Chapter 1

one

Lily

"There is nobody else I would go back to this stupid fucking state for, except Stef. Yes, Delia. I'm on my way."

Pete, my dog—a spunky Shiba Inu like the dog memes—is desperately trying to get his snout through the cracked window of my Wrangler.

"Rude!" I hear Nessa Rabin, Delia's roommate and the fourth to our tight-knit group since middle school, shout from across the room.

"I mean, obviously if it was either of you…" I trail off. I'm overexplaining myself. Again. This is Nessa, she is teasing me. I know better, but the instinct to explain myself is hard to control with so much happening.

The four of us have been close since elementary school. Almost twenty years of friendship. Stefanie Santos Manolo is bright and sunny, full of love. Delia Shane is always making things more beautiful. Nessa may be the smartest person in any room, but she's too busy being the life of the party, and then there's me.

"Come on. Hello, Lily Long, you still here? Did the call drop?" Delia asks me.

"No, no I'm still here. Sorry. What?" I know she's asking me something, I just can't focus .

"Where are you now?" she asks with zero tolerance for my deflecting.

That's a good question, where the hell do I say we are? "Umm, on the way." I attempt to side-step the question. I want to show up for this, for Stef's birthday-slash-surprise-proposal party. I happen to also want to avoid our hometown—Peacock Springs, New Jersey. It's been nearly a decade since I was briefly married, divorced, and then disowned by my parents. The town is full of ghosts causing an internal tug of war. I can't get myself to commit to a specific plan for the days ahead.

"Yes, you've said that. Let's make this simpler. Are you delaying because you're worried about how you left things at home? Are you afraid that there's not going to be a weird festival every month or town meetings about nonsense?" Nessa teases trying to disarm me.

I snort before replying, "Festivals? Quirky artists and family values somehow in a blender? Gossip? Weird double standards? It has been ten years, not ten million. I expect it to all be basically the same…" I trail off, exposing my apprehension.

"Delia, I'm off the clock, you can be the therapist for our dear avoidant friend. Maybe she can at least tell us where she was when she left for this road trip home?"

"Ummm." I reach my right arm across the passenger seat to steady myself by rubbing Pete's auburn flank. A horn blares and startles me and I end up yanking the wheel. As I steady my hands, it's become abundantly clear I cannot multitask right now. Not safely at least. "Holy shit!" Between my rising anxiety over the many moving parts of this weekend, and where everything will be, I'm scattered. "Deals, sorry, traffic swerved." I'm practically panting like the dog now from anxiety, both traffic and the call.

I can hear Nessa and Delia talking to each other, but honestly I'm not sure what is said. There are too many tabs open in my brain, as usual. They each demand my full attention.

Nessa's voice cuts through, "Planning to sleep in the Jeep? To camp and bathe in the Delaware? I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up. Nighty night!"

Delia sighs. "I'll put the key under the mat just in case you get here while we are asleep. You still know where? My grandma's old place on Dragonfly Lane."

"Thank you, I think it's more likely I'll be in Jersey tomorrow." It's a white lie, I'm here but I need the ability to change my mind. Fake a flat tire in the middle of Pennsylvania or a dead engine in Virginia and oopsie, sorry. I love my friends more than words, but my hometown is haunted.

"Listen, gals." There's another big blast of a horn as I watch the clusterfuck of cars merge from the I-95 NJ Turnpike to every connecting highway in Central Jersey. "I don't want to get lost. I need to focus. I'll be there. I swear." I cross my fingers as I talk as if that means anything as an adult.

As I hang up, I wonder to myself why I can't just go to their place? I'm not ready for this to be real. I can always come up with another plan—like sending a message to Seth Whitter or River Hendrix. Either of them would probably let me stay, even if Seth would grumble about it or River would worry about our parents' friendship. If they are still friends? I don't know who my parents are friends with anymore.

With each passing mile the voices creep in, placing echoing sounds of busy bodies idle chatter replaying in my mind. Sweat is dripping down my back, and glancing up to the rearview mirror I catch a glimpse of how pink my face has become. I peel off my sweatshirt, in hopes of cooling off. I want to get my heart rate under control, and try everything from deep breaths to repeating over and over that I can do anything I set my mind to. None of this seems to quell the anxiety growing inside me as I get closer to a place I've actively avoided for the last ten years. I'm afraid that something or someone will make me snap, or cry. Most likely both. So much for being a yogi and master meditator. It is during moments like this that I miss the taste of a cigarette.

If I was into gambling, I would place bets on how quickly the unwanted comments, questions, passive-aggressive compliments, and stares will start. This is a small town, afterall. Gossip is a currency. Once we hit the party, I have to contend with the queen herself: Stef's mom, Susan. I can practically hear her in my head: Lily, you poor thing. No one serious since the divorce? Have you seen your mom yet? You know, Belinda is so sad she hasn't heard from you. I hope you will try to make things right with her. You only get one mother, you know. Truly, you should try to make amends with all the people around here who you've hurt. At least you had the decency to show up for Stef and Lee. Well anyway, enjoy the salmon puffs.

All the while, I will bite my tongue and internally stew over what I wish I was brave enough to say in return. I just haven't found my voice yet, not when it comes to the adults from my childhood.

We make it a few miles further when Stef's photo flashes on my phone. It's an old favorite of mine showing us as fifteen years old, all long limbs with knobby elbows, braces about to come off, and wearing matching gym shorts and school mascot T-shirts.

"Hey, I can't talk now, everything okay?" I blurt out quickly, kicking myself for immediately raising her suspicions.

"Yeah," she replies slowly, drawing out the word like she's not really sure, and then, "Are you okay?" She places a hefty amount of emphasis on the word you. No, I am not okay. No, I cannot lie to you. So, no, I cannot stay on the phone.

"Oh yeah, you know me, always on the move. I'm navigating the Wrangler through unfamiliar territory, can I call you when I'm parked?" That sounded almost believable.

"Duh, you didn't have to pick up. I just want to make sure we video chat before this birthday party Lee insisted on having at The Featherweight. It's this weekend." Dropping to a whisper she adds, "He's being weird Lil."

In the distance, I hear a door closing sound and a faint call to her from Lee. "Babe, I'm back with dinner." Yes, I am saved by the freaking bell.

"Okay, well, I gotta go, but we better talk. Soon." She hurries off the call before I can accidentally ruin any secrets.

A university bus, clearly done for the day and empty of the usual caffeine-riddled twenty-somethings nearly takes off my right side-view mirror. "Welcome back to Central Jersey, babe," I mutter to myself, causing Pete to tilt his head in confusion at me. "Welcome to you, too, little pup," I add, giving him another pat on his hind.

The image you have of New Jersey is probably completely wrong compared to where I am talking about. This isn't the crowded shore houses or the industrial airport. Central Jersey is a unique landscape of farms and sprawling fields of grass. Dueling suburbs of New York and Philadelphia where neighbors root for either city's team or argue if it is called Taylor Ham or pork roll, as they order the same breakfast sandwich using different names. There's something comforting about being home, despite the deep anxiety pulsing in my ears. All that being said, I've accepted my fate: there is no way I'm entering Peacock Springs as anything but a sweaty, anxious mess.