Finding Kyle(66)

“Those were most definitely not the type of plans I’d been asking about,” she says as she wrinkles her nose. “But I’m going to go see a friend of a friend of a friend who plays in a band Saturday night. Want to come?”

If I’d let my conscience answer for me, I’d tell her I most certainly didn’t want to go. I was far more comfortable hiding out in my small apartment when Miranda was gone for the evening bartending. While I had hoped to bust out of my box a little by moving to the big city, I’d become even more introverted due to how overwhelming everything was. My monstrous plan to leave little Misty Harbor behind to find my happiness wasn’t quite panning out for me.

And who was I kidding? I really missed it back home. I mean, I really, really missed it. I missed my mom and my dad, and my students, and my little house that overlooks the lighthouse and ocean. I missed knowing everyone and receiving friendly smiles and being able to walk safely down Main Street at night.

But I had to push past that. That was what I left behind to seek something better for myself. So I square my shoulders and tentatively ask Christa, “Is where they’re playing far from here?”

“About three blocks,” she says with excitement. “So you’ll come?”

“What’s it cost to get in?” I ask, mentally calculating whether I can even afford to do this.

“We’ll get in free since we know the band,” she says confidently.

“You mean the friend of a friend of a friend?” I ask with an eyebrow cocked.

Christa laughs and waves a hand at me dismissively. “Relax. We’ll get in and it will be a blast. Think Miranda will want to come?”

This was an odd invitation as Christa and Miranda don’t get along all that well. I think Miranda is jealous that I’ve developed a friendship with Christa, and Christa is just plain intimidated by Miranda.

“She’s got to work,” I say, knowing that will immediately put her at ease.

And yup… I see her shoulders relax and lines of tension ease from her face as she lies to me, “Well damn… that sucks. I bet she’d be a lot of fun to hang out with.”

I snort. “Only if you want to make sure she doesn’t strip on the stage with the band or throw up on you at the end of the evening.”

“She’s wild, huh?” Christa asks, but I know she’s already suspected this about Miranda, who blatantly and aggressively hits on any single-looking man when she comes to hang out at the coffee shop.

“She’s wild alright,” I say fondly, because I love Miranda just the way she is. With no other customers to attend to, I decide to replenish some stock items, so I turn for the swinging pass-through door that leads to the back storage. “I’m going to organize for a restock. You good out here by yourself?”

“Yup,” she says cheerily. “Got you covered, so you can take a break from the pumpkin smell.”

Chuckling in agreement, I head into the storage room and begin to work. Most of the coffee materials are purchased in bulk, so I line up large bags of coffee beans and jugs of flavored syrup, mentally calculating which bottles and canisters I’ll need to fill up front. I grab some plastic-wrapped tubes of coffee cups and the accompanying lids from another box. I do all of this while letting my mind wander and wondering if I’m really doing the right thing for myself by being here.

This has been an adventure for me, and not one that I’ve enjoyed overly much, but something positive has come from it. I’ve grown over the last few weeks as I’ve learned to exist in a very different atmosphere than what I’m used to. There’s a doubtful part of me, however, that wonders if I truly needed this type of growth. Wasn’t my life damn good back in Misty Harbor?

The answer is clearly “yes” BK.

Before Kyle.

After Kyle, things were complicated, and maybe I’m just running from painful memories.

?

“Do you want Chinese or subs for dinner?” Miranda asks as soon as I walk in the door.

I’m starved, so the answer is easy. “Chinese.”

“Shrimp lo mein, pot stickers, and hot and sour soup,” she says in confirmation, proof we are the best of friends because she knows my Chinese food preferences.

Still, I can’t afford all of that, so I tell her, “Just lo mein.”

Miranda ignores me. She’ll order everything I like and she’ll pay for it, claiming that she wanted to have some too.

“I’m going to go put on some LuLaRoe and take my bra off,” I tell her, which is unnecessary really since that’s my habit every evening. I get in my comfy clothes, we eat dinner together, and Miranda heads out to her bartending job.

My bedroom is small, but we were extremely fortunate to find a two-bedroom place in a fairly decent part of the city and, best of all, only a few blocks from where both of us worked. I get undressed quickly and change out of my work uniform, then I head into the bathroom to wash my face. I’m bent over the sink, rinsing my face off and fantasizing about pot stickers, when Miranda calls out to me.

“Jane,” she yells from what sounds like the living room, and I jump slightly because her voice startles me.

I grab the small hand towel hanging by the sink and press it briefly over my face to dry it. When I pull it away, I yell back, “What’s up?”

“Need you to come in here,” is all she says.