Chapter 12
Ali Kat
Seated again in Garrett’s Mustang, the anger I had felt from his distrust dissipates. Or rather, my lust is stronger than my offense.
I remember the way his warm breath washed over my neck, and I want to feel it again. It doesn’t matter that I have Alistair Whent hanging out in my messages, or that Garrett’s life is upside down, inside out, and completely chaotic—my body comes alive when I’m with him, but more than that, so does my spirit.
I can’t remember a time that I’ve ever had a genuine connection with someone, where I trusted their intentions. When I’m with Garrett, I feel like I can let my guard down.
I may have thought I could end this, that I could be done with him, but Garrett Flint is my greatest addiction. I crave him more than the cameras, more than the high I get from seeing myself on a movie poster.
Unfortunately, he does not feel the same way towards me, and who can really blame him for the lack of trust? I come back into town ten years after I left to become a movie star, and without warning, throw myself at him. It’s no wonder he looked at me so confused.
Which means I need to take a different approach.
Garrett pulls into the unpaved parking lot of The Creamery, and nostalgia threatens to overwhelm me. I remember hunting the high score on the pinball machine, and how the left trigger would stick at just the wrong time. I remember the malted shakes and fried pickles. I remember singing off-key karaoke, completely unabashed.
I remember a friendship so strong I thought it would never end. Maybe it doesn’t have to.
We enter my teenhood haven, and the first thing I notice is the spot in the corner near the bathrooms where I used to go to make out with boys during my senior year. I felt so bold, sneaking to the hidden spot. My favorite of my ‘kissing conquests’ was Kent Butler, whose lips were always moist. His breath reeked of mint like he had downed a bottle of Listerine in anticipation of his bold move, but that was much preferred to some of the knuckleheads that hadn’t quite caught on to hygiene.
“Tammy, over here!” Irene calls from across the room.
Hearing myself called Tammy again after so many years is hard to get used to, but honestly, I would never want Irene calling me Ali. It just doesn’t feel right.
Lori’s eyes grow round at the sight of ‘Uncle Ret,’ and a chubby finger extends towards him.
“Ret! Ret!”
“Go get ‘em!” Irene says, and Lori climbs from the booth and rushes to Garrett, careening to the side to avoid me.
“Take your time, ladies. I’m gonna bring Miss Lori on over to the shop,” Garrett says as he scoops up his adorable niece.
“Get over here and dig into some of these fries,” Irene calls, and I comply.
We’ve done this countless times back in high school, taking turns picking up the tab. That was until we got older, and the boys would scramble to settle our bill. We were in French fry and milkshake heaven.
“Just as I remember them,” I say, looking down at the red basket of golden goodness.
“No—they’re different. There was an oil scandal.”
“Oil scandal?”
“Yeah, some mom complained because their kid had a peanut allergy, so the owners decided to opt-out of peanut oil. Oh-my-GOD—the town went ballistic. Someone dressed up as a Mr. Peanut and held up a damn ‘Free the Peanut’ sign. It really divided the town.”
I sit in stunned silence, blinking at my friend, trying to figure out if what she just said was in jest. Sadly, I’m pretty sure my hometown would totally do exactly this.
“Sounds like these people have a lot of time on their hands,” I finally say.
“You know how it is. It’s not exciting here, like the city. They have to manufacture drama or else there’d be nothing to talk about,” she says. “So, how’s the homestead?”
“Rough. You’re lucky I fit in a small shower before I came out.”
“I reckon I’d like to see you a mess.” She laughs.
“So, what is it you do for a living?” I ask.
A dark look crosses Irene’s face, and for a moment, I worry what I may have hit upon. Irene has always been smart, too clever by half, so I can’t imagine she would have trouble holding a job.
