Painted Crowns (on hold)

(7) Liquid Courage

For the second time today, I sit opposite someone who may or may not despise me. The kitchen table cozier than Marnie's antique sofa set, putting me only a few feet from Miss Avery. A bouquet of wildflowers sits in a vase between us, tied with a blue ribbon and a condolence card. Stacks of letters and junk mail litter the left side of the table against the wall. That seat was always empty as a kid.

"How's New York treating you?" Miss Avery asks politely, pouring a glass of apple juice into a blue plastic cup. "Is the city stressful?"

"It's a different kind of stressful than you find here." I explain as she places the glass in front of me.

"What do you mean?" She asks genuinely. "Isn't stress a universal thing?"

I chuckle and run my fingers along the outside of the glass. "Well yeah, but here we have stress that comes from knowing every single person in town and wondering whether the neighbor chickens are going to get eaten by lone coyotes or something."

Miss Avery chuckles, "When have you seen a chicken here? Or a coyote?"

"You know what I mean!" I laugh and drop my head forward. I can't look at her, so I'm hiding it in my laughter. "Whereas in New York, there's stress in the fact that nothing ever stops and you're afraid of being mugged on your way to school."

"Really? Your mom said you loved the city life," she sips from her own glass.

"You talked to my mom?"

"Of course. We were friends, Levy." Miss Avery smiles and watches my expression fade.

That stings; "We were friends." That pesky past tense that breaks hearts and brings up the lonely nostalgia. They aren't friends anymore. Without even mentioning my name, I know its my fault again. Late nights of hearing my mother on the phone with our lawyer come to mind, hearing the Waverly family name be thrown around like the lifelong friendships attached to the name had been forgotten and replaced with animosity. Legal troubles really strain a relationship.

Also when your friend's kid pounds your kid's face in a sudden, inexplicable rage. That's pretty damaging too.

"I honestly didn't think you'd recognize me," I mumble and play with my glass some more.

"I almost didn't. The hair is quite a change. You always said you wanted to dye it blue."

"It's not all blue." I unconsciously toy with the long pieces of my hair. Only the bottom half of my hair is blue now, a stringy, worn blue shag carpet that looks like its sewn awkwardly to a blanket of black wool. It's honestly a mess.

"I know, but it was enough to throw me off for a second." Miss Avery watches as I sink a bit into my chair. "I didn't know you were coming back, honestly. So part of me thought I was just imagining your face on some stranger."

"I'm surprised you remembered my face at all."

"Of course I'd remember your   face."

And that felt like another slap to it. I want to sink into a ball and disappear under the table.

"And June would be so happy that you're here."

That's it. That's what stabs my heart and rips it out of my chest. I should laugh and call Miss Avery an imbecile for thinking that, but of course, she knew June better than I did in these past few months. We stopped talking right before she got sick, and then the next thing I knew she was dead.

Where did the boys go? Luca and Don were here with me before I walked inside. Did they just ditch me? I could use them as an excuse to get out of this room.