by LK Farlow
I watch helplessly, with my heart in my throat, as she tears down our private drive, tires spinning and gravel flying. This is such a fucking mess, and I don’t have even the slightest clue of how to remedy it. Girl’s some kind of stubborn, and once she sets her mind on something, it’s set.
And right now, it’s set on me being a no-good, two-timing dog.
Anger. Regret. Doubt. Sadness. All of these emotions are racing through my veins, weighing me down. My shoulders slump under the heaviness of my thoughts, and I turn to head back inside, but my parents are standing in the doorway waiting for me.
“Sweetie,” Didi says, reaching out to comfort me. “What happened? I didn’t realize Kelly and Azalea knew each other.”
“They don’t. Not really.” Scrubbing my hands over my face, I let out a long, angry groan. “Y’all don’t know that I actually met Kelly before college started. Met her at orientation weekend, and we . . .” I stop, not quite knowing how to tell my parents that she was pretty much a one-night stand.
“We get it, son. Carry on,” Dad says, sounding proud and disappointed all at once.
“Yeah, well. One night, there was a party out at Jake Bishop’s house, and Azalea showed up lookin’ for me, and one thing led to another—”
“Drake Ulysses Collins! She was only a child then!” Didi screams, outraged.
“She was almost sixteen, and all we did was kiss. Only, Kelly walked in right in the middle of it and announced to Azalea that she was my girlfriend.”
“Oh. Oh, my,” Mama D titters, worrying her apron between her fingers. “And now she thinks you’re baiting her hook while keeping Kelly on the line, too.”
“Pretty much. What do I do?”
“I wish I knew what to tell you, baby. I really do. Best you can do is to give her some space for now.”
“But not too much space!” Dad adds with a knowing look.
14
Drake
Fed up and no longer feeling thankful, I haul ass down our driveway, in much the same way Azalea just did. With angry, jerky movements, I dial Simon’s number, knowing he’ll be home. Even if his dad were alive, there’s no way in hell he’d ever spend a holiday with him.
“’Sup?” he answers, sounding slightly buzzed.
“On my way over,” I clip out before ending the call.
Ten minutes later, I’m rolling up his driveway and slamming my truck into park. Simon meets me at the door, unopened beer in hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Cut the shit and hand me that can.” I try to reach for it, but he pulls it out of my reach. “Don’t fuck with me, Simon,” I all but growl.
“You want to drink, you tell me why you’re here. Last I heard from the lovebirds next door, you finally grew a pair and asked Azalea to spend Thanksgiving with you. Yet, here you are.”
God, sometimes, I hate that Simon and Myla Rose are neighbors. Then again, it wouldn’t make a damn difference either way since they’re so close. Like, sibling close. Like, he almost beat Cash to a pulp before he pulled his head out of his ass and made things right with Myla Rose.
“You wanna know why I’m here? Because I once again managed to mess everything up with Azalea. Except this time, I didn’t even do anything.”
Simon’s brow furrows as he passes me the icy-cold can before turning and heading into his house. I follow behind him, popping the top on the Yuengling as I go. Savoring the feel of the cool liquid rushing down my throat, I watch Simon tap away at his phone screen.
I’m well-aware he’s texting Cash, so it comes as no surprise when I hear the front door open and close. “Y’all wanna tell me why I’m over here instead of home with my wife?” Cash asks as he stomps into the kitchen with Brody secured to his chest in some sort of complicated-looking wrap.
“Girl trouble,” Simon replies in a bored tone, rolling his eyes in a way that makes me think of my Little Bit.
“You got a girl?” Cash asks, an incredulous look painting his features.
A look of longing flashes across Simon’s face so fast that I’m not one hundred percent sure I even saw it at all. “Naw, not me.” He points over his shoulder in my direction. “This asshole.”
“Aw, hell. What now? One-a these days the two of you are gonna explode.” Cash stalks over to the fridge and pulls a Coke from the bottom drawer. Sometimes, it’s weird seeing him so at ease in Simon’s home, given their history.
I snort at his comment just as Simon says, “More like implode. Now sit your asses down so Drake can tell us what happened.” I start to do just that, but Simon cuts me off. “Wait, wait, wait.” He waves a hand in my direction and turns to address Cash. “Lemme hold Brody.”
“How many drinks you had?” Cash asks as he unties the piece of fabric securing Brody to his chest.
“Just the one. I’d never put your son in danger,” Simon tells him, and Cash walks over and places Brody in his arms. Real talk—we all love that baby just as much as the girls in our little circle. They just always hog his ass.
“As I was sayin’ . . . I took Azalea out to FIRE earlier this week on a real date and asked her to spend Thanksgiving with me. Had to just about beg, but she caved and agreed to it. Came over for dinner tonight, and it felt like shit was finally moving forward with us. Like I was finally getting through to her that I want more. That I’ve always wanted more. Then Dad goes and mentions that Kelly’s the one who told me about FIRE in the first place, and she lost it.”
“Aw, shit,” Simon says into his fist. Meanwhile, Cash is looking at me with a mixture of confusion and pity. “Yeah, I bet she just about clawed your eyes out, huh?”
“Pretty much. Tore outta the house like a bat out of hell, tears trailing down her cheeks.”
Brody starts to fuss, and Simon begins to lightly bounce him while pacing the length of his kitchen. Cash watches him for a second and then asks, “Hold up—who’s Kelly? Thought you’ve always been obsessed with Azalea?”
“Obsessed may be a strong word.” They both level me with a disbelieving look. “Yeah, it’s always been her. But shit happens. Life happens. We never got together. Every time I was single, she was seein’ someone, and vice versa. Then, right before I graduated, she made her move. I was so damn happy that I completely forgot I’d asked the girl I’d been very casually hooking up with to meet me at this party, and she walked in right when things were heatin’ up. When Little Bit asked who she was, Kelly informed her that she was my girlfriend.”
This story is old news to Simon, but Cash winces. “I know how bad it sounds, but I swear, Kelly and I weren’t serious. I’d gone up the weekend before to get familiar with the campus, and we met and hooked up. One time! And shit, I was eighteen. I wanted to get lucky the next weekend too, so I invited her down. Didn’t plan on Azalea makin’ her move. Didn’t think Kelly would read so far into my invitation either.” I scoff at my own stupidity, then and now. “Guess I didn’t think of much of anything.”
“I get all that. I do, but what does any of that have to do with tonight?” Cash asks. And on the tail of his question, Simon adds, “I’m guessing Azalea didn’t know you and Kelly were still friends?”
“Y’all stayed friends?” Cash sounds incredulous.
“Yeah, we did. Not crazy close or anything, but I explained to her that one hookup didn’t make us exclusive, and she agreed. Said she reacted out of jealousy. Throughout college, we kept in touch. We lost touch after, but about a year ago, she added me on Facebook and messaged me. Said she was moving back to the area, and we met for drinks one night. Totally platonic. She mentioned she was opening a small farmer’s market and was wondering if she could stock our nuts.” Both Simon and Cash snicker like twelve-year-old boys when I say the word “nuts,” and I pause to grin. But only a little.
“So, I mention it to Dad, and he tells me to set up a meeting. He loved her spiel, and then one day, she was out at the farm picking up an order, and Brent was there, and they hit it off immediately. Been together ever since.
“A few weeks ago, he took her to FIRE, and when she came by to bring him lunch, she mentioned how much she loved it to me and my old man. So, I took Azalea, and earlier at dinner, Dad announced that Kelly was the one who told me about it, and she drew her own very fucking wrong conclusions.”
“Lemme be devil’s advocate real quick,” Simon interjects, settling Brody into the crook of his arm. “You can see why she’d draw that conclusion, right?”
“I mean, maybe a little, but no. Not really.”
Cash watches us like we’re the most interesting sideshow act he’s ever seen.
“Bro, think about it. You two have spent what, for the rest of us, feels like an eternity dancing around one another. Every time she puts herself out there, your good friend Kelly pops up and knocks her down. Her pride is hurting just as bad as her heart. She thinks you’re not serious about her, and in her head, this is all the proof she needs.
“Look, all I’m gonna say is this. If you want her as much as I think you do, and if you love her the way I think you do, then you need to get this shit figured out. Give her a day or two to blow off some steam, and talk to her. When I almost lost Myla Rose”—Cash pauses, pain marring his face—“I just wish she and I would’ve communicated better, and I think that’s y’all’s real breakdown here. A whole fucking lot of assumptions and nowhere near enough honesty. Now, as much fun as this Bros-Giving has been, gimme my son. We’re going home.”
Cash secures Brody back into his wrap and takes off for the door, not sparing us a single glance. Then again, if I had Azalea at home waiting on me, I’d do the same damn thing.
“So,” Simon says, regarding me with his fingers steepled under his chin. “Whatcha gonna do?”
“Guess I’ll do what Cash said. Let her simmer down and then see if she’ll listen. Unless you got a better idea?”
“Naw. That sounds just fine. Good luck to ya and all, but I’m done with this topic. Let’s play some Madden.”
Raising my nearly empty can to him in a toast, I tell him, “Let’s do it!”
15
Azalea
It’s been three days since what I’m now calling “The Incident.” This morning, I woke to the sound of my incoming text alert, only to find I have around fifteen missed calls and about thirty texts—the majority of them from Myla Rose. Her texts start off calm and grow increasingly panicked. Reading through them, I feel a bit guilty that I didn’t think to call her.
Myla Rose: How was your holiday?
Myla Rose: Are you hitting up the mall tonight?
Myla Rose: Hello? Sister-girl!
Myla Rose: Are you okay? Cash just got home from Simon’s.
Myla Rose: Az, I’m getting worried.
Well, that’s a lie. I did think to call her. I just chose not to, knowing it was her first major holiday with her sweet little family. Instead, I took my ass right on home and sulked. I’m talking full-blown messy-bun, Drake’s shirt and sweats, puffy eyes and all. I drag up my keyboard and start tapping out a text to her when a new one comes in.
Myla Rose: AzzyJo, you answer me right this second!
But before I get a chance, I hear someone start pounding on my front door. Pulling back my sheer lace curtain panel, I see that it’s Myla Rose, with Seraphine and Magnolia in tow. I trudge down the steps of my apartment and throw open the front door, squinting at the sunlight.
“Oh, sister-girl, you’re in a bad way,” Myla says, shuffling past me and into the living room.
“Where’s B-Man?” I ask, ignoring her comment.
“With his daddy. Now, spill. I know shit went down with Drake, but Cash wouldn’t gimme any details. Stupid bro code. So c’mon, right now, missy!”
Seraphine tugs a piece of hair that’s escaped my bun as she walks past. “Sometime today! We’re not getting any younger!” She perches on the arm of the couch, next to where Myla Rose is seated, and Magnolia walks over, claiming the empty cushion next to her. Which leaves me to take the love seat opposite them, and holy hell, it feels like I’m facing a really well-dressed firing squad.
They sit quietly, listening as I tell them everything, and I mean everything. I tell them about our hookups, and his sweet words, and how I’ve always been too scared to believe him—too scared to take another leap after the first Kelly fiasco. I tell them how he ignites a fire in my bloodstream that burns me from the inside out, and I tell them about our date at FIRE, and how he took Kelly there first. By the time I make it to the end of the whole sordid tale, all three girls are wearing mirrored expressions of wide eyes and dropped jaws.
“Well, certainly didn’t see all that coming,” Myla Rose mutters.
“You didn’t? Because I kinda did,” Seraphine counters. “I mean, my Lord, you two even being in the same room ratchets the temperature up about twenty degrees. I’ve always thought y’all had a secret thing, and yay me! I was right.”
“No. Boo you! You were only halfway right. Because apparently, all we had was a ‘thing.’ Nothing more. Never anything more.”
“Oh, honey. I’m not so sure. Do you think you might have overreacted? Just a touch?” I train my glare on my best friend, but she’s feeling just as fiery as her red hair this morning and doesn’t back down. “For real, AzzyJo. Did you even let him get a word in edgewise?”
My shoulders droop, and shaking my head, I whisper, “No.”
“Didn’t think so, you stubborn girl.”
I’m about to try to defend myself when Seraphine’s phone starts buzzing up a storm. She glances at the screen and immediately starts for the door. “What’s wrong?” Magnolia asks her.
“Dad’s nurse says they need me back. I gotta go!”
“Is Uncle Dave okay?” Magnolia asks, darting up to follow her cousin.
“I don’t know, but—”
“C’mon, I’ll drive,” Magnolia says, and I cringe just a little because the girl is an awful driver.
“Let us know what’s goin’ on,” Myla and I holler after them. Then it’s just me and Myla Rose. Neither one of us speak. She’s busy texting on her phone, probably telling Cash that something’s up with Seraphine’s dad. Bless her. His doctors aren’t sure how much longer his heart can hold out, and I’m not sure she can handle losing him.
“I’m gonna go shower, okay?” I say, breaking the silence.
“Sounds good, sister-girl. I’ll whip us up something to eat.”
Myla’s idea of making us something to eat was actually ordering a pizza, but that’s fine by me. We polish the entire medium pie off in no time flat, and then she grabs my brush off the nightstand and begins the task of untangling my hair.
She’s about halfway through when the first text from Drake pings through.
Assface: Can we talk?
Assface: Please, Azalea? Five minutes. Uninterrupted. That’s all I’m asking.
“Is that him?” Myla Rose asks, but before I get a chance to reply, two more messages come though.
Assface: Come on, Bit. It says you’ve read them. I know you’re there.
Assface: Just hear me out, Azalea. I at least deserve that.
“Do you think it’s possible, maybe even a little, that I jumped to conclusions?” I ask Myla Rose as I read and re-read Drake’s texts.
She ponders my question for a few moments before replying, “Yeah, I really do.”
Assface: Okay, Azalea. You win for now. But the minute you’re ready to listen . . .
I have shit to say.
Deep down, and I mean real deep, I know I need to go to him and listen. But I’m scared. It seems like every time I’ve ever tried putting myself out there, it blows up in my face. And I’m so, so tired of shit blowing up in my face.
“Just like you told me with Cash, you need to talk to him and listen to what he has to say,” Myla Rose tells me, her voice soft and soothing.
“What if I don’t like what he has to say?” My lower lip trembles as my mind races with possibilities.
“That’s life, sister-girl.”
16
Azalea
I wait two more days before replying to Drake. Not because I want to punish him—okay, well, maybe a little—but mostly because I don’t know what to say. And maybe I’m not ready to hear what he has to say. If he tells me he and Kelly are a thing, it will kill me.
Gah! If he tells me they’re together, that means she’ll inevitably start coming around, and I’ll have to plaster a fake smile across my face and make nice with the woman who has my man. Because that totally won’t ruin the dynamics of our little group. I’m honestly not sure if I could even manage to fake my way through it.
I voiced all of these concerns to Myla Rose before I messaged him back—yes, a text, because I was too chicken-shit to call him and hear his voice—but she told me I’d never know if I didn’t take a chance.
So, I did, and now here I am, a week and a day post “The Incident,” laid back in the shampoo bowl at the salon while Magnolia works my hair into a rich lather so that she can blow it out to perfection. If he’s gonna let me down and break my heart, I’m sure as hell gonna look my best so that he knows just what he’s missing out on.
“Whatcha gonna wear tonight?” Seraphine asks as Magnolia towels my hair.
“Red.”
“Red what?” Magnolia asks as she nibbles her bottom lip.
“Red everything. A red dress. Red lingerie. Red lips. He’s gonna swallow his tongue when he sees me.”
“I’m sure he will, but . . . what if he doesn’t?” Seraphine sounds uneasy asking the question, as if she’s worried I’m gonna lash out, and God, I want to, but she doesn’t deserve my ire.
