by Emma Nichols
Only, I was never able to forget him the way I wanted to.
James was with me always. Like a ghost who existed permanently at my side, reminding me what it felt like when you met a person who was the yin to your yang. No matter how many first dates I went on, no matter how many men my friends introduced me to, I always compared them to the specter of the boy I once loved.
So here I was, back in a town I loathed, hoping he’d come.
Through some light Facebook stalking the day before, I knew James had left the Navy and was living back in California. I couldn’t be entirely sure, but I thought he’d been married once; however, there was no sign of any wife or girlfriend in his social stream now. Not that this was definitive proof of his relationship status—he hadn’t done me a favor by filling out that tidbit—but it made me feel better about what I was doing here. If he did have someone special in his life, I never would have contemplated what I was now contemplating.
But first, I had to get to the hotel to find out if he’d actually shown up.
I turned to Jennifer. “Do I look okay?”
She rose from the edge of the bed where she’d been sitting and came to stand by my side. Taking my hand, she said, “You look more than okay. You look beautiful, Hope. You are beautiful. But me telling you doesn’t mean a thing. I have to believe it.”
I dropped my eyes. This was a conversation we’d had many times before over the years. It wasn’t just my looks I struggled with. It was something that existed on the inside, and no matter how many hours I spent inside a therapist’s office, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel worthy of love. My father had seen to that. I’d given up placing the blame at my mother’s feet long ago—she’d been even more broken than me.
“I know,” I said, sliding out of her grip and grabbing my clutch. “I just …”
“I get it, sweetie. You just want him to look at you the way he used to.”
I nodded. That was exactly it. But as I caught a glimpse of my reflection one last time, I wasn’t sure that was possible. The girl I’d been was gone—long dead and buried. In truth, I wasn’t sure he’d even recognize the new me. Sometimes, I wasn’t sure I did either.
“It’ll be fine,” she said, shooing me out of her bedroom. “Now go. Have fun! And if James doesn’t show up, remember … you’ll be okay. At the very least, you should have fun shocking everyone.” She laughed as her eyes landed on my short pink hair.
I chuckled right along with her. I was sure the second I introduced myself at the check-in desk, there would be a few shocked gasps. I would never forget the names they’d called me, the way they’d mocked my conservative appearance and upbringing. But the Hope Johnson who stood here today was nothing like the girl they remembered.
And they had no idea.
I was only on social media in a professional capacity. Initially, that had been by design. When I’d left Linwood, I hadn’t wanted my family to be able to find me, so I’d kept a low profile. But the secrets and the evasions had quickly become second nature. Now, if you looked me up, you’d find a website with my logo and a list of all the websites I’d designed over the years—no photos, no blog, no fun Instagram feed documenting my every waking moment. Finding out anything about my personal life? Best of luck with that.
At her front door, I stopped. “What if …?”
“No what-ifs.” she shook her head. “You’ll only know if you go.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. Here goes nothing, I thought, stepping over the threshold and making my way to my rental car.
“Name?” A bored blonde seated at the check-in table greeted me as I approached.
“Hope Johnson.”
Without looking up, she flicked through a stack of name cards. “Ah, here you are.” She passed me the laminated badge and then slid a notebook across the table. “Please sign in here.”
I filled out the basics—name, city, and profession—but left all the personal questions blank. Passing the forms back to her, I scanned the room. I’d seen a few people I recognized, but if my own appearance was anything to go by, I knew not to make any assumptions.
Finally, the woman looked up and smiled. She didn’t appear familiar, and if the lines around her eyes were any indication, she was far older than someone who’d graduated only ten years before. But she wasn’t scowling at me, or smirking, so our exchange was one of the most pleasant I’d had in this town in ages, so I smiled in return.
Handing me a small envelope, she said, “Inside are your drink tickets and information about the rest of the reunion weekend. Enjoy.” She looked around me to the person waiting at my rear, and I stepped aside to let them get checked in.
I moved into the packed auditorium and glanced around. All around me, reunion goers were laughing and having a good time. To my left, a large group was passing one of their phones around and smiling. To my right, a handful of women were inspecting the left hand of one of their friends. It seemed as if everyone here knew everyone else, and just like before, I was the odd woman out. Then again, I’d left, while many them had stayed and made lives for themselves. It made sense they’d know each other.
But these weren’t the people who’d pulled me here tonight. No, I’d only returned to this god-forsaken town to see if the boy I’d once loved had come looking for me too. My eyes swept over the room again, seeking him out. James had been taller than anyone—teachers and administrators included—so it would have been easy to spot him now. Unfortunately, I didn't see anyone towering over the group. I tried not to let the disappointment ruin my mood.
Jennifer's words echoed in my head. Even if James didn't come tonight, I could still enjoy myself. And that meant showing all my former classmates—the ones who’d mocked me and had laughed and pointed at me for all those years—that I wasn't the punchline to their pathetic little jokes anymore.
Since leaving Linwood, I had become stronger. I'd grown as a person, and I no longer needed their approval. Still, it would be comical to see the look on their faces when they realized who this tattooed, pink-haired bad ass standing in front of them really was. I was especially looking forward to seeing Mia Franco’s reaction when we came face-to-face. Of all the girls at Linwood, she’d been the cruelest of the all. Strange, since with the exception of our eye color, we could pass for relatives. Every time she’d called me ugly and plain, I wondered if she hated herself too.
I made my way across the room, seeking out the group that I thought would be most surprised by my transformation. I stopped when I came upon tall, beautiful brunette I thought might have been in my freshman English class. She was practically shaking with rage. “I can't believe she had the nerve to show her face here!”
A small, chubby blonde I couldn’t place patted her back. “After everything she put you through, the fact that she's here shows she has no class whatsoever.”
“Can you believe he told our lawyers they weren't sleeping together?”
A man in an ill-fitting beige suit leaned forward as if to impart an important secret, but his voice carried. “That's bullshit, and everyone knows it. You didn't hear this from me, but Rod saw them leaving a hotel together about seven months ago.”
In unison, the brunette and the blonde gasped. “And you never thought to tell me? I could have used that in the divorce settlement.”
The man had the good grace to look sheepish. “I’m sorry. You know I love you both. And I promised Bert I wouldn't get involved.”
“Well, you're getting involved now!” the blonde barked, her finger poking him in the chest.
The brunette planted her fists on her hips. “I don’t even know what to do with this information. I thought we were friends, Marty.”
“We are friends. That's why kept my mouth shut. You never would have believed me if I’d come to you with this. You would have shot the messenger, and we both know it.”
The brunette scoffed, and the blonde crossed her arms and looked away haughtily. The three of them stood in an awkward circle, not quite sure
what to say next. I'd wanted to get Marty’s attention, but this didn’t seem like a conversation I wanted to insert myself into.
A waiter walked by with a tray filled with shots, and I shook my head. Leave it to the fine folks of the Linwood High reunion committee to decide on passed trays of Jägermeister instead of champagne. Some things never changed.
But since I had changed, I plucked one of the small glasses as the waiter sailed past. While most people would simply shoot the liquor back—avoiding having to taste it—I actually enjoyed the flavor. Letting the thick, viscous liquid coat my tongue, I surveyed the scene and made a decision.
Striding confidently toward a group of women I recognized, I stepped into their circle and smiled. I peered at the name tag of the woman across from me—a person who’d once told me I'd be so pretty if only I would wear a bit of makeup—and said hello. “Hey Jenny, so great to see you again. It’s been ages.”
She stared at me for a few beats, her head tilted to the side in confusion, before flicking her eyes to her companions. The woman to my right gave a tiny shrug, indicating she didn't know who I was either.
“Yeah! It’s great to see you too…” I could tell by her squinted eyes and the way she trailed off, she’d tried to read my name tag but hadn’t succeeded due the low, ambient light of the ballroom. My guess was she normally wore glasses but had left them at home or back in her hotel room. Horn-rimmed bifocals didn’t accessorize well with a sparkly silver cocktail dress.
Since I was only trying to have a little bit of fun, and not be cruel, I stuck my hand out. “Hope Johnson; you probably don't recognize me.”
Jenny's eyes went wide, but she masked her surprise rather quickly. “Oh my God! Would you look at you?” She scanned me from head to toe, her eyes lingering distastefully on the colorful sleeve tattoo taking up most of my right arm. “I never would have recognized you.”
Her companion Ana, a girl who’d been in my homeroom but had never spoken a word to me until now, said, “You can say that again. You're like a totally different person.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Same person; just a new and improved package.” That wasn't entirely true, however. While at my core I was the same person I'd been as a teenager—I still believed in treating people well and being a good person—I was so much stronger now than I'd been back then. More resilient, and far more willing to speak up for what I believed in.
Jenny studied me as if trying to figure me out. While most of us had changed in some way, it was clear I’d changed the most. I didn’t make sense to them because I didn’t fit in any box. I could see her trying to understand how the shy little mouse had become the bold, colorful woman who stood before her now.
Eventually, she asked, “So, what if you been up to all these years? Last I heard, you’d run away from home and were heading out west.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. Of course, that was the story my father circulated. He never would have admitted that he’d driven me away with his hate and his cruelty. That he’d been the one to kick me out, leaving me destitute. If it hadn't been for Miss Marsh, I truly didn’t know what would have happened to me.
All my plans to head Ohio State early had gone up in flames shortly after graduation. Literally. The dorm I was supposed to stay in during the intensive summer program there had burned to the ground following an unauthorized party in the building’s basement. and the program had been delayed for a month while the university scrambled to come up with alternate housing. But I wasn’t going to get into all that with her.
“Just rumors,” I smiled. “I left town early for a summer program at Ohio State. Got my degree there and have been living outside of Cleveland ever since.” I shrugged. “Sadly, nothing as dramatic as some members of my family would have you believe.”
“Really? But we heard—” She didn’t finish telling me what she’d heard. Instead, she looked up. And up, and up.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I just knew what had Jenny O’Dwyer’s neck craning back.
“Hey, Hope.”
James. He’d come.
5
Hope
James’s eyes raked over me. He was trying to mask his surprise at my appearance, but he’d never been good at hiding from me.
I’d pictured this moment a million different ways, imagined all the things I’d say to him if I ever got the chance. But in my imagination, we’d never been standing in the middle of a hotel ballroom surrounded by hundreds of our former classmates. It was so … impersonal. Anticlimactic.
“How are you?” he asked, raising his glass to his lips.
I swallowed. “I’m good. Yourself?”
“Good. You?” He shook his head. “Sorry, you already answered that.”
We stood there awkwardly staring at one another. I looked away as James took another sip of his cocktail.
“I like this song,” I said to break the silence.
He nodded. “Yeah, it’s a good one. Haven’t heard it in awhile.”
“No, me neither.”
“Hope—”
“—James.”
We laughed, and he inclined his head. “Sorry, you go first.”
Setting my empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter, I wrapped my arms around my middle as if to hold the butterflies flapping wilding in my stomach inside my body and looked up at the first boy I’d ever loved. No, the only boy I’d ever loved. Only, he wasn’t a boy anymore. Even in tall, spiky heels, James still towered over me. Where once he’d been all long, lanky limbs, now he was a solid wall of muscle. While most of the guys here wore suits that didn’t fit properly, James’s molded perfectly to his body, his muscles rippling under the expensive fabric.
That wasn’t the only change though. Gone were the longish, floppy brown locks. In their place was a close-cropped fuzz that marked him as military. I itched to run my hands over it and see if it was as soft as it looked.
It was the only thing about him that was soft.
With a deep white scar bisecting his eyebrow, and his chin shadowed with stubble, he looked ... hard. Suddenly, I worried the years had been unkind to him.
Without conscious thought, I took a step forward and placed my hand on his bicep. “Seriously James. How are you?”
His mask dropped, and his eyes softened. “I’m okay, Hope. Better now.” His lips quirked to the side. “Seeing you again after all this time helps.”
I looked around the room, spotting a small table off in the far corner away from the crowd. “Come on,” I said, tugging him along behind me. “Let’s go talk. It’s been too long.”
When we sat down, he didn’t let go of my hand. I tried not to read too much into it. “You look good,” I told him. “I might not have recognized you if it weren’t for your voice.”
“Me? Look at you.” His eyes coasted over my face appreciatively and then down. “Still with the dresses, I see.”
I smirked. “Old habits die hard,” I answered, glancing down. Yes, my dress was still ankle length, but there was significantly less fabric on top then there used to be. I was a big fan of cleavage these days.
“I like the hair.”
I patted my pale pink pixie. “Not too drastic?” The last time he’d seen me, my hair had nearly reached my waist.
He laughed. “Oh, it’s drastic.” His eyes landed on my tattoos and then bounced back up to my face. “That’s not the only thing, I see.” He raised his eyebrow, and all at once I was transported back to 2008 and our late afternoon study sessions. All he’d had to do was quirk that brow and I’d be ready to spill my guts. While a lot had changed in the intervening years, it was interesting to see some things remained the same.
I rubbed a hand down the colorful ink lining my arm. “I started out with a small one—a tiny, little rebellion to mark my independence. And then I just kept going I guess.” I shrugged. What I didn’t say was the first tattoo I’d ever gotten was a small anchor in his honor. I’d been tempted to get his name branded on my ski
n but had talked myself out. Since then I’d gotten approximately fifteen more tattoos—each one a chapter in the story of my life—including, eventually, a J worked into the wings of a bird in flight on my ribs. He’d given me the courage back then I needed to stand on my own, and now, every time I looked in the mirror, I remembered how free I’d felt with him by my side.
“Do you have any tattoos?” I asked, wanting to shift the focus away from me. I might have changed drastically over the years, but one thing about me hadn’t: I’d never been very comfortable at being the center of attention.
James nodded and spun his glass around in his big, calloused hands. “A few.”
For three glorious days ten years before, I’d learned every rise and fall of his body, every inch of his skin. My gaze flicked over him, wondering where he’d marked himself.
“Nothing you can see when I’m dressed.”
“You’ll have to show me some time,” I said, and then slapped a palm to my mouth, realizing what I’d inadvertently said. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t.” His lips hitched to the side, and he set his drink away and shrugged out of his coat. James flicked the button at his wrist and started rolling up his sleeve to reveal powerful forearms covered in ink.
I took in the intricate designs until he flipped his arm over revealing a single script tattoo. My name. My gaze flew up, meeting his.
“It was the first one I got, right after basic. The guys in the barracks teased me for it.”
“Why?” I asked, my voice cracking.
He shrugged. “They didn’t know it was a name. They thought it was some kumbaya shit.” His eyes dropped to the tattoo. “I knew I had to let you go, but I liked having the reminder of us on my skin. It’s like you were always with me.”
I met his probing gaze. “You’ve been with me too.”
His eyes dropped to my arm, as if seeking out which bit of ink was in tribute to him, before coming back to rest of my face.
