TRIP (Remember When Book 1)

by T. Torrest

  “Wellll... Have you seen my new car?”

  That I did. As much as I was trying to pretend she didn’t exist, her vintage red Mustang was hard to ignore. I’d been drooling over the thing all month. “I have. Do you love it?”

  She put a hand to her heart, fluttered her lashes, and sighed dramatically, “More than you can imagine.”

  Oh, I can imagine, alright.

  Before I had the chance to respond, Lay plucked a chip from a bowl on the table and offered casually, “Oh. And in other news... I got into NYU...”

  “Lay, shut up! That’s great!”

  “Yeah. They have a really good creative writing program. Plus, I mean, it’s New York! Lisa got into F.I.T., so we’re going to get an apartment together. I’m kinda psyched.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  I went to toast her big news when I realized we were both empty, so I offered to get us another round. She wasn’t going to last very long going drink for drink with me. Or outpacing me... Was this Layla’s second or third glass?

  While I was back in the house fixing our drinks, I had a direct line of sight into the living room where I spotted Roger Freeland. The guy was head of the A/V Club, so Miss Tate had recruited him to handle any electronic aspects of the play. He was pretty damn good at his job.

  Apparently, he was also a glutton for punishment, because he was presently in the process of hitting on Shelly Markham.

  I watched the poor guy crash and burn as Shelly shot him down. Ouch. Harsh. Thankfully for him, there weren’t too many other people around to witness the exchange. Dude was better off, honestly. Roger was a nice guy and Shelly was a bitch on wheels.

  I brought our drinks back out and told Layla about it. I whispered the next part in her ear under the guise of trying to be inconspicuous, but really, I just wanted the excuse to be near her. “She turned him down flat.”

  Layla snort-laughed as she said, “Lucky guy.”

  I chuckled as I handed over her glass of wine and clinked my bottle against it in a toast. “Bottoms up, buttercup.”

  She downed a sizeable gulp before asking, “Whatrya tryin’ to get me drunk tonight, Chester?”

  I was gearing up to make a comment about how she was getting herself drunk just fine without my help, but suddenly, I registered what she’d just said.

  My beer froze suspended in the air halfway to my lips as I stared at her in astonishment. Coming out with a name like Chester was no accident. How the hell did she find out my middle name?

  You read that right, folks. The C in Terrence C. Wilmington III stands for Chester. I’d been able to keep that information top secret for my entire life.

  Until now.

  “What did you just call me?”

  Layla took an extra second to realize that she’d slipped. She lowered her glass as her eyes went wide... finally erupting in a choked cackle before promptly doubling over in hysterics.

  Her uncontrollable laughter almost brought her to her knees. It was hard not to join in. “Are you kidding me?” I snickered, still in disbelief. “How in the hell do you know that?”

  She was still dying laughing, literally holding her sides as she tried to explain. “Oh my God! Oh holy shit I’m dying. I totally didn’t mean to call you that.”

  “But how do you know?”

  She steadied herself against the patio table as she took a deep breath and got herself under control. “Your driver’s license. I snuck a peek the day you filled out your application for Totally Videos.”

  “Are you serious? You’ve known all this time and never said anything?”

  “I didn’t think too many people knew. I figured I’d better keep it to myself.”

  “No one knows. I’ve been able to keep that under wraps in every city I’ve ever lived in.” Thank God for that. No one was ever able to figure it out.

  I was still gaping at her in disbelief when I said, “Ho. Ly. God. Layla Effing Warren! You know I have to kill you now to keep you silent, right? I mean, seriously. I have to end you now. So what will it be? Death by Manilow?”

  She got her breathing under control and wobbled on her feet as she steadied herself against the table.

  “Firthst of all,” she slurred. “My middle name is not ‘Effing.’”

  Shit. Is she drunk? “Hey, ah... You okay there, Lay-Lay?”

  She waved me off and continued, “And B... I kep your little secret to myself for...” She started counting on her fingers and I tried not to laugh at her.

  “Eight months,” I provided helpfully.

  “Eight months!” she repeated. “I din’t tell anyone. Not even you,” she added with a poke against my chest. “So there, pal.”

  I couldn’t stop the grin that eked from my lips. Drunk Layla was too entertaining for words. She was also kind of grossly chomping down on a handful of Doritos as she sputtered out, “And firdly, I happen to wike Bawwy Maniwow. And Mandy is the best song in the history of music! So there!”

  She picked up her wine with a flourish, intending to punctuate her statement with a dramatic swig when I stopped her with a hand around the glass. “Whoa there, pardner. I think it’s time we cash in our chips.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Layla. You’re defending Barry Manilow with a vengeance. I wouldn’t exactly say you’re ‘fine.’”

  I ditched our drinks on the kitchen counter as I escorted Layla through the house. Heather took one look at us and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh no. Is she okay?”

  “She’ll be fine,” I chuckled. “Thanks for having us tonight. Sorry we have to cut out early.”

  I shuffled us through the living room en route to the front door, but just then, Layla wrested her arm from my grasp and went stomping over toward Shelly and her entourage. “Hey Shelly!” she snarled.

  Oh shit. I was into a girl fight as much as the next guy, but not when it was between two of my friends. Before I could redirect Layla out the door, she said in the sweetest voice imaginable, “Nice seeing you. Thanks for letting me crash your party. Goodnight, girls!”

  Shelly didn’t look as though she knew how to respond and simply bade us a stuttering good night. I ushered Layla out the door before she could think better of her cheery goodbye and give those girls their proper what-for.

  I helped her up into the passenger seat of my truck and buckled her in before walking around the back of the car, peeking in the rear window to see her slumped in her seat with her head against the window.

  This was going to be interesting.

  I got us to her house in one piece and helped her out of the cab. I had a hand at her elbow, but she promptly broke my hold to jump for a leaf off her tree. She couldn’t reach, though, and on her third attempt, almost stumbled off the curb. I put my hands on her upper arms and steadied her on her feet before jumping up and grabbing one for her. I didn’t know what her deal was with that tree, but this wasn’t the first time I’d ever seen her do that.

  I directed her up the walkway while she inspected the leaf in her hand as if it were the loveliest gift anyone had ever given her. Jesus, she must’ve been loaded.

  “You gonna be okay?” I asked.

  She leaned against her front door and looked up at me with adoring eyes. God, I didn’t realize how much I missed those gorgeous brown eyes looking at me like that.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Nothing a big glass of water and some aspirin won’t take care of.”

  She put her hand on the doorknob, but before I could say a final goodnight, she turned toward me and bit her lip. “Hey, so... I just gotta ask... What was this tonight? Why the sudden urge to play nice?”

  “I don’t know, Lay,” I said to my shoes. I could’ve asked her the same thing, but we both knew I was the one who offered the olive branch.

  I snatched the leaf from her and gave a rub to the back of my neck with my free hand. “You know what? That’s not true. I know exactly why.”

  I took a deep breath and just spilled it. “When I told you bef
ore, you remember? About how being on that stage tonight was no big deal? I wasn’t being totally honest with you. The fact is... God, Lay. I never felt anything like that before. I can’t explain it. It was... amazing.”

  I hoped I didn’t sound like a complete toolbag, but I’d been bursting with this indescribable feeling all night. It felt good to try and talk it out with somebody, to talk it out with her.

  I reached for her hand and sandwiched the leaf between our palms to continue, “When I saw you backstage and realized you’d seen it, I was so... grateful. Grateful that you came there to share that with me. I knew I missed you, but I’d been so stubborn about it for so long... I don’t know. I guess it felt more real having you be a part of it. You know?”

  She looked blown away by my admission. But then she explained that she had a confession of her own. I held my breath, waiting for her to make sense of this thing between us. We were friends, sure, but dammit something more than that, too.

  “I didn’t know you were in the play until the curtains opened.”

  My hopes were dashed as my shoulders drooped. I didn’t try to hide the fact that she’d just eviscerated me. Again.

  “No! I mean... Crap. I meant that it was just such an incredible surprise to see you up there. However I wound up in that theater tonight, I’m grateful that I was there to see it, too.”

  My face broke into the proudest smile at her words. I could’ve kissed her for the things she just said. Hell, I wanted to anyway. While I was still registering the idea, my hand reached out to her on its own and pulled her face toward mine.

  “Surprises are good,” I said, as I leaned in.

  But at the last second, I shifted my aim and deliberately landed my lips on the corner of her mouth. I didn’t want our first kiss to be because she was drunk.

  She went inside as I slumped back in my truck, the scent of her still invading the space.

  Chapter 21

  ROMEO.JULIET

  The next morning, I bolted downstairs to find my parents in the kitchen. I was in a pretty good goddamned mood, not gonna lie. So, it was easy to forget how I’d had to sneak by my father last night as he was passed out in the den. It was easy to smile and say, “Good morning,” when I saw him. I’d just had the most incredible night of my life and I wasn’t going to let anything ruin my good spirits. Not even him.

  “There’s our thespian! Good morning, Tru.”

  He greeted me without the slightest hint of sarcasm. And Jesus. He called me Tru. It was the nickname he’d given me when I was born. How many times had I heard that I looked just like my mom’s brother, my Uncle Tory. Tory Truesdale. Better known to everyone as Tru. He was apparently the only light-haired guy in his family, too.

  My father was originally planning to name his first hotel The Madeline in homage to my mother. But my uncle died while it was still under construction, so my mother talked my father into changing it to TRU instead. I was born a year later, and the nickname was passed down to me.

  Dad hadn’t called me that since I was a kid.

  Mom took a sip of her coffee before saying, “Your sister wanted me to pass along her congratulations.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes. I called her once we got home last night. She said she’s sorry she missed your big performance.”

  “Ha! More like my only performance!”

  Mom chuckled as she took a sip from her coffee. “Your father and I are heading out in a few minutes to go to church. Do you want to come with us?”

  Us? I couldn’t remember the last time Dad attended mass with my mother outside of holidays. “No, I’ve got somewhere to be. Thanks, though.”

  I threw on the Beasties for the short ride over to Layla’s, trying to psych myself up for the day ahead. I wasn’t going to screw this up again.

  I rang the bell and was met with Mr. Warren’s pleasantly-surprised greeting. “Trip! How are ya? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Yeah,” I hemmed. “I’ve been busy with hockey and the play.” I didn’t know how much Layla had told him about our falling out. Hopefully, she hadn’t said anything at all.

  He ushered me into the house and closed the door behind me. “Everything went well?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hey, can I get you a drink? Coffee’s on.”

  He started to head up the stairs, so I followed, explaining, “Um, no thanks, actually. I’m not staying. I was kind of hoping to kidnap your daughter.”

  He stopped on the landing outside of the kitchen. “Hmmm. Last I checked, she was still sleeping.”

  As if on cue, we both distinctly heard singing coming from the bathroom upstairs. Barry Manilow, if I wasn’t mistaken. Mr. Warren and I met each other’s eyes and cracked up.

  Just then, Layla emerged from the bathroom clad only in a fluffy white towel. Her eyes met mine, and she froze in place for a solid second until her jaw dropped and she ran into her bedroom.

  Her father and I were still laughing as she slammed her door closed.

  “Oh Layla, Trip’s here,” he sing-songed, stating the obvious. “Please make sure to put some clothes on before coming down.”

  “Or don’t!” I added, nudging an elbow toward Mr. Warren.

  I went to catch his eye but he wasn’t smiling anymore. Shit. I guessed my jab didn’t go over too well. I made a mental note not to make sex jokes to a guy about his daughter.

  He put a firm arm around me and asked if I’d like to join him in the kitchen, but I got the impression he was using the invitation as an excuse to give a warning squeeze to the back of my neck. Mr. Warren wasn’t a huge man, but I didn’t doubt that he could crush me when it came to his precious princess.

  “What do you say we have that drink after all?” he asked, giving a last, menacing massage to my shoulder before removing his hands from my person.

  I was on my best behavior after that.

  We chatted hockey for a few until Layla sauntered in casually—fully dressed—and poured herself a cup of coffee. While her back was turned, Mr. W gave me a conspiratorial wink and said, “I think I have some work to do in the garage... See you two later.”

  He shook my hand, kissed Layla on the top of her head, and left the room.

  “So,” I asked once he was out of earshot. “How’s the hangover?”

  All pretense of normalcy dropped as her posture deflated. “Oh God. Was I a completely wasted mess last night?’

  “Nah,” I laughed. “But you were definitely in rare form.”

  She sat down at the table to drink her coffee, but we didn’t have time to loaf around. “Hey slam that thing down. We’ve got somewhere to be at twelve.”

  She lowered her mug just enough to shoot a skeptical glare over its rim. She looked so adorable it made me want to grab her wet hair in my fists and crush my mouth to hers. “Where we going?”

  I lowered an eyebrow at her and tried to keep my smile at bay. “Don’t ask questions and just finish getting yourself ready. I’ll meet you out front when you’re done.”

  * * *

  Layla seemed thrilled to spend an impromptu afternoon with me in a dark, air-conditioned theater. I wish I could say it was because she was excited to be with me, but the truth is, there’s no better cure for a hangover than cold air and an even colder drink.

  The reason I was so insistent about hitting a matinee that day was because I found out the Shermer Heights Loews showed classic movies on Sunday afternoons, and this month’s offering was none other than Franco Zefirelli’s Romeo and Juliet.

  We’d bought a bunch of snacks, two huge Cokes, and a shit-ton of candy. She hogged the popcorn; I hogged all the oxygen in the room.

  “Look at the lighting here. Man, Zeffirelli really knew his shit. Why didn’t we think to film more of our scene outside?”

  Layla scoffed, “Because we didn’t want anyone to witness what we were doing?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Trip! Shh. I’m trying to watch.”

  “Okay.
Fine, fine.”

  By the time we made it to the third act, I forgot my previously agreed upon vow of silence. “Hey, our scene’s coming up.”

  “I know.”

  “Look... Here we go!”

  I was in awe of the choices Zef made for his film. From the costumes to the sets to the cinematography to everything in between. Unfortunately, I also couldn’t seem to find a way to shut up about it. I fully admit that I chewed Layla’s ear off for a good 50% of the movie.

  She’d probably put that percentage a bit closer to ninety.

  “Trip,” she finally scathed. “Will you stop comparing for godsakes? Of course ours isn’t as good as this one, but I happen to like it just fine. Everyone else did too. So, please, for the love of God, can you just shut up already and let me watch this thing?”

  She huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, a little wrinkle working between her brows.

  She was kinda cute when she was angry.

  Without even taking my eyes off the screen, I tossed a handful of popcorn at her face.

  Chapter 22

  CLASS ACTION

  After the stupid prom (which I avoided) and final exams (which I couldn’t), our last official obligation was graduation. Every last member of the Class of ’91 had been keeping an eye on the skies all day, hoping the rain would hold off so we could have the ceremony outside.

  After almost an entire year, I’d still never gotten used to the unpredictability of the weather here. Seattle was always wet, Phoenix was always dry, Chicago was always cold, SoCal was always sunny.

  But Jersey? There was no telling. There was no way to know what you were in for from day to day. And that day, the weather was all over the place. The clouds had been vacillating between ominous shades of gray all afternoon, and the air was thick with humidity. Rainfall seemed an inevitability.

  But then, miraculously, we managed to luck out. The sky had brightened considerably by early evening, and by the time we were filing into our seats, the sun finally made a welcome appearance.