Years ago, I’d begged my sister to stay with me at my house. Lord only knew, I had the space. But she’d refused, wanting to keep her crap place in quiet Colebury. Not that any part of Vermont was loud or noisy or even bustling, but she thought Colebury was best for raising Branson. It was her own small slice of happiness, she called it.
Lately, I disagreed with her, but I wasn’t Branson’s father, as she so often reminded me.
Yeah, where the hell is he?
Now, seated across from Murphy, who had that smile I’d come to know as her armor firmly on her face, I decided not to reveal anything about me or the little I knew about her since she left Pressman. Not because I didn’t care. I cared too much. When I left the ritzy prep school behind, I left our awkward friendship and any hope of it being anything more there too.
While I didn’t know much about this version of Murphy, it was obvious something dramatic had happened to result in her working in a coffee shop in Vermont. The last I knew she was working in New York City.
“So, tell me ... why Vermont?” I asked Murphy as she sat in front of me, her hands neatly folded on the table.
“I needed a change, and for some reason, the way you used to talk about it here stuck with me, so I gave it a whirl. It wasn’t completely outlandish. We did go to high school near here.”
Taking a sip of my Americano, I realized Murphy didn’t have anything to drink. “Wait, don’t you get something during your break to eat or drink?”
She frowned at me. “Of course. Don’t act like this isn’t a good place full of decent people.”
“That’s not what I meant. Do you want something?” I tilted my head toward the counter.
“I’m good. Roddy had me taste-testing scones when I came in today. I washed them down with a yummy latte. If I have any more sugar, I’m going to fly home.”
“Where is home?” I asked. This wasn’t a huge town, and I wondered why we’d never ran into each other.
Oh, right. I work all the time, and seems this is a new gig for Murphy.
Noting Zara watching us, I waited for Murphy to answer.
“I have a little apartment, part of a duplex cut into four. It’s not much, but it’s all mine. Plus, I’m used to small spaces after living in New York.”
She raised her chin, absolutely refusing to admit any kind of defeat, and I instantly knew this was a bitter pill for her to swallow. Murphy’s pride was always larger than her five-foot-seven-inch frame.
“Funny, I always took you to be the one who would stay in the big city. You were never into the small world surrounding Pressman, other than the syrupy sweets you could find.”
“Turned out New York wasn’t for me. No real maple syrup,” she said, joking, but there was a story there. She might look like the same Murphy sitting in front of me, but this was a more complex version. A Murphy who had lived more, experienced life differently from how she was raised.
“Decent syrup is kind of addicting. By the way, I never forgot what a wicked sweet tooth you have. Remember how you used to plow through those Swedish Fish while studying?”
“I loved those. Actually, I ate so many during college, I got sick of them. I’ve moved on to Sour Patch Kids. Bonus, you can grab a bag of them at the gas station.”
Who is this Murphy? She picks up snacks at the gas station?
When I accidentally let out a small chuckle, of course she said, “What?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I just had no idea you even knew how to pump gas.”
“I can do a lot of things you don’t know about, Ben. Except marketing.” The last part came out on a whisper as sadness swept over her usually lively expression.
“I’m sorry, what do you mean? Marketing?”
“It’s nothing.”
Murphy stared at her nails, inspecting the red polish, a few shades darker than her hair. A few freckles dotted her hand, and I looked at her face, noting it was still as creamy and unblemished as it had been in school. I remembered her wearing a hat and tons of sunscreen when we hung out on the lawn, saying her mom would kill her if she got freckles on her face.
As I finished off the remainder of my Americano, I wished I’d bought a pastry. Sometime in the last forty-eight hours, I’d gone from being ready to throttle the surprising blast from my past, to wanting to sit here for another hour or two with her.
I tried to push aside any notions about this version being a new and improved version of Murphy. My old feelings were clouding my thoughts. I’d liked her a lot at one time, but quickly learned we weren’t meant to be together.
Murphy took my moment of silence as waiting for her to answer, so she started rambling about her degree. “It’s just I wanted to work in marketing when I moved here, because that’s what my degree is in, but it didn’t work out. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”
