My heart sank when I saw the caller ID, followed by instant dread. My mother. Probably wanting to leave me my weekly reminder that I’d spent four long years with a deadbeat who I’d failed to hook into marriage by giving away the milk for free and warning me not to repeat the mistake. Either that or complain, once again, about something my dad had done.
I considered letting it go to voicemail but knew I would only be postponing the inevitable.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, answering on the third ring.
“Hi, sweetie. I just wanted to check in on you and see how the job hunt is going. I mean, I haven’t heard anything from you in four days, so I’m guessing that means you haven’t had any luck. You know, your bedroom here is waiting for you if you need it. Although the closet light still doesn’t work because your father hasn’t gotten around to fixing that circuit, and God only knows we can’t afford an electrician.”
Return to the house that I couldn’t wait to escape after high school? I would never get that desperate. My mom continued talking about the usual stuff, and rather than stand uselessly on the sidewalk in the eighty-six-degree heat that, for the first week of October, seemed warmer than usual, I loaded the grocery bags over one arm, noting a small tear in one that I’d have to be careful with as I continued walking.
I had just reached the new luxury condo tower that had gone up last year, still a couple blocks from home, as my mom continued to gab away, when a shiny black town car pulled up to the curb. The back door opened, and a leggy blonde with ginormous boobs and a tiny fluffy dog tucked under an arm climbed out, followed by a guy somewhere in his late forties who was chatting on the phone. The guy was barely taller than my own five-foot-six frame, with hair going to gray, a slight paunch in the middle, and a face that was fire-engine red—except for the pale outline of what I assumed had been sunglasses.
He was clearly out of his league with the leggy blonde. Or he would have been if it weren’t for the Rolex watch on his left wrist, the posh designer suit, and the chauffeur-driven town car now pulling away. Something in the way the woman tossed her hair caught my attention. She looked oddly familiar…
Dear Lord.
This wasn’t happening. Not here. Not now of all times. It couldn’t be. The universe wasn’t that cruel.
The woman leaned down to kiss her dog, and even though the lips were twice as big as they once had been—as were the boobs—it was definitely her.
Tracey Applewood.
Not only had we gone to Deerfield High for four excruciating years together, but we’d been mortal enemies after she stole my then-boyfriend, Jason Davies, from me in tenth grade. I stole him back three weeks later only to have him transfer schools when his dad got a job in another state, leaving me single again. Last I’d heard, Tracey had been bound for college somewhere in sunny California while I got a scholarship to an in-state university.
“…and I told Gloria that she was stupid if she didn’t trade in that old Buick for the new Chrysler,” my mom continued, unaware of my dilemma.
I glanced down at my clothes. Why had I thought leaving the house in yoga pants with a bleach stain on the left butt-cheek, a ripped tee-shirt, Old Navy rubber flip-flops, and my four-days-post-shampooed, ratted hair was a good idea? Oh, yeah. Since I became unemployed and one month away from having to move back home to my parents’ ranch house in nowhere’s-ville.
There was no way I was going to play catch-up with the prom queen.
Keeping my face diverted, I sped up just shy of a jog, my plastic bags smacking against my thighs as I tried to get away.
“Janie? Janie Carmichael? Is that you?”
I pretended not to hear her as I picked up speed, the phone still to my ear. Unfortunately, one of the thin plastic bags containing my bounty of groceries decided to take that moment to rip open, sending its contents across the sidewalk.
“Mom, I’m going to have to call you back,” I said quickly and hung up, then dropped to my feet, trying to shove everything into the one intact bag, including the package of underpants that was lying just out of reach, the mix of peach and purple floral cotton fabric unmistakable.
A slim, manicured hand bedazzled with three gem-filled rings picked them up before I could stop her.
“Janie? It is you. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
I came to my feet and briefly closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was disappointed to see her still standing there. So much for the power of the mind.
“Sorry, do I know you?” I asked, scrunching up my face in confusion.
Her face was contoured with the expertise of a YouTube influencer, her cheekbones almost appearing as sharp as the rocks on her hand. Her white-blond hair was longer and even silkier than before, and her brown eyes were lined like a pro, making them appear three times their size.
The rest of the details became a blur as any hope I might have entertained that Tracey Applewood had peaked in high school came crashing down around me. She was beautiful, poised, and wearing enough couture I could sell it and live off the profits for an entire year.
“It’s me. Tracey Applewood. Well, it’s Tracey Faulkner now,” she added, lifting her left hand to show off a diamond the size of an actual golf ball.
“Tracey, Tracey, Tracey…” I said, pretending to still place her. “Oh, right. Tracey. From Deerfield High. I remember.”
She smiled widely, her own gaze taking in every pathetic inch of me as well. “You look exactly like I remember.”
Point to Tracey.
“Yeah? You too, maybe just a little older.”
I swear that her eyes were scowling at me, even if her forehead didn’t move a fraction of an inch.
Ha. Point back to me.
The muffled barks of the toy-sized puppy being suffocated under her right boob finally drew her attention away from me. “Oh, pudsy-wudsy, Momma’s so sorry. I’ll be just one more minute.” She looked over to Mr. Sunburn and held the pup out to him. Still holding the phone, he stuck the dog under his arm and continued his conversation. Tracey turned back to me. “So how are you doing these days, Janie?”
“Can’t complain,” I said nonchalantly. “I’m a lawyer now. I’ve been working at a firm downtown but I’m about to open up my own law firm soon.” Which could very well be true—that is, if I could figure out the first thing about running my own business and could find the capital with which to do it.
“You always were the smart girl, weren’t you? Head down in your books, never really experiencing what high school could be about. The parties, the dances, the football games. I always felt a little sorry for you.”
I just bet she had.
“And what about a significant other?” she asked, looking pointedly at my left ring finger.
“Oh, I like to keep my options open,” I said, not about to go into the specifics of breaking up with my two-timing ex-boyfriend. “Work can be so demanding sometimes. And how about you? What are you doing these days?”
She fluttered her long lashes and swept her hair over a shoulder. “Wow. Where do I start? Well, since I married Brody—that’s him, by the way. Wave to my friend, Brody.” Like before, Brody complied with a quick wave. “Anyway, since getting married to Brody, I’ve been doing a million different things. Like decorating our new Tahoe cabin, serving on the board of several influential charitable organizations, not to mention planning dinner parties and events for Brody’s clients and colleagues. Did I mention that Brody is a plastic surgeon? Named one of the premier surgeons three years in a row.”