by Dee Lagasse
Squinting her eyes and scrunching her nose, she attempts to give me an evil glare. Which might be intimidating if her smeared black make-up didn’t make her look like a cute zombified Munchkin of Oz.
“I know,” I tell her, while leaving a short kiss on the top of her head, in the hopes it gives her reassurance. I’m here because I’m worried about her, not to be a dick. “I don’t know what happened, to be honest. I was at your brother’s and Kinley was freaking out. I didn’t say bye to anyone. I just left. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“They knew you were coming here. Kinley texted me that you were on your way. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just knew if I did, that this would happen and I really didn’t want to ruin your night.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, and you didn’t ruin my night. Being your best friend always comes first, Hol. So, are you going to tell me what happened?” I ask. “Or do I go beat the hell out of him without knowing the reason?”
“We,” booms the voice of Davis Capparelli, Hollis’s twin brother, from behind me. “We will beat the hell out of Noah.”
Davis and Hollis may be twins by birth, but you would never know it by just looking at them. The only things they have in common are their deep brown eyes and the natural color of their almost black hair. Davis is the spitting image of their dad. Both Lorenzo and Davis Capparelli stand tall at six feet, have natural, year-round olive-tinted tans thanks to the Italian heritage they get from Lorenzo’s side of the family. Both always have their hair styled in a clean, faded, “high and tight,” more than likely courtesy of years in the Marines.
Hollis is an entire foot shorter than her dad and her brother. Her pale skin is covered in freckles, presumably from the Irish half of her. Her natural dark, brown hair is completely covered up by a bright blonde that sits just below her shoulders. It’s the longest it’s been for as long as I’ve known her.
For a long time, she kept it short because it was easier for soccer and to be honest, it suited her. She is one of the few girls I know that I genuinely prefer having short hair. But, Noah McDougal lived up to his nickname McDouchegal by telling her that not only did he hate short hair, but that she’d look “better” with blonde hair too. McDouchegal is an idiot.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” another voice adds from behind Davis. “What did Noah do?”
“Jesus has nothing to do with it, Pop,” Hollis chuckles, pulling herself away from me before wiping the last of the tears from her face and snapping her attention to her brother. “And you especially will not be beating anyone, Sergeant Capparelli.”
A small bout of laughter from the three of us earns a small but genuine smile from Hollis. She might be feeling a little low right now, but Davis and I have both been on the receiving end of a pissed off Hollis. We know better than to push her buttons right now. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled me aside later though. We weren’t kids anymore and we couldn’t go fighting this dude for breaking Hollis’s heart. But this wouldn’t go unanswered.
And yeah, like she tells us, she could absolutely fight her own battles. Hollis is, without a doubt, the toughest woman I know. However, if the situation was reversed and it was me? She’d already be coming up with a game plan. Just ask Brooklyn—the one girl I dated in high school.
Yep. The same Brooklyn that Hollis’s boyfriend dumped her for the night before prom. We’d been hanging out, mostly screwing around, a lot the summer before Senior year. When school started, Brooklyn all but begged me to make us official and I kind of felt obligated.
Well, a few days into the school year she made the mistake of boasting to an entire girls’ locker room that the only reason she was dating me was to boost her chances of making Homecoming Court. The story everyone outside of the locker room got was that Brooklyn got hit in the nose with a volleyball when one of her friends tossed it to her. Hollis’s cousin Ellis confirmed my suspicions though when I asked her if a certain five-foot Irish-Italian Hurricane named Hollis had anything to do with Brooklyn’s broken nose.
Two days after I broke up with Brooklyn, I got accused of putting an open brown paper bag of hardboiled eggs in her locker. I laughed it off, taking the blame, because all it took was one glance across the hallway to a wide-eyed Hollis to know it was her genius at work. She took credit for the eggs later that day, but to this day, she still denies that she broke Brooklyn’s nose defending me.
So, Noah McDougal would get his. Maybe not today. But I would make sure he got his “rotten eggs.” As I begin to play out the ways I could torture the douche that broke my best friend’s heart, Kinley Lavoie—Davis’s girlfriend and one of Hollis’ closest friends—squeezes herself through Lorenzo and Davis.
Before she makes her way to her, Kinley grabs a small white plastic tub from Hollis’s vanity, opening it as she shoos the men surrounding Hollis away. Wiping the makeup from Hollis’s face, her voice is laced with concern as she asks Hollis what happened. Since there was no vocalized threat to Noah’s life in Kinley’s question, Hollis couldn’t sidestep any longer like she had with me, her brother, and her dad.
“I don't even know where to start,” she shrugs, suddenly looking unsure of herself.
So, I look at her and say that only thing that makes sense in this moment, “Well, how about the beginning?”
Taking a seat on the edge of her bed, she begins to tell us how despite promising her last month that they would “absolutely” spend tonight together, Noah texted her at 5:45 this morning to break their dinner plans for the night. A dozen red roses delivered from the local florist and the excuse that he had a big project to finish at the office was all she got instead. My scoffing at his flower choice gets a knowing smile from Hollis. She doesn’t like roses. The smell of them makes her nauseous. Her favorite flowers are sunflowers. He was with her for two years and he doesn’t know this?
She continues by saying that despite his shitty flower selection, she didn't think twice about it. He works in Boston at one of the largest marketing firms in New England, so she assumed he was on a deadline. I feel my blood boiling, my anger rising as the most selfless woman on this Earth talks about how she decided no matter what day it is, she would make the extra effort. She made that bastard a dozen red velvet cupcakes—his favorite. She spent an hour and a half straightening her hair, doing her make-up, and forcing herself out of her comfort zone to wear the “stupid fucking jumpsuit” she still had on.
The more she tells us, the stronger she becomes. Her body slowly begins to straighten, and she alternates between looking us all in the eyes instead of keeping her focus on the floor below her. None of us say anything as she tells us about the hour and a half drive into Boston to his office, strolling right into the building. My stomach dropping, already knowing what was coming next.
And, sure enough, she blurts out, “That asshole was there, sitting in his chair with his back to me. But there was no mistaking the bright red heels on the floor in between his legs.”
Most women would have caused a fucking scene, made themselves known. But Hollis left him there to get his dick sucked. Emptying the cupcakes onto his desk, she shoved her diamond engagement ring into one of the few upright cupcakes. Leaving the door opened wide when she left.
When she finishes telling us, a deep sigh leaves her body as she exhales. Immediately she seems lighter. But that’s not everything. There’s something she’s not telling us. If I know anything, it’s when Hollis is hiding her emotions. There’s more. With absolute certainty, I know we didn’t just get the whole story.
Chapter Three
Hollis
“Alright, so where are we drinking?” I ask, quickly adding in, “I do not want to go to Capparelli & Co. I can't deal with that tonight. It'll be bad enough tomorrow and Sunday at Nonna and Nonno’s.”
My dad and my brother might not need every single minor detail, but my cousins and aunts will. And I’ll beg them not to involve her, but somehow, they’ll get my grandmother involved too. Hell hath no fury like
an Italian grandmother who knows someone did one of her grandbabies wrong.
Cue being checked on every hour of my life, the lecture from my grandfather about how this would have never happened if I dated an Italian boy, and my uncles constantly—hopefully emptily—threatening Noah’s life. I know there are worse things in life than having an overprotective family that are in your business because they love you. I just wouldn’t mind a little bit of time in between the break-up and my family’s infiltration. Thankfully, there is never a shortage of wine on Sundays.
“If you’re cool with keeping it low-key, we can go to my house?” Chase offers. “I have beer, a full liquor cabinet, and a few bottles of wine.”
“And an outdoor fire place,” Kinley adds, suggestively wiggling her eyebrows and nodding like a lunatic.
Four pairs of eyes are now looking back at me, anticipating my response. The sound of my dad chuckling from the doorway breaks the pause of silence. He’s going to worry about me regardless, but if I stick with Davis and Chase tonight, he knows there will be someone to keep an eye on me tonight.
“Alright, I need to be up at 4AM to head down to Cambridge for a job. I'm going up to get settled for the night. Stay at Chase’s if you drink too much,” he says to me before turning his attention to Chase. “And you, take care of our girl.”
Taking a step to where I'm standing, my dad leans over pulling me into a bear hug. My father is a man of very little words, especially when it comes to me. There’s no doubt in my mind that he would move Heaven and Earth for me, but he tends to let his actions speak for him instead.
Growing up, he taught me everything he taught Davis. I know how to change a tire, and he taught me how to use every tool he owns. For our fifteenth birthday, he bought us both five speed Volkswagen Jettas, telling us they were ours, no strings attached, if we learned how to drive them.
But even though I know how to check and change my oil, I’ve never had to. My favorite tea is always stocked in the pantry upstairs. Every week when he goes grocery shopping for the house, there’s a white laundry basket left on the landing leading to my area of the house with toilet paper, paper towels, my specific brands of laundry soap and fabric softener, and snacks for me to leave downstairs in my space. And despite me offering all the time, he refuses to take a penny for rent.
“I'll be okay, Pop,” I assure him. “I am your daughter after all.”
With a small, tender squeeze on my arm, he makes eye contact with all of us and reminds us to behave by saying, “Stay out of trouble, you four.”
Before he makes his way upstairs, he shoots us the look of warning he’s been giving us since we teenagers, and funny enough, it has the same affect now as it did ten years ago.
“Alright, well, if we’re backyard drinking, I need to change out of these clothes,” Kinley says, not wasting any time as she glances down to the tan dress slacks and white blouse she's wearing.
“You live right next door to Chase, you weirdo. Why do you need to change here?” I ask as she begins to shoo Chase and Davis out of my bedroom.
“Because your closet is closest?” she shrugs, quickly adding, “And, I kind of want to steal that jumpsuit once you take it off?”
“Always kicking me out before the good stuff,” Chase scoffs, winking at me as Kinley continues to guide them toward the door.
“Man, shut up and walk,” Davis says, shaking his head as he further helps Chase out the door by giving him a little shove. “That is my girlfriend and my sister.”
“Yeah, well, she isn’t my sister.” Chase’s burst of laughter carries as Davis quickly pulls the door closed behind them.
As fast as I try to look solemn, Kinley catches the ear to ear grin spread across my face. Shit. Raising her eyebrows, pointing back and forth between me and the now closed bedroom door, I know I’ve been caught.
“Don’t even go there right now,” I warn, shaking my head the exact same way my brother did as he left the room.
“You’re single. He’s single. You guys are meant to be together—”
“I’ve been single for like six hours, crazy.” I interrupt her before she can finish whatever she’s about to suggest. “Cool your jets.”
“But you don’t deny that you guys are meant to be together though…”
She doesn’t attempt to hide her disappointment when I shut her down. Being the self-proclaimed captain of Team Chase & Hollis, I knew Kinley would try to push the idea eventually. Even when I was with Noah, if there was a chance to bring up the possibility of Chase and I being more than friends, Kinley never missed the opportunity to take it.
Kinley was always my friend first and then my brother’s girlfriend second. At least to me.
But when she started dating Davis, she became part of our family too. Which meant that she always had a spot at the dinner table on Sunday, and she used it often. Bringing her sister Cole with her most Sundays. It only took one Sunday of seeing Chase and I together with my family for both Kinley and Cole to decide that we “needed” to be together. Nothing, and no one, has been able to sway either of their minds otherwise since.
Knowing she won’t get anywhere with me tonight, Kinley drops the thought quickly and dips into my closet. Less than a minute passes before she comes out, wide-eyed, holding a white and blue floral romper.
“Oh my God, Hollis Grace!” she exclaims. “One, I was shocked as hell when I came in and saw you in that jumpsuit, but you own a romper? And two, it's from Abercrombie & Fitch? When did you step foot into Abercrombie? I’m so sad I missed that experience.”
“Ha, ha, ha. No,” I deadpan. “Nonna took Elisabeth back to school shopping last week and she bought that ‘for me.’ Pretty sure Elisabeth instigated that purchase. I thought I’d left it in the bag with the half-naked dude on it.”
“Oh, you did. I'm surprised it even made it down to your bedroom,” she laughs before adding, “And, how did I get screwed out of back-to-school clothes shopping in college? I thought I was spoiled. You Capparellis are spoiled as shit.”
“You can have it if you want,” I shrug before warning, “But, if you tell Nonna I gave it to you, I will physically fight you.”
Turning she disappears back into the closet and comes out thirty seconds later wearing the romper, holding a pair of white canvas shoes in her hand. I almost make a crack about her being able to get out of clothes so quickly, but I know her comeback will have something to do with Davis, and just no.
I’ve always been okay with them being together, I’m just not the friend she can go to when she needs to talk about, well, anything within their relationship. The day they started dating I officially became Switzerland. I do tell her that she looks amazing and the romper looks a thousand times better on her than it would have on me though. Her summer sun-kissed skin looks a few shades darker next to the light color of the fabric. Tossing her a pair of socks, she catches them one-handed and slides them and then the sneakers on.
With nothing else to do but wait for me to change, she takes a seat on my bed…right next to the scrapbook that inspired my trip down Memory Lane earlier. Pulling an elastic off her wrist, she pulls her hair in a top knot and rubs her hands together excitedly like she knows she’s about to get into something good. Picking it up and pulling the scrapbook onto her lap, she opens it. Recognizing the photo immediately, a grin spreads across her face. Her smile turns into an evil, sly smirk as she reaches over to the spot on my bed where she dropped her phone when she first got here. Offering no explanation, she snaps a picture of the photograph of Chase and I on the football field. She doesn’t make it any further than that before she closes the book, as if with purpose.
“I'm going to bring this out and look with the guys,” she says, standing with the scrapbook tightly secured in her hands.
“I'll be like five minutes. Ten tops,” I tell her. “I just want to get out of this jumpsuit and do something with the rest of the make-up all over my face.”
“Oh! Why don’t you just toss it in here,
so I can take it with me?” she asks, laughing as she hands me the Abercrombie bag now holding the clothes she just changed out of as she leaves the room.
As she leaves the room, I realize how thankful I am for not only her, but Chase and my brother, too. Without hesitation, they dropped what they were doing for the night to be here with me. Davis had a house full of people that he had to have asked to leave to come here. People who were there to celebrate him. I honestly don’t even want to think about what would happen if they weren’t here with me tonight. Alcohol poisoning or tire slashing both sound like probable situations though.
As I peel off the jumpsuit, I wonder how chicks even go to the bathroom with these things. Ugh. Right in the bag with Kinley’s other clothes it goes. I certainly won’t be asking for it back. I don't care how cute they are, they're so far from practical. Making a mental note to ask her how she plans on going pee tonight in the romper, there’s no question in my mind–she can keep both outfits.
This stupid, uncomfortable strapless bra needs to go next. My most used, most comfortable cotton white bra sits right on the top of a pile of clean clothes. Almost instinctually, I reach for it but stop, the lingerie never makes its way to my hand. Digging a little deeper, I search for the red lacy push-up bra I purchased last week at Victoria's Secret. No one is going to see it tonight, but as I hook the clasps, I feel a small boost in my ego. My c-cups look two sizes bigger. The red makes me feel a little sexy and a lot sassy.
Choosing an outfit for Chase’s house doesn’t require much thought. Quickly settling on a fitted V-neck, I slide the shirt over my head. Ending a few inches below my hips and hugging my curves, the solid black shirt showcases my hourglass figure. The elbow length, three-quarter style sleeves and longer length giving me a casual, but cute look. Next, I grab my most worn pair of ripped skinny jeans and shimmy back and forth until they’re up on my hips. They'll loosen as I wear them but right now they stick to my skin like a denim suction cup. Satisfied with my outfit, I step into the closet, grabbing my favorite pair of black Converse All-Stars.
