The First Taste(101)

“What’re you doing here?” Denise asks.

“Spoiling your date, it would seem.”

“It’s not a date.” Denise’s expression sours. “And what do you care? What right do you have to say anything? You left them.”

“Some friend you are.” Shana shakes her head slowly. “How long did you wait to move in on my man?”

I groan. If I thought I could flee the bar, I’d try, but Shana would never let me off that easily. “Come on. It’s not like that.”

Shana keeps her eyes on Denise. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I knew you always had a thing for him. You were supposed to be my friend.”

Denise flinches, dropping her arms to her sides. “I was a great friend to you, Shana. I invited you into our circle of friends because Andrew cared about you. You’re the one who up and left without a call. Didn’t even say bye. What was I supposed to do?”

“Fuck my boyfriend, I guess.”

“Look, we didn’t plan it,” I say in Denise’s defense. “We were friends. It just happened.”

Shana glares at Denise. “So it’s true then. You back-stabbing bitch.”

Denise’s mouth falls open. “Are you kidding me? Do you know what everyone in this town said about you when you left? I was the only one who defended you.”

I nod after I take another sip. “It’s true. Everyone talked shit. Denise said you had your reasons, though. Not sure why she had your back.”

“You have a funny way of showing support,” Shana says. “Pity you couldn’t get a seat at the table, though. Have to settle for his scraps.”

Denise’s eyes water. “Why do you think that is? You completely f*cked with his head.”

Shana smirks. “You of all people should’ve known nobody could replace me. Especially not you. Andrew and I were made for each other. But you knew that, didn’t you?” She tilts her head. “Andrew likes a strong woman. Not someone who’ll swallow her self-respect just to get in his bed for a night. You’re pathetic.”

“That’s enough,” I say, and both women flinch at my raised voice. “Leave Denise out of this. She might be the only friend you have left here.”

“Not anymore,” Denise says.

“You think I care?” Shana asks. “Why are you still standing here?”

Denise’s face reddens as she looks between us. I remember what Flora said earlier—Shana won’t go quietly. And the more I ignore her, the harder she’ll try to get my attention. “Just give us a few minutes,” I tell Denise.

Denise storms off, and I can tell I’ll pay for dismissing her. She’s a good friend, and I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t have any distractions while taking on Shana.

I look down at my sleeve. Shana’s playing with the edge of it. “It’s true, you know,” she says.

I take a long pull from my beer to cool off. “What is?”

“You and me. We’re made for each other.”

A fiery anger rises up my chest—outrage, injustice, frustration. It flames out before it reaches my lips, though. Why? For so long, I’ve wanted the opportunity to rail at Shana. There’s so much to say, I don’t even know where to begin. I’m afraid if I say one thing, it’ll all come pouring out, and I don’t want to give her the satisfaction. I’ve never been good at controlling my reaction to her. What if that hasn’t changed? If she can still get under my skin, does that mean I still love her?

“Andrew, babe. Look at me.” She’s close enough that I catch a hint of her scent, the same passion fruit-something-or-other shampoo she always used. Again, it’s as if she never left. I glance into her eyes knowing I’ll find that familiar twinkle. It was there more often than it wasn’t, whenever she’d try to get me to do something. “No one will see,” she would say, smiling mischievously and unbuckling my pants as I drove the two of us back from a day at the shore. Or, more soberly, “A one-year-old won’t know the difference,” when we’d argue over the quality of baby products to buy.

“I got scared,” she says to me. “Can’t you understand that?”

“You think I wasn’t?”

“Nothing scares you.”

How wrong she is. My conversations with Amelia and Nathan are still fresh in my mind. Fear of the future is the reason I’m not with Amelia right now. Fear of abandonment has kept me from letting anyone into our lives in years. If Shana only knew how the love I have for Bell sits in my chest like a bowling ball all the time, crushing my organs, my lungs, my heart. I have the fear of a parent, the most potent, pervasive, life-altering kind there is. “What do you want, Shana? Why are you here?”

“I want my family back.”

I would throw my bottle against the back of the bar in blind rage if I weren’t laughing. The gleeful noise travels up my throat, filling the space between us, and Shana looks appropriately confused. “You don’t know what you want,” I say. “Because you don’t know what you’ve missed. You have no idea what the last few years have been like.”

“It must’ve been terrible.” She grazes her thumb under my sleeve, and my traitorous skin breaks out in goose bumps. “I can’t even imagine the hell it’s been, raising a child on your own—”