He glanced up and smiled, and I was momentarily caught in his web. It was easy to see his appeal. He was the kind of cute that no one had expected. He’d somehow broken his ancestors' chain of mediocrity, blending his parents' frumpy genes into an offspring worthy of attention.
He patted the seat beside him in the gazebo, Ashley pushed me forward, and I slid down to claim the bare patch of wood between him and his friend, resisting the urge to wave the cigarette smoke away from my face. The scent of tobacco brought back vivid memories of when I’d lost my virginity. At the start of my junior year in Austin, I’d been approached by a nameless boy. He’d asked me to be his girlfriend, and two months later he took my virginity in a flash of sweaty limbs, tobacco breath, and scratchy sheets. I’d kept my eyes closed the entire time, and at the end, I’d stared up at the ceiling through the haze of his cigarette smoke and thought of Chase.
Trent Bailey reminded me of that boy back in Austin, with his lit cigarette and his leather boots. He was the same sort of grunge and my stomach rolled as he leaned in to whisper in my ear. “When’d you get back in town?”
“Yesterday.”
Trent tossed his cigarette butt on the floor of the gazebo and crushed it beneath his boot. “I like the hair. The black suits you more than the blonde.”
I stared down at where the cigarette ash stained the wood, and then the smell of vodka momentarily overpowered the scent of tobacco. It was my turn to sip from the half-empty bottle getting passed around the group. I reached out and accepted it from Trent’s friend beside me. The cheap paper label was already soaked from lazy sips, and as I tipped it back to my mouth, I hovered the lip of the bottle so that the clear liquid slipped into my mouth like a waterfall.
I had gone back and forth on whether or not I should drink. I'd read that the children of alcoholics are four times as likely to develop problems with alcohol, but I figured there wasn't much point in trying to avoid my mother’s legacy. Her face bled into my thoughts as the cheap vodka slid down my throat. I hated the taste and I fought to keep from showing it. It was the same liquor my mom would slip into her morning orange juice. The same taste that made her salivate only ever made me want to gag.
I wiped an excess drop from my lip and passed the bottle on to Trent. He took it with a smirk, skimming his finger against mine, and I knew I’d probably end up going home with him.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked brazenly, emboldened by the vodka. I glanced up to meet Ashley’s gaze across the gazebo. She smiled and gave me a subtle thumbs-up. She was impressed I’d caught Trent’s attention, but I didn’t deserve her praise. I was just the newest and shiniest thing at the party, a glorified spoon for Trent to catch his own reflection in.
I turned to him and slid an inch closer. “No. Why do you care?”
He smiled and focused on my lips as he pulled a little plastic bag out of the pocket of his jeans. Ten little white pills. Molly. I’d never met her, but I’d tried her friends, always hoping that one of them would answer my question: which little white pill makes mothers forget their daughters?
I opened my mouth and Trent slid the pill onto my tongue. The capsule started to dissolve just as he leaned in and kissed me. I pressed my hands against his chest and pushed against him, but he broke the kiss off first. It was quick, painless, innocent, and then the vodka slipped back around to me.
It was time for another sip.
Chapter Eight
Chase
I stared at the Calloways’ dining table as my lasagna warmed in the microwave. It was an old wooden square that rocked back and forth on unstable legs. It’d sat in the corner of their kitchen for the last decade and a half and it housed countless memories. I’d sat across from Lilah at that table, licking ice cream off my face before begging her to let me finish off her bowl too. I’d lost my first tooth in an apple at that table and I’d gotten in big trouble when I’d scared Lilah with my bloody mouth.
There was a layer of dust coating the top of it now, as if no one had eaten on it in years. I wet a rag and wiped it down until the microwave dinged. Then I took a seat at my old spot against the wall and ate my dinner. I had a perfect view of the empty house. It had the effect of a museum preserving time as best as it could. I knew the lamp in the corner no longer worked, but no one replaced it, just like the ancient VCR and the broken rocking chair in the corner. They were all things Mrs. Calloway had added to the house and I couldn’t figure out why no one had gotten rid of them.
I could hear the faint sound of game footage coming from Coach’s room down the hall. His notepads littered the house, continuous ramblings of a man with a passion for baseball. I loved the game too, but it was in Mr. Calloway’s blood in a way it would never be in mine.