She looks at me with sympathy.
“Sorry,” I stutter as she slips into the booth opposite me. “I’m being dumb. I’m being ridiculous, like, so insane, I’m sor—”
“Hails, if you apologize one more damn time, I’m gonna smack some sense into you!” She cracks her knuckles in front of me, but her smile tells me she’s only half serious.
Two coffees appear before us. A sweet brunette girl gives me a tight smile before scurrying away.
“So, let’s vent, Hailey. It’s obvious that’s what you need. I know we haven’t seen each other in a long time, but I’ve never seen you so out of whack.”
Out of whack—yes, that’s exactly what I am. But venting? I don’t know.
“What do you want to talk about first? Your mom or Caiden?”
A sputtering sound comes out of my mouth, and so does a bit of spit that lands on the table, which has CeeCee’s face twisting in mock disgust.
“Spit it out, sure, but I didn’t mean it literally.”
A snort escapes me, and the corner of my mouth finally turns upward. “I just can’t believe she’s gone, ya know?”
She hums while nodding. “I know. It spooked all of us, but you know that everyone here at least has some idea how hard this is for you. She was an important member of this town. People are coming to Elwood’s just to feel more at home now that they can’t just give her a call. There’s comfort in knowing how special she was, right?”
“It’s… So. Hard being at the house.” I grab for the napkin beneath the silverware, fiddling with it, folding it in half, and then folding that piece in half again before I finally find the words. “I haven’t even walked around, Cee. I can’t peek inside her room. I can’t even look in my own old one. I’m supposed to be sorting through her life, and I don’t know how to start.”
She perks up in her seat. “Where have you been sleeping?”
“The couch, and let me tell you, it’s awful. Not to mention the cat alarm clock.”
“You lost me.”
“There’s this cat somewhere. I hear it meowing in the morning, and when I go to look for it, nothing. Then I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind like some Stephen King movie.”
CeeCee giggles, and there’s something about the way she doesn’t ask any more questions that makes me feel like she knows something I don’t. Like a private joke I’m not in on. I’m ready to berate her for details, but she cuts me off. “Do you need some help going through the house?”
“Yes!” The question floors me, because the idea of not doing this alone is a relief and an epiphany. “You have no idea how good help sounds, and I’d never admit that to anyone but you.”
“Of course! From this point on, know that you don’t have to face any of this alone. You never had to in the first place. Don’t let your silly pride get the best of you.” CeeCee whips her head back, making the red hair of her ponytail wave like she’s Marcia Brady. She must be proud that she’s helpful, and I support this.
Sitting across from CeeCee offers me that anchor I’ve needed since this morning, and I feel guilty again. “Sorry for leaving—”
“What did I just tell you about apologizing? Stop it! I know you keep beating yourself up over it, especially now, since your mom’s gone, but you don’t need to. It’s crazy. You don’t owe an apology to anyone here for leaving, not even Caiden.”
My chest constricts. CeeCee is the only person I’ve told the truth. The only person who listened to me cry, and then talked me through my tears from a thousand miles away until finally I felt stable and confident. She never told me that my choice to leave was wrong. She always made me feel like what I did was right. Even if we stopped talking, she was always my voice of reason when things got tough in LA. I chased my dream, and I caught it. I can’t regret that. She wouldn’t let me if I tried anyway.
“Caiden…” I huff, and I don’t know why saying his name feels instantaneously cathartic.
“Yeah, that jackass,” she replies before daintily sipping her coffee
I fight a smile, fiddling with the napkin in front of me again. “Do we have to talk about him?”
“Hells yeah, we do. Are you kidding me! You’re like a mopey teenager right now, and if I know you, your mind is working a mile a minute, and it probably leapfrogs from your mama to your ex-boyfriend and back again.”
I throw my napkin at her. “When did you get so smart? I don’t remember this.”
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “At least you’re kind of smiling now.”
I have to do a body check. I realize the corners of my mouth have in fact risen. Huh.
“I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been here two days, and I feel inclined to talk to Caiden, or at least, I don’t know, see him. It feels like I need to be sure he exists or something. Like, I didn’t make him up.” Little does she know, the tip of my insanity iceberg begins with that exact thought. As a writer, sometimes you lose track of fact and fiction. The lines blur, and you worry what’s real and what’s not, even memories and emotions.
She huffs, “Oh, he exists, and he’s as hilariously douchey and charming as ever.”
I cringe. “Charming? Really, CeeCee? You think I need to hear that?”
“Did you not catch the douchey word before? So you haven’t seen him yet?”
I look out the window in case he might be out there on the main road, but no, I only see the older faces of the people of this town I once knew well.
“No, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking.” I release a remorseful laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m terrified to see Caiden, but I’m not going to hide from him either.” A fluttering exhale blows through my lips. “But who cares; he’s nowhere to be found anyway. I bet you he’s hiding. He’s always been a master avoider.”
She clucks her tongue. “Give him time. Maybe he feels the same. Ya know he’s—”
I raise my hand, shaking my head. “No-no. I’m not ready to hear all about Caiden’s life right now. Douchey and charming are about all I can stomach.”
“You’re no fun. I was about to tease you and tell you all about his—”
“STOP!”
Her pink lips stretch devilishly, yet annoyingly prettily, over her freckled cheeks. Her Grinch-like smile is something she’s had since the age of five; she’s just perfected it now. “Are you sure?”
“None of it matters. None. Of. It.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Am I curious? Of course I am. Am I a masochist? No, I am not. So, carry on, Carrot Top.”
“HEY! You know I hate that name.”
“I’m aware. Let’s drop the Caiden subject then, okay? It doesn’t matter anymore.”
She nods, squinting. She doesn’t believe me, and hell, even I don’t believe me, but she repeats it back, so we can cement it. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
I could sing those words into a tune for her right now if she wanted, with how many times we’ve repeated them back and forth, and I’d make sure I sang the words to the beat of a Backstreet Boys song if that would sway the damned topic, but I doubt it’d help my cause.