Annie’s young, but man, she doesn’t back down.
“All I’m sayin’ is he helps everyone, but he takescareof you. You’re his priority. Everyone knows it.” She turns her head for a minute and notices our big throw pillows still on the floor of the living room where we watchedBill and Tedand waited out the storm. “You liar! Ohh. Emm. Gee. He was here last night, wasn’t he? Y’all done snuggled up right there!” She points, squealing like a stuck pig.
This child couldn’t be more country if she were an actual biscuit. All of us were born in Tennessee, but she and Sam have heavy Southern accents, while the rest of us only have a subtle lilt.
Of course, we sayy’alland other Southern phrases, but DC, Jace, and I have extended family from Midwestern states, or lived bigger cities like Nashville, so our accents aren’t as strong.
Annie, though … she’s so Appalachian, I almost need a translator.
“Oh, good grief. STOP IT. He drove me home, and the power went out and…” I try to explain rationally, but there is no bringing her back now.
“The power went out, and he stayed with you last night? That’s the hottest freakin’ thing I’ve ever heard! I mean involvingyou,of course. That’s spicy romance hot girl shh—stuff. And I mean the good ones, Lucy. The steamy ones.” Annie narrows her eyes and smiles devilishly. “The kind where he would saygood girl. You’re in a love triangle!”
“I hate that trope.” I glare.
“And yet, here we are!” She cackles at a pitch that could shatter glass.
“Calm down, you freak. It was only a couple of hours.”
I want to glare, but I can’t help but laugh. Annie and I share a love for romance novels, but I like snappy banter and tension without spice, and what she reads … well, it has to stay hidden on her Kindle, because it would burn a hole through the coffee table.
“Oh, come on, Lu Lu. It sure beats the whole lovers-to-enemies thing you got goin’ on.”
“Okay, rude.”
“You’ll never get happily ever after entertaining ex-husband behavior.”
“Happily ever after is unrealistic.”
Her hand flies to her hip as she pops it to one side. “It will be if you keep fighting the truth! The proof’s in the pants, Lu Lu.”
“ANNIE!” I cover my ears as her face burns red and she doubles over laughing at herself.
“I meant …” She wheezes, twisting at the waist to pat her back pocket. “Catcher … squats … you know.”
I let go of my ears and cover my eyes. “Just stop.”
My phone buzzes, playing “Hey Jude” like exhibit A in Annie’s argument.
Becauseof courseit does.
She waggles her eyebrows, then backs away from me making revving motions with her hands, mouthing, “Vroom, vroom!” as she reaches the stairs. Now I’m flustered and nervous to answer, which has never happened, and it’s one hundred percent Annie Parker’s fault.
I felt confident this morning. The hair was working, I had my music, and the caffeine was hitting. Then Nathan called questioning why I was happy … as if I shouldn’t be happy without his permission.
There’s an anxious, high-alert sensation that I’ve begun to feel when I talk to Nathan, and I don’t like it. Every conversation has a risk I can’t calculate.
I need to deep-dive into a book until I can stuff all these uncomfortable feelings back where they belong.
I finally break through the fog and answer with a strangled, “Hello?” As if we’ve not talked nearly every day for the last year.
“Hey, Lu, what’s wrong?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing new… I’m a strong, independent woman unless something’s wrong with my car.”
He snorts a laugh. “Yes, you are. Did something happen?”
“Not really. I don’t know where to get my car fixed, and Nathan wasn’t helpful.” I silently scold myself for doing it again—talking about Nathan. He stays angry enough without a reason, and I’m giving him one by talking about him.
