It Was A Whole Thing | Herophine

18

"Another one, please. And thank you."

Cal, the twenty-ish bartender, nods and stops wiping the counter. As his hands are busy making my second negroni, he eyes my drooped shoulders, Brazilian blowout, and fully made-up face sitting at the bar, alone. "Bad date?" he asks, striking a conversation.

I half groan, half huff. "Here's a tip for you, buddy. Refrain from rubbing salt on your wounded customers if you don't want them to leave."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "So, who's the guy?"

"Little shit," I mutter. "Drew Galinsky."

He makes a disgruntled face. "Consider yourself lucky, ma'am. You dodged a bullet there."

"Hey, don't call me that. We're friends," I complain with a frown as he slides my fresh drink in front of me. "And I know. I don't even know what got into me agreeing to a date with him. He was awful in high school. Just thought he'd change after so many years, you know?"

Cal, the bartender, clicks his tongue. "Ma'am, I admire your faith, but sadly, Drew Galinsky is a lost cause. Everyone in town knows that. Heck, everyone in the neighboring towns knows that."

After taking a small sip, I roam my eyes around the bar. "The town's official Facebook page should post a list of non-eligible locals, so people like me who hadn't been back in so long know."

"When was the last time you were here?"

I wrack my brain to come up with the year I left for college and never looked back, but I'm distracted by a group of people entering the place. "If I left for college when I was eighteen, and I'm in my late thirties, can you do the math, Cal?"

"Two decades is a long ass time, ma'am. What brought you back to town?"

"Cal," I say without turning to face him. "Do you have any idea why it feels like I traveled to 2010 again?"

Not one or two or three, but almost half of the football team from when I went to my high school here have shown up to the bar, accompanied by some of my cheerleaders back then and a couple of other batch mates and with a few more I don't recognize. The addition of the group is enough to make the spacious place feel cramped.

"Maybe they heard the news of your homecoming and wanted to welcome you," he teases before facing another customer.

That's highly unlikely. I doubt people in this town even remember me, save for Drew Galinsky, whom I bumped into this morning while I was out buying for fresh flowers to liven up the new place. As I shared with Cal, I haven't been back in town since I left for college. Not that I didn't love my hometown. On the contrary, I counted the days, biding my time and waiting for a chance to come home finally. My parents were perfect in the public eye but abusive assholes behind closed doors, so I was out when I secured a cheerleading scholarship two states away. I never asked for anything from them, and they never tried to reach out to me even though our close relatives knew how to reach me. But now both of them are gone--yes, I don't feel bad for not being there when they died--and here I am, a stranger to a place I still consider my home. Because even after all the years of abuse, they were still the best days of my life.

"Josephine?"

Welp, I guess they still remember me.

"Josephine Langford, is that really you? Oh. My. God. It is you!"

I turn to find Cheryl Bishop, our class president in high school, come rushing in front of me. She hesitates for a moment, so I smile and open my arms as an invitation. She grins and steps forward, and we share a brief embrace and quick hellos.