Due to my careful planning and Madeleine’s incredibly detailed calendar, I haven’t seen Lucas in 11 years, not even in photos. I don’t use Facebook. One night in college, I decided I didn’t need the distraction any longer and disabled my account. Sure, earlier that same night Lucas had been tagged in a photo with a pretty blonde at a winter formal at Stanford, but that was unrelated to my decision. It really is a stupid website.
The fact that I’m going to come face to face with Lucas after so many years apart makes it impossible to sleep, so I don’t bother. I get out of bed at the crack of dawn and get ready for work. My outfit—fitted gray cigarette pants, black blouse, and matching ballet flats—is professional, but also comfortable enough for a long day filled with appointments. Once my hair and makeup are done, I ride my bike the short distance to Hamilton Brew. The coffee shop is right across the street from the office and I have a perfect vantage point to watch for when Lucas arrives. I think it’s important that I see him before he sees me; I want every advantage I can get.
The barista brings me two coffees (one for me and one for Dr. McCormick) and makes a joke about my morning read: The American Journal of Medicine. It’s no Cosmo, but the articles will distract me for a little while. My heart is racing and I haven’t even had caffeine yet. I blame it on my bike ride.
“Daisy Bell, is that you?”
I turn and stare up into the face of a girl I haven’t seen since my high school graduation.
“Hannah?” I toss out hopefully. Without Facebook, I have to rely on my memory.
She beams and I know I’m right.
“How are you?” she asks, stepping closer with a big, confident smile.
I nod. “I’m good, yeah. How about you?”
I see her diamond-studded hand rubbing her very pregnant belly.
“I’m good. Eight months along and not really sleeping much at the moment.”
That’s why she’s at the coffee shop at a time usually reserved for shift workers and crazy doctors staking out their nemeses.
“Congratulations, you look great.”
She rolls her eyes in disbelief.
“Well that’s polite of you to say. Todd says I’ve never looked better, but I think he’s just saying—”
“Todd Buchanan?!”
She nods with a laugh. “The same! We got married a few years back.”
I feel like I’ve stepped into the twilight zone. My classmates are getting married and having children. I’m 28 and have never declared my love for a significant other. My biggest commitment so far is buying a Roomba. How is this possible? How am I so behind?
“That’s great,” I croak.
“God, you look different,” she spouts, waving her hand from the top of my blonde hair to the tip of my ballet flats. “I mean, you used to be pretty in high school, but you never quite knew what to do with all that hair and those freckles. I’m glad you don’t cover them up.”
I touch my cheek, a little shocked by her candidness. “Thanks.”
“Y’know, I saw Lucas the other day,” she continues. “Moving his stuff upstairs.”
My body hums. I tell myself it’s the caffeine kicking in, though I haven’t taken a sip. Must be the fumes.
“Oh?”
This is news to me; I assumed he would be moving back in with his parents temporarily. Lucas and I lived next door to one another our entire lives. Our proximity didn’t matter much when we were younger, but as soon as we entered high school, that changed. There was no escape. We knew each other’s every move. No boy ever picked me up for a date without Lucas lingering outside, somehow ruining the moment. Checking the mail, mowing the lawn, washing his car—innocuous activities that did little to hide his true intent: to get inside my head and ruin the moment.
I wasn’t quite as bold. I used the perch at my bedroom window to spy when the moments presented themselves, like when he kissed Carrie Kocher on his front porch when we were fourteen. I’d been glued to the pane of glass, watching and trying to suppress my gag reflex. How can she stand it? I’d wondered.
I reach for my coffee, examine the milky brown color, drop it, shuffle it a little to the left, and then look back to Hannah. She is wearing a little smirk and then she leans down close so the barista can’t hear.
“He’s still the hottest thing to come out of Hamilton High.”
If I’d taken a sip of my coffee, I would have performed a spit take all over her face.
“I take it from your reaction you two still don’t get along?” she continues.
I’m not shocked she remembers our rivalry. I think the Bush administration was briefed about our antics at one point.
“Can someone that arrogant get along with anyone?” I joke, trying to push the blame where it belongs: on Lucas.
She laughs. “You were the only one to have a problem with him. We never could figure it out. There was even a rumor going around that—”
I laugh loudly and aggressively. I need her to shut up and go have her baby somewhere.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you, and I need to get back to reading…”