“Fine,” Ashton shrugs like no big deal.
“Yeah, no, it was fine. Buuuut what’s not fine is how starving I am. Please tell me you have food here, Jade?” Lollie looks at me in her ‘I need food now’ type of look. I wink at her, because not only is there warm soup on the stove, but I stocked the pantry with all her favorite snacks knowing how much she needs to eat.
“Follow me,” I say. Right away Lollie is clearly speechless, her jaw to the floor.
“No fucking way. This is all yours?” She exclaims, thrill taking over as she spins around the foyer, taking it all in. She surprisingly fits right into the vibe of this house.
I can’t help but smile at her as I move them toward the kitchen and quickly put some soup into the brown vintage crock bowls I found hidden deep within the cupboards. We settle down around the countertop ready to have a major catch-up session.
Ashton, who is not much for words anyways, looks around and spots the basement door. He eyes it nervously and looks to Lollie, who is fully immersed in the minestrone soup in front of her. Something has changed between these two. Maybe the drive gave them a chance to have the heart to heart they so desperately needed.
When we are down to the last spoonful in our bowls, I go on to tell them they have their choice of six bedrooms. There are three downstairs and three upstairs, each having its own unique style. Either my uncle had a very varied decorating palette, or there were multiple people living here at one point. Oddly enough, they both choose bedrooms on the bottom floor—directly across fromeach other.
Once Lollie is settled in her room, she comes up to mine, wanting to know all about my stay here thus far. In-depth details about what has transpired between me and Ry sit at the tip of my tongue, but thankfully I manage to keep them there. As well as any mentions of Cher and Que.
I’m not sure why I don’t divulge my new acquaintances to Lollie. I’ve always told her every aspect of my life, but I’m halted whenever I’m about to spill their names. Maybe it’s because Lollie has always been a bit of a jealous type. It has always been just she and I.
“So, you two were seeing a lot of each other, huh?” She continues to pry. In any normal situation I would tell her, but something about what Ry and I shared seems so intimate and I’d like to keep it that way.
“We were, but merely to talk business. He helped out a lot when I first came here. I haven’t seen him much lately, though. Oh, I found this really cool record shop. I have to take you there while you’re here!” I add in trying to divert the topic, and it works.
We talk more about my doings with the house and property, and she catches me up on the shop, which sounds like it is doing the same as when I left.
“Everything alright between you and Ash?” I flat out ask, knowing I am coming on a little strong. Something Lollie isn’t used to from me. Maybe this place has already changed me more than I know.
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” She says through a blush.
“I don’t know. You two just haven’t been bickering as much. I thought for sure that car ride would do you both in.” I tell her, and I think she is about to say something, but Ashton knocks at the door.
We both spin our heads around like we’re in middle school, and have been caught smoking cloves behind the gym. True story, by the way, and also how that little habit of mine started.
“Hey, Ash!” I say and try to act like we weren’t just talking about him.
“Hey,” he says, and eyes Lollie. “Are you guys ready to go explore the town?”
“Oh, is that plan, then? I see you don’t waste any time,” I say and jump up from the bed. “Let me get my coat!”
I leave the two of them to continue whatever weird vibe they are sending each other, and they take some time before meeting me downstairs. When they finally do, I don’t miss the subtle glimpse they make toward each other.
To ease this awkward exchange, I ask Ashton how his shop is doing, warmly missing the other shop people on our street. Our street is like a family. All the shop owners look out for each other. So, I listen intently as we load up into the car.
He tells me it’s been slower now that it’s gotten colder for fall. Michigan weather is always tricky as you never know what you are going to get. Snow and wind don’t bode well even for the most popular shops in our city. But besides that, he tells me everyone is doing great. Comforting knowledge for the place I used to call home.
Ashton’s car takes the drive with ease, then the topic flips yet again to what I’ve been hoping to avoid. The people I’ve met here. I’ve been here three months, so I guess it would be odd if I didn’t make at least one new friend.
I reveal little, still straying from the names that send an uncertain panic through my system. But I do tell them about the kind restaurant owners, Walt and Cattie. The only interaction I’ve had with them has been through their restaurant, andmostlypositive.
“Can we meet them?” Ashton asks. I can’t be sure that intermingling these two worlds together is a good idea. Everyone I’ve met here comes with secrecy wrapped in a bow. I take pride in protecting the two people I love most on this planet by keeping those bows tied up tightly.
“We probablyshouldgo eat there. You both will fall in love with their menu.” I say, hoping I can get lucky enough thatthe owners won’t be there when we do. I would dread for them to bring up Ry, or mention something that sparks too many questions.
The main part of town comes into focus, and I make an impromptu and illogical decision to introduce them to Cher’s shop. If she is there, she seems the least likely to cause any lasting damage. I just really want to share with them my favorite discovery in this small bayou town that she just happens to own.
So, I park on the little side street near a section of old townhouse shops. The brick road is unsteady under our feet as we all make our way into the dark brick building where Cher works, which is also the record store of my dreams. This istotally agood idea.
Stepping into this nostalgic portal makes me immediately giddy, but both Ashton and Lollie are looking toward the back of the shop. Instead of rummaging through the records right away, they seem more focused on the man who sits in the far chair placed in the corner of the store, eyes closed with his arms above his head. Que.
I should have known. Looking as if he owns this place even when he appears in his own world. Or I think he seems in his own world, but I watch as he peeks one eye open—aimed right at me. With a tilt of his mouth, he opens both eyes and leans forward in the chair, clasping his hands between his knees. A come-hither disposition that has me wanting to do just that.
