Kelcie
Aaron took some coaxing and the promise of a McDonald’s Quarter Pounder, but we set off for my hometown with his headphones on and electronics in hand.
Keysville was smack in the middle of the mid-eastern part of Maryland. Equidistant between the mountains and the beach, it was a crossroads for Washington D.C. and Baltimore to anyone heading west. The town was rich in Civil War history, having spent its childhood witnessing monumental battles that made up each turning point in the war. Today, it was a bevy of contradictions—a haven for families escaping the city life, a charming historic downtown filled with antiquing weekenders, acres of farms still fighting for their way of life, and a booming biomedical research and business corridor.
But for our crew, it was the soil from where we sprung and where our roots still resided.
My father was semi-retired, and he and his wife were touring the United States in an RV until the end of the year. But Grace’s Aunt Maeve lived on a decent-size homestead that butted up to a historic battlefield and always had room for us.
It was at that little farm, the surrounding woods, and the battlefield that our hellion friends spent their youth with Ms. Maeve doing her best to keep us out of trouble. Even though she was Grace’s guardian—she had no children of her own—we were all her kids: me, Grace, Aliya, Shaw, Addison, Tyler, Wyatt, and a few stragglers in our motley crew. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, we probably spent more time on her property than in our own homes.
“Well, hello there,” Maeve said with a huge smile that could melt any cold heart, and a soft voice that could soothe a wounded soul. But you didn’t want to cross her or talk to her about her land. In the twilight, her warm brown skin still managed to glow, and her long braids were tied, cascading down her back. She held her arms slightly open, giving the invitation but not pressing as she waited to see Aaron’s reaction. Sometimes, Aaron was okay with physical affection, but he had to be the one to initiate it. “I was so excited when you called.”
Aaron methodically walked toward her, head down, watching a video with his earphones still in. “Hi.”
“Aaron.” I touched his hand. “It’s time to put that away until later. We need to greet Aunt Maeve.”
He glanced up and dropped his gaze just as fast, putting his phone in his pocket and slowly drawing his headphones down to rest on the back of his neck. He stepped forward, climbed the stairs, and leaned in, then wrapped one hand around her and hugged her briefly. “Hi, Aunt Maeve,” Aaron said, stepping away before she could fully return the embrace.
“Hello, darling.” She smiled, transferring her affection from a hug to the gaze she gave him. She held open the door and ushered him inside. “Go on in. I got some of those cookies you like.”
He walked in, the storm door slamming behind him.
Simultaneously, we both yelled at Aaron.
“You may have two,” I said.
“Take three,” Maeve said, winking at me.
Her warm gaze turned to me as I trudged up the stairs. Over the years, I’d climbed, walked, stumbled, raced, and leaped up those stairs more times than I could possibly count. Now, my feet felt like they were made of concrete, and I wasn’t sure I could lift them to the familiar heights.
She came down to meet me, not waiting for my approach. She enveloped me in a hug. “Oh, honey.”
I wrapped my arms around her and let myself be comforted, because explaining to Maeve that I didn’t want to be pitied wouldn’t go over well. “I’m fine, Aunt Maeve. Really.”
She leaned back, searching my eyes, but she wasn’t convinced. “I know you are.” She lied as well as I did.
“Come on, let’s get inside and get you some food. Those girls are coming to steal you from me in the next half hour, and if I know them, you’ll need something in your stomach before they get here.”
An hour later, I had my stomach filled with Maeve’s cooking, and two of my oldest friends and I were walking into the Brewer’s Pub in the middle of town.
Grace’s tawny skin was a beautiful canvas for her big brown eyes and the naturally curly hair she let loose and wild after years of trying to tame. Grace was the quintessential bookstore owner with her swaying sundresses and ever-ready smile. She already lived her romantic story, and even though she’d lost the love of her life at a young age, it didn’t deter her belief in love. She worked part-time as a romance editor and wanted to watch her friends find their happily ever after, even though she believed her own chances were over.
Bollywood-beautiful Aliya Rai carried herself with the confidence of a 90s supermodel—tall, the kind of curves men loved, and the face of a seductress who didn’t need make-up. Being an only child to first-generation parents from India, she had been raised to be the success her parents couldn’t be. Not only was she to marry well, but she was also to thrive in every aspect her parents could measure—valedictorian, homecoming queen, MBA, and now soon-to-be engaged to a successful businessman from a prominent family.
And then there was me. Pregnant at twenty-one years old, I married a man I didn’t love. Once Aaron was settled in school, I squeaked out a degree to be a physical therapist. Now divorced on the other side of thirty, I was redefining what my future would hold.
But I had these ride-or-die friends ready to battle for me if needed. Sometimes, though…I didn’t want it.
To strangers, we were an odd trio—the sweet-as-sunshine editor, the sharp-witted businesswoman with a sharper tongue, and the slightly reformed tomboy-turned-mom—causing heads to turn whenever we walked into the pub.
Grace wove her way between tables to one in the back corner, waving to the bartender as she walked by, “Hey, Nick.”
“Hey there, Grace.” His smile kicked up a notch, veering into Hollywood bad-boy territory as he nodded at me. “Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about her. She’s off limits,” Grace said, not even turning his way.
“Hey…” I half-waved at the handsome bartender, trying to keep up with Grace as she beelined to the back. “Technically, I can start scanning the menu again,” I told her. “And he looks yummy.”
