadn’t had a chance to propose yet. But he didn’t want to lose me as a friend, so we agreed to pretend the kiss never happened.”
“Ouch. I’m so sorry. Was it at least a good kiss?”
After a brief pause, she said, “The best I’ve ever had.”
“Well, then. Looks like you’ll need to fill half your mug with marshmallows, too. Or just bring the whole bag.”
•••
By seven o’clock, surrounded by the detritus of a six-hour true-crime binge-watching spree—including a half-eaten pecan pie still on the plate, two empty marshmallow bags, a pizza box with one lone slice remaining, and two empty mugs—I flipped off the television while we looked at each other in a sugar-induced euphoria.
“Feeling a little better?” Jolene asked, holding up the bottles of aspirin and antacids she’d brought to the feast.
I waved away the bottles and patted my stomach. “Yes, thank you. For now, anyway.” I pulled at the elastic of my sweatpants. “Glad I wore these.”
Jolene hadn’t said anything when I’d emerged from my bedroom wearing a faded oversized College of Charleston sweatshirt, baggy sweatpants with holes in the knees, and fluffy socks that had been a gift from Melanie because she believed everyone had ice-cold feet throughout the year just like she did. Jolene’s interpretation of casual was another color-coordinated athleisure outfit from Lululemon, her hair pulled back in a smooth and bouncy ponytail, yoga socks on her feet.
She stood and opened a drawer in the side table and pulled out a jumbo pack of sugarless gum. “This is my secret vice and if my mama found out I was chewing gum she’d jerk a knot in my tail. But I figure since chewing gum got Grandmama off of smoking those nasty cigarettes, maybe it could work for you with alcohol, too.”
“Couldn’t hurt to try.” We each took a piece, and she put the pack on the coffee table. “Help yourself whenever you want one. I don’t care how big the wad gets in your mouth—you won’t offend me. The only rule is that you don’t chew it in public. Otherwise I will deny that I even know you.”
She picked up the pie plate and pizza box. “I’m going to clean upthis mess while you drag those hatboxes in here. And just so you know, I have donated all the alcoholic beverages that were in the refrigerator to the frat house next door. I wasn’t planning on it, figuring they didn’t need it any more than we did, but they caught me putting the bottles in their garbage bin. My point being, don’t go looking for it, because it’s not here.”
I nodded and began unwrapping another slice of gum, knowing from experience that this was only a start on a very long and bumpy road. But at least it was a start.
Jolene turned back. “Nola? You need to let Beau know that he was right about Michael.”
“I know. I just can’t stand to think of him gloating.”
“From what I know about Beau Ryan, he’s not into gloating. Especially where you’re concerned. But he needs to know.”
I didn’t say anything as I watched her head into the kitchen. Leaving my phone on the coffee table, I brought all eight hatboxes into the living room area, along with the handful of dresses that Jolene had decided to hold back because she thought that one of us could wear them after a few modifications. Apparently, she was also a talented seamstress—of course—having taught herself as a child by making clothes for her dolls.
I began walking toward the kitchen to help with the cleanup, but Jolene called out, “I’m fine in here. Go ahead and text Beau. Or call him. It’s important.”
She also had eyes in the back of her head, apparently, and therefore would make a great mother. I should definitely let Jaxson know. “Whatever.” I picked up my phone and opened the screen—no texts or calls from Michael, just a funny meme in a text chain with Alston and Lindsey. I opened up a new text and began typing.
You were right.
I hitsend, then decided there were too many things Beau would want to claim to be right about.
About Michael.
I put my phone in my sweatpants pocket and had taken only two steps toward the kitchen when it rang with the opening bars of “Dancing Queen.” I quickly answered it. “Hi, Melanie.”
