It’s no surprise to anyone that my parents love to host a party. New Year’s Eve is no exception, especially because Mom believes hosting practically guarantees all three of her children will be in attendance.
Turns out: she’s right.
As much as I’ve been itching to get back to my apartment, where I have my own space and can breathe a little easier without having to worry about Mom, and now Dad as well, talk up Michigan. It’s exhausting having to pretend to be excited as Taylor discusses their plans for when Landon and she are back in town permanently.
I haven’t seen Harlow since gayme night. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t keep checking SapphicSingles to see if she’s messaged. I’ve gotten a couple new matches the past couple days and have exchanged some brief messages. Yet when it comes time to meet up, I’ve hesitated. I’m not hung up on Harlow or anything, but … I don’t know. Knowing the woman responsible for the hottest sex of my life is in this very town has me not wanting to settle for anything less. If I’m going to sleep with someone while I’m in Blue Skies, I want it to be her.
Harlow hasn’t messaged me though. And I know I won’t see her tonight. Carlos and Brandon are throwing their own party, and I was tempted to go when Em invited me, but I wanted to be with my family—as annoying as they are—on my last night in town. So, I can kiss the chance at ending my little holiday with a bang goodbye.
“Oh, my god! These lobster mac and cheese bites are hitting thespot!” Taylor plops down on the couch next to me with a borderline inappropriate moan.
“Ew,” I say. “Also, give me one.”
I reach for one of the three bites on her little firework-themed plate, and she slaps my hand.
“Ouch!” I clutch my palm to my chest.
“Don’t you dare steal food from a pregnant woman. Have you lost your damn mind?” Taylor gapes before seemingly shaking off her disbelief at my audacity and resumes eating.
I chuckle while nursing the lingering sting. “Okay, you’re right. I should have thought that one through.”
She nods in exasperated agreement.
“How’re you feeling, by the way?” I ask. “Still super nauseous?”
She groans. “Yes, I hate it. Everything I’m reading says it should go away soon, but we’ll see.”
The party is in full swing with all my parents’ friends in attendance. There are about twenty people mingling indoors as music plays softly in the background. Dad has five commercial patio heaters, like the ones they use at restaurants, set up outside on the deck. So there’s another chunk of people drinking and smoking cigars out there. Ourflat screen is currently muted with subtitles playing Times Square.
Landon spots us and brightens. He wiggles his empty Michelob Ultra bottle. “Hey, babe, I’m grabbing another. You need anything?”
“Yes!” She holds up her plate. “About a hundred more of those lobster mac and cheese bites, please.”
He laughs and dutifully returns with a full plate. Taylor holds up her phone to him. “Do you know a Mikayla?”
My blood turns cold, but there’s no way. Mikayla is a common name, there’s no chance she’s referring toher.
“She requested to follow me on Instagram,” Taylor explains as Landon leans in and squints.
“Oh yeah, she’s our neighbor,” he says. “Well, I guess, shewasour neighbor now that my parents are selling the Winston house.”
My breathing is shallow, and I dread what I know is coming a second before it happens.
“She used to be best friends with Lily when we were growing up,” Landon says and takes a swig from his beer.
“Oh.” Taylor turns to me. She lifts one eyebrow in question. “Used to?”
My ears roar, drowning out the sound of the room’s music and conversation. Taylor looks at me expectantly. My palms are sweaty, and I wipe them off on my knees.
“What happened?” Taylor asks, her face softening into concern. “Are you okay?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” I mumble. “It was a long time ago.”
It was. So why does it still hurt this much?
Mikayla Scott and I were born three weeks apart. As next-door neighbors with parents who were best friends, we were inseparable. We did everything together. She was my favorite person.
Until Gabrielle Rodriguez moved to our street the summer before seventh grade.
