Not Your #Lovestory

by Sonia Hartl

  “Who’s going to fire us?” She smirked. “Butch?”

  “Fair point.” Lucky for us, none of our fights occurred during those two hours a month when Butch remembered he had a job and actually attempted to do it. “Should we get started?”

  We tipped the shelf back up, and it took us half an hour to hunt down all the tapes that had broken out of their boxes. Another two hours to put them back in alphabetical order. We finished and locked up, and out in the parking lot, Midnight stopped me.

  “I know you’re in the middle of some stuff right now,” she said.

  Understatement of the year. “Yeah?”

  “Now that you know my situation, I hope you’ll believe me when I say you’ll be okay. Sometimes you just have to get through it before you can see it, but on the other side? You’ll figure out who you are and what you’re really made of.”

  “Promise?”

  She nodded and gave me a genuine smile before climbing into her car. Huh. I think I just became friends with Midnight. This week kept getting stranger.

  And the next time Butch bothered to show up, I’d chew him five new assholes, and I didn’t care if he was the manager. He’d probably fire me and then forget he’d done it the next day anyway. He never should’ve left Midnight to close by herself, and if those people from Iowa hadn’t come in, I wouldn’t have been there with her when Jared showed up. I rubbed my arms against the chill, wishing I’d brought a hoodie to tug on over my clothes.

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  I WENT STRAIGHT HOME. It had been a hell of a night, and all that sleepless scrolling had finally caught up with me. Peg’s car still sat in our drive, which meant Gram and Peg had both waited up for me. Probably because Mom had to work in the morning. It was way past both of their regular bedtimes. Or maybe they’d already slept for the night, and were now up for the day. It was after one in the morning. All I wanted to do was peel off my dress, bury myself under the covers, and forget this whole day had ever happened.

  My phone buzzed on the passenger seat. Eric: Why haven’t you been online today?

  Ugh. Me: Leave me alone. I was almost assaulted tonight.

  A minute later. Eric: Are you okay?

  Me: Don’t insult my intelligence by acting like you care.

  Eric: Fine. You can upload the video tomorrow.

  I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to toss my phone out the window and run over it a few times. I went inside, threw my keys on the kitchen counter, and followed the porch light out to the Hamptons. Gram and Peg sat on the beach recliners, howling like the alley cats behind the Video and Repair. An earthy scent wafted on the breeze. They passed a crumpled Pepsi can back and forth, with smoke curling around them.

  It had been a while since they’d gotten into Peg’s medicinal marijuana. She’d gotten the prescription for her rheumatoid arthritis years ago, and every once in a while, usually after a really bad day, they’d get higher than kites. They never invited Donna. Probably because she had her own stash, and not of the medical variety.

  I stopped in front of them and put my hands on my hips. “Aren’t you two up late?”

  “Macy!” Gram’s red-rimmed eyes were half closed, but she sounded nearly as chipper as Mom. She had her raptor foot in the kiddie pool. Mom would have to bleach the entire thing tomorrow. “Look, Peg. Macy’s home.”

  Peg slowly turned her head to me. “You look like a cupcake.”

  “I want a cupcake,” Gram said.

  Amusement quirked my lips. “You two stoners can go to bed now. I’m home and safe.”

  “Come sit down.” Gram motioned to me with her hand, then paused to watch the motion. “We’re too buzzed to sleep yet.”

  Sighing, I grabbed a lawn chair from behind the shed and sat between them. “If you want to know how things went with Jared, Lance’s brother is bringing him in.”

  “What we really want to know is: Pat Sajak, Bob Barker, or Alex Trebek?” Peg’s glazed eyes had tears of laughter in them.

  “Fuck, marry, kill,” Gram said with absolute seriousness.

  “Jesus.” I looked between them. “How high are you two?”

  “Marry Alex Trebek,” Peg said. “I like ’em smart. Though he’d probably make us say our vows in the form of a question. Fuck Bob Barker, and kill Pat Sajak because he’s utterly useless.” I had a feeling she only added Pat Sajak to the kill list to get a rise out of Gram.

  “You would pick those.” Gram frowned. “Marry Pat Sajak, only because I’d get to spend time with the Queen. Kill Bob Barker. He looks like a sex maniac.”

  “Why do you think I wanted to fuck him?” Peg laughed.

  “Fuck Alex Trebek, because that’s my only option left,” Gram said.

  “I’ll take: Macy is horrified and grossed out by this whole conversation for two hundred.” I rose to my feet and stretched my arms above my head. It had been a long day, and this was just the cherry on top of a bizarre series of events.

  “You never did tell me about your big date with the baseball boy. Did you have a nice time?” Gram asked.

  “No.” I hadn’t. Eric was a complete tool, and while entering into an alliance with him benefited me, it also made me feel like whatever fungus had grown beneath Gram’s rotten toenail. “He’s not a nice or honest boy, Gram.”

  “Did he hurt you?” She gripped my arm through the smoky haze.

  “No.” I patted her hand, which was dry and wrinkled and spotted with age, but steady. She’d always been the steady one in our family. “I just don’t like him all that much.”

  “Then don’t see him again,” Peg said. “There are plenty of nice and honest boys right here in Honeyfield. Some of them live up the hill on the other side of the woods.”

  I did not want to talk about Paxton with Peg and Gram. Not under normal circumstances, and definitely not while they were high. “Good night.”

  I left them to their Pepsi can, and as I shut the screen door, they started debating which daytime TV hosts they’d fuck, marry, or kill. My bedroom was warm, even with the window open and the soft summer air drifting in. I pulled off the dress, hung it in my closet, and grabbed a wrinkled T-shirt and cotton shorts from the laundry basket of clean clothes.

  I kicked off the quilt, but kept the sheet over my legs. Ever since I was a little girl, I had this notion that if my legs were uncovered in bed, the Vanna dolls would eat them in my sleep. It remained enough of a fear to become a habit.

  As I drifted off, I decided I’d talk to Paxton tomorrow. I didn’t care if he was mad at me, or I was mad at him. I didn’t want to throw away what we could possibly be for a bunch of subscribers who might not even stay loyal after the Baseball Babe hype died down.

  Then I’d have to figure out what to do about Eric.

  I woke up to my phone buzzing at seven. The first time in days where nightmares hadn’t woken me up in the middle of the night, and I had to get texts when I’d barely gotten five hours of sleep. Someone had better be on fire or dead.

  I yanked my phone out of the charger and scowled at it.

  Eric: Are you asleep?

  Eric: Why haven’t you uploaded the video yet?

  Eric: Everyone on Twitter is asking where it is

  How could he be awake already when he’d been texting me at one last night? Vampire. That was the only explanation for his ridiculous schedule and even more ridiculous good looks.

  Me: Go away. I’ll upload it when I’m awake

  Eric: But if you’re not awake, how could you be texting me right now?

  Asshole. I uploaded the video so he’d leave me alone, and I tried to go back to sleep, but it was too late. I rolled out of bed and shuffled into the dining room. Gram and Peg both had enormous mugs of coffee on their side tables, looking as if they’d been out all night partying like teenagers. Even if their voices were lively, their bodies hadn’t gotten the message. Donna kept eyeing them like she knew they’d gotten high without her, but she kept her full lips pressed together as she c
oncentrated on her quilt square.

  “What are you doing up so early?” Gram asked.

  “I could ask you the same thing, considering—”

  “Macy, be a dear and put on another pot of coffee,” Peg cut in.

  Fine. What happens in the Hamptons stays in the Hamptons. I got the second pot going and leaned against the counter, turning a toaster pastry over in my hands as I debated if my stomach could handle breakfast. Mom came into the kitchen a moment later, her hair tied up and apron already on. She had the seven-thirty-to-four shift today.

  She immediately pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m going to murder Jared and that other idiot. They’re going to learn what happens when they mess with my daughter.”

  “No need.” I patted her back. “Midnight’s brother supposedly took care of it.”

  She pulled back, her mouth set in a grim line. “Good.”

  Our fight yesterday hung heavy between us. The words had been bottled up for so long, they’d just spewed out in the worst way possible. I’d already apologized, but I wasn’t sorry for what I’d said; I was just sorry for the way I’d said it. Still, she hadn’t backed down on her misguided “no coworkers” mantra. Not that it mattered. Paxton and I weren’t even talking.

  Mom brushed my cheek. “Listen, Macy—”

  “Don’t you have to get to work?” I didn’t want to get into it again. There were a lot of unfinished words between us, and I had a feeling she’d taken on an extra dose of worry after the Jared incident, which only would’ve made me want to reassure her when I didn’t know if that was the role I still wanted to play in our relationship.

  She bit her lip and looked at the clock again. “Yes. But we’ll talk more tonight, okay?”

  As she rushed out the door, I poured myself a cup of coffee. Nasty stuff, but my eyelids felt like lead. I checked YouTube to see how my video with Eric was faring. Ten thousand views already. Who were these sleepless monsters? I closed the app and stared out at the Hamptons.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY

  THAT EVENING, I WENT into work for my shift. Friday nights were always busy, but twice a month we pushed the shelves against the walls to open up the store and pull down the giant projection screen. Honeyfield didn’t have a movie theater, so like with a lot of other things, we made our own. We charged five dollars at the door, first come, first served until we were at full capacity. Old folks lined up camp chairs in the back, while younger people and families took up the floor with blankets and coolers like Movie in the Park, minus the park. Tourists who regularly passed through our town loved it, and locals didn’t have much else to do, so we filled up fast. Some people even dressed up as characters from our features. It was a whole thing.

  I loved dressing up for movie night—especially because it often allowed me to recycle some of those costumes Gram had helped me with for my reviews—but between my fight with Paxton and my run-in with Jared, I’d forgotten all about it. And Mean Girls had so many iconic outfits too, damn it. Brady gave me a shy wave from behind the register. Even he’d worn a pink polo in an easy nod to Cady Heron.

  “Hey, look, Batman—Robin is here,” Elise said to Midnight as she jumped off the counter where they’d been talking. Elise’s long dark hair and big eyes were hidden behind a blue hoodie and sunglasses. “You two had one hell of a night.”

  “Why am I Robin?” I asked. “I want to be Batman.”

  Elise gave me an incredulous look. “Are you serious? Our Midnight is literally the Dark Knight of Honeyfield, and she’s the one who has done the actual ass-kicking.”

  Okay. Solid points. I still wanted to be Batman.

  Midnight smiled at Elise. “Thank you, love.”

  “Where’s your costume?” Elise asked me. “Don’t you live for these nights?”

  I glanced down at my short-sleeved yellow sweater and jeans. “I’m the extra who shoves another girl against the lockers during the big fight scene. You only see the back of her head, but I was going for understated.”

  “Deep,” Brady said.

  Indeed.

  Midnight had the night off, but she stuck around so she and Elise could have a date night of sorts. Even though they wouldn’t so much as hold hands in public, and Elise was on call and could leave at any moment. It was still sweet. And so much more than Midnight had been willing to do even six months ago. She’d really meant it when she said things would be different this time around.

  Brady and I were responsible for running movie night, but once we dealt with the initial rush of people trying to get in the door, it pretty much ran itself. I set up the rickety wooden table and metal box for the entry fee. Brady got the projector and DVD set up.

  “Ready?” I asked him. He gave me a thumbs-up, and I unlocked the door.

  Lenny Jackson, formerly of the Jackson farm before he sold it to his son and moved into town, hobbled in with his camp chair under his arm. “Don’t know why you kids can’t show a good, old-fashioned shoot-’em-up once in a while.”

  “I hear your cries, Mr. Jackson.” I took his five and he set up his chair at the back of the store. He bitched about every movie we featured, but it didn’t stop him from being first through the door every other Friday.

  A steady stream of people flowed in off the sidewalk for the next half hour. Brady gave me a nod to let me know we were almost at capacity—just enough room left for one more small family or a couple. I turned back around to let the people coming in next know they were last, and froze on the spot. Paxton stood before me.

  With his arm draped over the shoulders of Strawberry Sinclair.

  My heart dropped to my stomach. Paxton brought a date to movie night, when he knew damn well I’d be working. Strawberry—who had been cursed with an incredibly awful name, but made up for it by being all sweetness and sunshine—shifted uncomfortably at Paxton’s side. With his goofy face that was somehow cute even when it shouldn’t have been, and her miles of golden-brown hair and her heart-shaped face, they made a perfect little picture. The boy who raised bunnies was out on a date with the farmer’s daughter who was active in 4-H and loved animals more than people. She’d be perfect for Paxton. Just perfect.

  He had the nerve to smile when he handed me a ten.

  “I … uh …” Am dying? Want to punch you in your solar plexus? Oh God. Tears gathered under my lids. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t let him think this upset me. I had to play this casual. No big deal. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  Nailed it.

  The Brewsters shuffled their grandkids to the far end of the store, shooting me dirty looks over their shoulders. Like they wouldn’t be learning worse words from the movie. Strawberry bit her lip while Brady glared at us, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Awesome. I’d somehow managed to piss off the nicest guy in town. But seriously, who hasn’t dropped an f-bomb or two at a family-friendly function?

  “Come on, Macy.” Paxton lowered his voice. “That’s not fair and you know it.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. Of course it wasn’t fair. He was free to date whoever he wanted. We’d both said some ugly things to each other we probably couldn’t ever take back, and where else was he supposed to take a date in this town? I put his ten in the metal box and slammed the lid shut a little harder than intended.

  “You’re right.” I tried to plaster on a smile and it hurt; it hurt so bad, I thought my whole face might crack. “I hope you fall in love and make lots of pretty babies together.”

  Jealousy was such a gross emotion. If it were a color, it would be chartreuse.

  Strawberry choked and took a noticeable step away from Paxton, unhooking his arm from her shoulder in the process. “I didn’t really sign up for marriage and babies.”

  “Who said anything about marriage?” I asked.

  A long shadow fell over the three of us, and I glanced up at Brady. I hadn’t seen him so visibly pissed since the day he’d stood up to Jared. “Is this how it’s going to be?” Brady ask
ed.

  Huh. He hadn’t been glaring at me after all. I looked back over at Strawberry. She cringed for a brief second before snuggling back up to Paxton. I knew that game. And I had the likes, retweets, and subscribers to prove it.

  I pointed between Paxton and Strawberry. “I see what’s going on here. Well played, you two. You had me there for a moment.”

  Strawberry rolled her eyes and grabbed Paxton’s hand. “Let’s go find some seats.”

  She bumped into Brady as she passed, and not in a friendly way. For some reason it made me like her more. Even though she was technically helping Paxton in his Make Macy Feel Like Shit campaign, I appreciated the reason why she’d done it.

  I jumped off my seat to hang the At Capacity sign on the door, really more of an excuse to get my feelings under control. By the time I turned back around, Brady still stood in the same place, slack-jawed.

  I rested my elbow on his shoulder, which I had to raise over my head at an odd angle. “Looks like we’ve got the same problem. Want to be my pathetic pity date for the night?”

  A low, humorless chuckle rumbled in Brady’s chest. “We’re working.”

  “Hey, Midnight!” one of the Brewster boys yelled. “Nice Janis Ian costume.”

  Midnight hadn’t dressed up.

  “I think you better start that movie before a murder is committed,” I whispered to Brady.

  He nodded and dimmed the lights before Midnight could launch herself across the store. She had an amazing amount of velocity for someone so tiny. Like a scary Wes Craven–esque hummingbird.

  I hadn’t watched where Paxton had gone, but it didn’t stop my eyes from seeking him out anyway. He and Strawberry had laid out a blanket and put their backs against the counter, right underneath the register. I had a strong urge to drop the wrench on Paxton’s head and see how accidental I could make it look. They didn’t act like two people on a date, though. They were both job interview levels of stiff and formal. In fact, I’d shown more affection for the salmon Eric had tried to shove down my throat.