“Lelandwas different from everyone else, though. It was like he understoodhow fragile I was, how close to snapping I was at any given moment,and yet he never made me feel like I was breakable. He was actuallyone of the first people who made me feel normal again, and he neverseemed fazed when I was snarky or fell into silences or darkmoods.”
“Thatsounds like him,” Willow says.
Thefaraway look on her face, paired with the soft hint of a smile,piques my curiosity. “Wereyoufriends with him?”
Willow’s gaze clears. “Pretty much in the same way you were.We had classes together and even partnered up on a few assignments.He was just sonice. Such a genuinely good person. So many guys back then made mefeel worthless because of my weight, whether they meant to or not.And some of themdefinitelymeant to.”
I make a sound ofagreement as I sip my drink. That was the year I learned howquickly some guys will dismiss a girl if she’s not thin. I’ve beenreminded of it countless times in the two decades since, but it wasa painful lesson to learn, and it added to my overall anger at theworld. The dismissals stung, but they were better than the outrightnasty comments I heard or the full-on bullying many kidsexperienced.
Willow leansacross the table. “I developed such a huge crush on Leland at onepoint,” she says quietly, as if she’s making a confession. Italmost makes me laugh.
“Same,”I tell her. “I tried not to, but…”
“Ithink it’s inevitable with a guy like him.” She releases a wistfulsigh and settles back in her seat. “Anyway, as much as I’ve enjoyedthis stroll down memory lane, I should get back to work.” Shestands and pushes in her chair, lingering with her hands grippingthe top of the seat. “Thanks for telling me all that, Stella. I’msure it’s not an easy thing to talk about.”
I give her a wrysmile. “Thanks for listening.”
We promise to makeactual plans sometime soon, and Willow reminds me of the standingjob offer here at Cravings before she returns to the front counter.I sit and let my thoughts drift to the reunion page I was avoidingearlier. That year of high school is one I tend to avoid thinkingabout for a variety of reasons. With the help of my friends,family, and therapist, I got back on track in my final year of highschool. I made amends to the teachers I’d let down and made aneffort to bring my grades back up.
Despite all that’shappened in my life, sometimes I still feel like the same lost,uncertain girl I was all those years ago. Things are different now,though. Where Teenage Stella saw a bleak road ahead, I have hopefor a brighter future. Where she pushed people away in anger, Idraw my loved ones around me like armor, knowing they give mestrength and protect me.
A shadow fallsacross the table, drawing me from my thoughts. My stomach sinkswhen I look up and recognize the woman with the flawless makeup andshiny chestnut hair. Nelle Bryant.
“StellaMcGrath, Ithoughtthat was you!” Without waiting for me to speak, Nelle slidesinto the seat Willow recently vacated. “You haven’t RSVP’d to thereunion yet.”
No ‘how are you’or ‘nice to see you’. Although to be fair, I don’t think she careshow I am, regardless of the fact we haven’t seen each other in overa decade.
“Right,the reunion,” I say slowly, trying to buy time to think of anexcuse. Despite my better judgment, I accepted a Facebook friendrequest from Nelle several years ago. I often wondered why shewanted to be connected because she never acknowledged anything Iposted, even though I occasionally liked and commented on herupdates and pictures.
When Iannounced my divorce from Lars in a post I rewrote a dozen timesand contemplated scrapping altogether, Nelle reached out via directmessage. She initially had me fooled into thinking she cared untilshe started doing what she always did in high school: digging fordirt. She didn’tactuallycare, she just wanted the juicy details of thedemise of my marriage.
Our conversationdied quickly when she realized I wasn’t giving up anythingpersonal. I didn’t hear from her again until I moved back toBellevue and she added me to a group chat with a bunch of peoplefrom high school. Shortly after that, she created an event page fora mini reunion.
“It’sgoing to be a blast to see everyone again,” Nelle says. “I’m notsure if you saw, but I just posted in the group that I finallyconfirmed booking for the events room at Connelly’sPub.”
“Oh, Imissed that.” I don’t add that it’s likely because I avoid the pagein case I accidentally click ‘yes’ on the RSVP. The only reason Ihad the page open tonight was because I had made up my mind I’dfinally decline the invitation. This would be the perfectopportunity to tell Nelle in person, but seeing her unexpectedlyand having her sitting across from me looking like she just steppedoff a runway when I was wearing pajamas until less than an hourago…I suddenly feel like an insecure teenager again. And thatinsecure teenager, the one who was briefly friends with Nelle,always felt like she had something to prove.
So, while I shouldtell her I have no intention of going, what comes out instead is,“I’m actually still undecided, which is why I haven’t RSVP’d. Thereunion is right around my birthday, and my friends have beenhush-hush about what they have planned and when.”
“Well,just tell them the night of November seventeenth is out forwhatever they’re planning,” she says. “If they haven’t given you aset date yet, they must not have anything solid planned.” Shepauses, but before I can say anything, she barrels on. “Whatfriends are you talking about? The ones you hung out with in highschool before your accident? I’ve seen some of your pictures withthem on Facebook since you’ve been back in town. Why don’t youinvite them to the reunion? The more the merrier. Ooh, and that onewho was your best friend, the kinda snooty one who left BellevueSecondary to attend private school? She’s dating your brother now,isn’t she? You should invite him too; maybe that would helpconvince Leland Levesque to come. Would you believe I actually sawhim tonight just before I came in here? I never come to theVillage, it’ssonot my scene, but a friend said we justhadto check out the new boutiquethat opened here a few weeks ago, and then she stood me up! SeeingLeland made it worth it, though.”
My god. I blinkhard several times, trying to process everything Nelle just said. Ifeel like getting up and walking away; she clearly doesn’t need mehere for this one-sided conversation.
My main reason fornot wanting to attend the mini reunion was embarrassment over theunexpected twists my life has taken. Now, if anything, listening toNelle and realizing she hasn’t changed much since high school givesme another reason not to attend. I had legitimate reasons fordistancing myself from her and her friends back in the day, and Idon’t need to spend a night watching them get drunk and reminisceabout the ‘good old days’. Those weren’t good days for me. With afew exceptions, they’re days I’d rather stuff in a locked box inthe back of my mind.
Nelledoesn’t seem aware of the fact I haven’t responded to herlong-winded monologue. She’s glancing around the café, her eyeslingering on various people and bits of the autumnal decor. Whenher gaze returns to mine, there’s something there that makes mystomach sink once more. “You had a crush on Leland way back when,didn’t you? You never said anything, at least not to me, but itwassoobvious.”
I’m sure her eyeroll is meant to be playful. If any of my actual friends did that,I’d laugh and we’d throw some good-natured jabs back and forth. ButNelle’s sarcastic eye roll paired with a smirk—as if a teenagecrush on a guy who she clearly thinks would never have looked at metwice—makes my blood boil.
“Ialways had this feeling he would peak in high school, you know?”she continues. “Butman, he’s so freakin’ hot! I nearly had to pick my jaw up off thefloor when I saw him. I only had a second to talk to him, so Ididn’t get to ask if he’s single or not.”
In that moment,something possesses me and compels me to say, “Oh, he’snot.”
One of Nelle’sperfectly-sculpted eyebrows arches. “How do you know?”
“Because we’re dating.” Oh. My. God. What did I justdo?
I have a fewall-too-short seconds to enjoy the shock on Nelle’s face. Hersurprise quickly morphs to something akin to pity, which makes myblood boil once more. Amusement slips over her face, but it’s themean kind. The ‘poor Stella, she’s desperate and delusional’ kind.I saw it countless times in high school, directed at anyone Nelleconsidered beneath her. She opens her mouth to speak, but her lipsfall shut as her gaze shifts past me. Her eyes brighten with anevil sort of glee. “Well. Speak of the devil.”
