Anger, irritation, and—worst of all—fear claw into every part of my body. Even my toes curl with indignation as I try to process what this means and the fact that my mom, who has practically force-fed me every morsel of neighborhood gossip for the last two years, somehow managed to skip over this piece of very important information. I inhale through my nose, exhaling long and slow the way my therapist taught me during our last Zoom session, and will my body to relax.
“Well, who needs high school reunions when you live in the Reserve, right?” I let out a shaky laugh that rings false even to my own ears. “But I know you have moving to get to. I won’t hold you up any longer.”
“Okay . . .” She hesitates a moment and panic that she’s not going to leave begins to set in. “Don’t forget to send that text later so we can make plans to get together soon. I’ll stock up on snacks and we can watch mindless TV.”
Mindless TV and snacks?
Another offer I can’t resist! How does she know all my weak spots? Witchcraft.
“I’d actually really love that.” Sincerity rings through in my words. Her bright smile softens before she gives a final wave and makes the short trek back to her driveway.
I stare after her in disbelief.
When I moved back, I was positive that I wouldn’t make any friends while I was home. After all, not only was I returning to the scene of all my running nightmares, but this was going to be temporary. There was no need to put in the effort to socialize. I had Ruby, and this is what FaceTime was invented for. But in this very moment, I break my no-new-friends oath and decide that Ashleigh—despite our unfortunate shared history at Central High and her apparent extroverted ways—is one of the good ones.
My mom, on the other hand, is in for quite the mouthful the second I see her. Unfortunately for me, before I can give her a piece of my mind, the garage door rumbles to life and reveals my dad’s tall form stalking toward me.
“In the car, Collins.” He points to the passenger-side door of the van. “The tree isn’t going to plant itself.”
I want to object. But, seeing as he’s been my dad my entire life and I’ve lost this battle more times than I could possibly count, I concede. Plus, now that I know Nate is probably lurking nearby, thinking of new ways to infuriate me, getting away for a little while sounds better than ever.
Plus, if I have to pick one parent to glean intel from, Anderson Carter is my best bet.
“So, Dad . . .” I pull his bagel out of the Cool Beans bag and hand it to him. “Want to fill me in on Nathanial Adams being our next-door neighbor?”
Chapter 4
You know how when you’re thinking of buying a new car, all of a sudden you start seeing that exact car everywhere you go? Or you finally learn the name of an actor you saw once and then he’s on your TV all the time?
Turns out, it’s not just the universe haunting you with your thoughts, but instead literal, actual brain science. I might have gone to school for writing, but occasionally I paid attention in my other classes and for some reason, the frequency illusion is one of the few things that stuck with me. Basically all it says is that the frequency of seeing these things hasn’t changed at all, but that once your brain is aware of something, it influences where your attention goes.
It’s really simple and pretty funny.
Or at least, I used to think it was funny until my brain decided to become hyperaware of Nathanial Adams.
In the days since running into Nate, I’ve seen him or something that reminded me of him everywhere I look, and I’m this close to losing what’s left of my ever-loving mind. When Ashleigh told me he was her Realtor, I didn’t realize what she was really telling me was that he’s pretty much in charge of selling every single house in the neighborhood. I can’t drive down the street now without literally seeing his face on all the for sale signs scattered through the neighborhood.
“Ughhhh.” I take a sip of my (non-hazelnut) coffee and aim my eyes out the kitchen window. “Could Nate be more ridiculous? I mean, who does he think he’s fooling?”
“What’s he doing this time?” my mom asks without looking up from the grocery store ad she’s been inspecting for the last five minutes. “Oh, honey!” She nudges my dad sitting next to her. “Did you see that steaks are on sale at Meijer? We should host a barbecue this weekend! You grill and I’ll make my famous potato salad and sangria.”
My dad looks at me and the silent threat comes through loud and clear in his narrowed mahogany eyes.
While my mom has been married to a Black man for thirty-six years, it has not deterred her from adding raisins to her potato salad. While there are many potential reasons for this, it’s likely because my dad is a giant teddy bear who doesn’t have it in him to let her know her recipe is a travesty. Whenever we visit his side of the family, the poor man works overtime to make sure we’re never involved in any sort of potluck situation.
“A barbecue sounds great.” He gives in to Kimberly Carter as always. “I’ll run to the store tomorrow.”
“Mom. Focus!” While my parents being marriage goals is adorable and all, it doesn’t distract from the way they both totally dismissed my latest problem with Nate. “Why is Nate walking with Mrs. Mullens and Mrs. Potts? What’s he up to?”
“He’s just a nice boy,” Mom says. I’m pretty sure she’s trying to piss me off at this point. “He goes on walks with them every Tuesday and Thursday.”
“He takes old ladies on walks? Twice a week?” I ask incredulously. The levels this man will sink to have no bounds. “Has anyone checked his basement for bodies lately? I’m just going to put it out there, but there’s gotta be, like, a ninety-eight percent chance he’s a serial killer. No normal twenty-nine-year-old man buys a house alone in the suburbs, joins the HOA, and volunteers for morning walks unless he’s hiding a freezer full of fingers in his house.”
“Honey.” My mom’s voice turns as sweet as the term of endearment and she places the ad she’s been so enthralled with on the table before slowly removing her reading glasses. None of these things bodes well for me. “You and Nate used to get along so well. I always thought you’d end up dating one day. I still don’t understand what happened to the two of you.”
“Nothing happened.” I take a long sip of my coffee, trying to push away the onslaught of memories—and hurt—that comes with reminiscing. “He cared about being popular and I didn’t. We grew apart.”
“Sure,” my dad’s deep voice cuts through the room. “Because hating a person you haven’t seen in ten years over nothing makes total sense.”
I thought internet trolls filling up the comment section were brutal, but they have nothing on my middle-aged parents. Sheesh.
“If you want me to go, just say that.” I walk over to the coffee machine and top off my cup before finding a lid to screw on.