“What’s that for?” he’d asked.
“To make it more official, a blood contract,” I’d said, taking the tip of the needle and poking my finger, letting the blood form a drop and then sliding it over the contract where I had signed it like a double signature: a reassurance of how much this contract meant.
“I love that,” he’d said, taking the pin I offered him and smiling broadly as he pricked his own finger, following my motions and tracing his signature in blood.
“Now we have to do it,” I’d said.
“We absolutely do,” he’d said. “This is binding.”
I’d leaned into him, sitting close, so sure in that moment that we’d still be in each other’s lives twelve years later that nothing would stop us from making the contract real if we needed to.
***
Now I shake my head, a few months from turning thirty, at how wrong I’d been. This is not where I thought I’d be at thirty. Not what I wanted for myself. Maybe, with Anthony coming back, I’d be able to get some of that magic back. I could feel a little bit more like the person I used to be. Like myself.
After work, I go looking through my closet for a box. It’s one I haven’t looked at in years, but one I’d always kept with me, filled with memories and things from my friendship with Anthony. I find it and pull out the contract. I’d taken it home that night. Anthony had insisted it would be safer to me. Aside from some places where the paper has worn away a little, thinned from our blood and wrinkled from the night air, it is in perfect condition. It looks so much like it had the day we’d signed it.
I know it is probably ridiculous, but I leave it out. Just in case Anthony and I do become friends again. I think it might be funny – something we could laugh about. A sight to see after all this time.
Chapter Four - Anthony
I’ve always wanted to live in this house. Growing up, it was the biggest house I’d ever seen, and I used to think about what it would be like to live here. I wondered what the rooms looked like, what it would be like to be someone who could afford that much for themselves. When I’d heard it was up for sale, it had felt like a sign: now really was the right time to move back home. It’s mine now, the largest house inside the town limits, sprawling and grand and even better than I’d once imagined.
Of course, as a little boy in rural Alabama, I hadn’t really known anything about luxury. Nothing about what made some furniture better than other furniture, about lighting or room composition or marble tiling. I understood all of these things now. I’d been in so many beautiful homes in New York – the apartment David and I had just left was one of them – but none of them matched the class and elegance of this house. I was thrilled to be living here, to put all my sleek modern furniture against its walls and fill its rooms with things for David and myself.
There are several rooms I want to be dedicated to him. I want him to have space to grow and learn and explore. I’m already planning on redoing the backyard next summer and putting in an elaborate playscape for him. I want every detail to be perfect when I do. I want every detail to be perfect in every inch of the house. I’m really hoping this can be a permanent change. I’ve made more money than I ever imagined by telling other people how to run their businesses. I grew my firm from the ground up. I made numerous hot-under-thirty mover-and-shaker lists. I’ve been on the cover of magazines. I’ve given talks at colleges about making one’s own success. Now, taking a step back feels like the right thing.
I’ll still be at the helm, and I can take video calls and work from the elaborate home office I’m planning, but I’m really looking forward to not being in the office – and the limelight – every day. I’ve been using work as an escape, and I’m hoping that by being home, I won’t feel like I need to escape anything anymore.
I take David to stay at my parent’s house for a bit, and I take a long walk through town. I want to reacquaint myself with these streets, these sights that were once so familiar. I walk past the little store I used to shop in, the playgrounds and the benches, the fountain in the center of town that only operates on weekends, the handful of restaurants and bars that dot the streets forming the main business district. I remember being a kid and biking past these places. Most of them look exactly the same. Catching my own reflection in the windows, for a moment, I can almost see myself as that skinny kid with no idea of what life would bring.
I head toward the high school, not able to think of myself as that kid without thinking about my best friend back then, Brooke, and wondering how she is. I think she still lives in town, but I don’t know much other than that. I’ve known a lot of people in my life and I’ve had a lot of friends in New York, but I still think about Brooke often. I never felt anything quite like the friendship we’d had with each other again. In high school, I’d been pretty sure I was in love with her, but I’d never said anything. I sometimes wondered what would have happened if I had, or even what would have happened if we’d stayed in touch.
The high school looks exactly the same, just like everything does. I find myself wondering if Brooke still looks the same – if she’s still as pretty as last time I had seen her, hugging her tight and promising we’d always be best friends. I wonder when I’ll see her. If she is still in town, it’s inevitable that I’ll run into her soon. It’s small and quiet here. You run into everyone all the time.
I head to the grocery store, wanting to grab a few things before I pick up David. It’s smaller than I remember, and the food choices seem sparse compared to all of New York’s options, but it makes me smile anyway. I walk the aisles and see a few people give me a once-over before their eyes light up with recognition. None of them come over, but I’m sure they’ll all be talking about how I really am home and standing in the grocery store in a shirt that costs more than my first car had. Gossip has always traveled fast here.
Rounding the corner to the frozen food, my eyes hang on the figure of a woman bending down, reaching for ice cream. It’s hard to look away, given her perfect curves and amazing ass. She’s exceptional, even considering all the beautiful women I’ve been surrounded by for years. The woman straightens and turns her head toward me. I freeze for a second. Because it’s Brooke. My Brooke. My best friend. The person I was closest with in the world as a teenager. She looks incredible. She’s more than pretty now. She’s grown up to be stunning, and I catch myself staring.
She stares back like she can’t quite believe it’s me either. I swallow, taking in all of her. Her features are sharper, more defined. Her eyes are wide, and though tired, they’re gorgeous. For what feels like too long, we just look at each other in the frozen foods aisle, neither of us talking.
“Hi,” I finally manage.
“Hi,” she says back. Her voice sounds the same, and it brings back a rush of memories all at once, overwhelming me. I still don’t know what to say.
“You’re . . . ”I stop and shake my head, feeling stupid. “I have to get this food home,” I stammer, turning and almost running out of the store.
It’s not the smoothest move – in fact, it’s absurd and unlike me – but it’s all I can manage at the moment. Suddenly, all I can think about is Brooke. I hadn’t known seeing her would affect me like that, but it’s like she’s the only channel in my brain. And all we said to each other was hello.
Chapter Five - Brooke
There are twenty – fucking twenty – missed calls on my phone. I’m ready to throw it against the wall. They’re all from Jeff, and several of them come with threatening messages.
“If I’m not fifty grand richer real soon, you’ll be in jail. Think carefully about what you do next. I won’t hesitate to tell the cops what you did,” one of them says. Like I don’t know that. Like he hasn’t told me that over and over again. I still can’t believe he’s still threatening and stalking me like this. He had been a terrible boyfriend, but I had no idea he was this much of a lowlife.
I wish I had never met him or agreed to go out with him. Why I’d ever thought
it could work, I have no idea. Jeff had seemed like fun at first. Like maybe he could bring some excitement into my previously dull life. He’d approached me at a bar, bought me several drinks, and he’d made me laugh. I’d thought he was charming and funny, that his recklessness was a good thing. A sexy sort of boldness. I’d been wrong.
What started as a whirlwind of spur-of-the-moment dates where we drove across the state line to find little tourist spots he’d read about, or late night drives on his motorcycle, or showing up at my job with ridiculous cheap gifts that had made me smile, had quickly turned sour. He’d go days without texting back or answering the phone. I’d had no idea where he was. He’d show up in foul tempers, yelling at store clerks and waitresses when we were out. He’d be drunk in the middle of the day, visiting me at work reeking of cigarettes and beer. He’d been demanding of my time and energy, getting angry when he’d show up out of nowhere and I had plans with other people. We’d gone to a party at Autumn’s apartment and he’d broken her kitchen table attempting some stupid stunt. He’d even tried to get me to go on the run with him but wouldn’t tell me what he, or we, would have been running from.
Eventually, it had gotten to be too much. I couldn’t see any of the people I once had in him. I was miserable all the time, and the idea of spending time with him started to make me feel sick to my stomach. I broke it off, hoping it would be clean and easy. I’d told him to run away without me if he needed to. He’d called me a bitch and told me I’d be sorry. I had no idea how true that was. I wasn’t sorry for breaking up with him – I was sorry I’d ever had a conversation with him in the first place.
I was sorry that I jumped every time my phone rang, sure it was him threatening me again, demanding money he knew I didn’t have. His threats were getting worse and more menacing, and I was getting scared that one day he was going to do something about them.
My phone rings again, and this time, tired of the missed calls and voicemail and of everything, I pick it up without even looking at the screen.
“Go to hell!” I yell into the phone.
“Brooke?” A cautious voice that is very much not Jeff’s is on the other end.
“Anthony?” I ask, feeling an entirely different rush of emotion at his voice, still so familiar after all this time. It’s warm and deep, rich and comforting, something that’s clearly only grown with age. I feel myself blush as I think of how we’d run into each other earlier and hadn’t known what to say.
“It’s me,” he says, still sounding cautious. I flush again, thinking of how I’d answered the phone.
“I thought someone else was calling. That greeting wasn’t meant for you,” I say quickly. He laughs.
“I’m glad,” he says, still laughing. I smile too. I can’t get over how he looked in the store – how good time has been to him. I had always thought Anthony was really good-looking, but now it’s more than that. He’s distinct-looking now, head-turning and memorable for how handsome he is. He’s hot now in a way that made my breath catch a little when I saw him.
“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head.
“I’m sorry someone is pissing you off that much,” Anthony says, and it makes me grin even wider because it’s such an Anthony thing to say.
“You have no idea,” I say. I can’t quite believe I finally got the courage to yell at Jeff and it wasn’t even him on the other end, but I don’t regret that it wasn’t. I’m thrilled it’s Anthony, to be honest.
“Tell me about it at dinner?” Anthony offers. He says it casually, like we never fell out of touch, and it makes me laugh a little.
“Dinner?” I ask, biting my lip.
“I was thinking that I should celebrate being home by buying my oldest friend a drink and some food,” Anthony says. “It would be good to catch up.”
“Yeah, it would,” I agree, “I’d like that.”
“Are you free tonight?” he asks. I smile again. Dinner with Anthony sounds like the perfect evening.
“I am,” I say. I’m already thinking about what I’ll wear. Maybe it’s silly, but I want to look my best. Anthony has grown up to be so attractive, and I want him to think that I have too. That I’m more than the gangly teenage girl I used to be.
“How is the food at the Purple Hog these days?” Anthony asks, making me laugh again. The Purple Hog is one of the oldest restaurants in town. It’s more a pub than anything, dimly lit with sticky floors and sticky music emanating from the speakers.
“Still the best breadsticks in town,” I say. “And they have five kinds of soup now.”
“I did always like that French onion soup,” Anthony says, and he’s laughing too. In high school, we used to sneak off to the Purple Hog on weekday evenings and share cheese sticks, soups, and other appetizers while we were tucked away in a corner booth, making plans for the future.
“You liked the cheese, I think,” I point out, remembering. In my mind, I can see Anthony pulling the cheese off his soup and letting the rest go cold while we talked in our booth.
“Good point,” Anthony says.
“You should try the new soup tonight,” I say. Talking to Anthony feels as easy as it always had been, and I feel lighter. I feel more like myself.
“I’ll have to,” Anthony says. “Is seven okay?”
“It’s perfect,” I say.
I start getting ready as soon as we hang up, and I hardly think of Jeff at all as I shower and change. I take care picking out an outfit and doing my hair and makeup. The idea of spending the evening with Anthony brightens my mood and makes me hope this is the start of a really good thing in my life. The start of getting a friend back. The start of a positive change.
Chapter Six - Anthony
I’m weirdly nervous as I’m getting ready to meet Brooke. I don’t know why, but my thoughts are racing. I feel like there is a lot riding on tonight, somehow. I leave a long list of instructions for Lilly, my cousin and David’s temporary nanny. I’m still working on hiring someone here, so while Lilly is home from college until September, she’s agreed to be David’s summer nanny. I peek in on them, and it looks like they’re already getting along well. I smile as I watch them and slip on a light jacket. I think again that moving David home to be surrounded by family was a good idea.
I drive to the Purple Hog, still nervous. It’s ridiculous. I’ve been on countless dates with countless beautiful women in the countless high end bars in Manhattan. I’ve ordered expensive top-shelf cocktails for models and television actresses. I’ve had VIP sections roped off just for me and drank with women sitting on my lap. I’m usually confident about dating and sex – about women in general – but something about this meetup with Brooke, who I’ve known my whole life, at this pub that mixes its cocktails with whatever liquor is on sale at the distributor that week, has me shaken. I can’t stop thinking about how fantastic she looked earlier or about the sound of her laugh over the phone, a sound I haven’t heard in far too long.
I get there first, snagging us one of the back booths we’d loved so much as teenagers. I can almost see us in it, remembering what it felt like to sit here, talk for hours, and never want the evening to end. Brooke shows up a minute later, and I stare again because she looks even better than before. She’s wearing a yellow sleeveless shirt tucked into a skirt that makes her legs looks amazing. Her eyes are bright and her hair is shiny. I stand and pull her into a long hug. I feel her pressed against me, taking in how good she feels and smells.
“Hi,” I say.
She squeezes me back just as tight. “Hi,” she says. “I’m so glad you called.”
“Me too,” I say. She pulls back from the hug and we both sit down, smiling at each other from across the booth. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks. So do you,” she says, blushing a little, her eyes lighting up even more. We make small talk about the food, mentioning what has changed since I was last here and what is exactly the same, and order before we really get to talking. Once we get started, it’s like we can’t stop – like we�
��re making up for lost time by pouring out stories to one another.
It reminds me at once of the year I’d gone to sleepaway camp for three weeks. It was the longest we’d ever been apart, so we’d spent a whole weekend hiding in my basement, talking until morning about the four weeks without each other and the upcoming school year. I’d forgotten how easy it always was to talk to her, how it had always made me feel. I’m glad to have it back. I want her to know about every moment of my life she’s missed. I want to hear about every detail of her life.
“You should apply somewhere else, or at least try to transfer to a different department,” I say, frowning after she tells me a story about work. Brooke has always been so smart. She always had one of the quickest minds of anyone I knew, and it seems like a shame she isn’t getting to use that.
“I’ve thought about it. There’s a marketing and development position open, but . . . ”she says, shrugging. We’re both drinking a lot, long gulps of beer disappearing as we eat and talk.
“You should go for it. You can’t be stuck in scheduling forever,” I say. She nods but looks unsure.
“I’m just afraid that if I don’t get it, everyone in my department will be mad I tried and they’ll find a way to fire me,” she says, popping a piece of breadstick in her mouth.
“First of all, they can’t do that. You could sue them if they did. Second, what if you do get it? I could help you prepare, if you want,” I say, shaking my head. She frowns slightly, then grins.
“That’s right, you are a business expert now,” she says. I grin back. I haven’t really told many stories about my professional life yet, and I’m glad she knows. It seems that the town gossip about my success has made its way back to her. It feels important that she knows. I wonder if, when she heard about it over the years, she was happy for me, or proud, to see me do so well.
Hungry Mountain Man Page 63
