Coasting

Chapter 2

Day 10

This summer was going to be hell. After my second day here I was already bored out of my mind. This tiny beach town in North Carolina doesn't even come close to comparing to the lively, colorful city of San Francisco that was only 20 minutes south of my parent's house.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the simplicity. Sitting on the back porch of Monica and Michael's house today facing the Atlantic Ocean, reading a pre-law book while the sun beat down on my skin was beyond relaxing. But by one in the afternoon I was tired from sun exposure and mentally exhausted from a large chapter on appeals, so I closed my book and went back upstairs to the guest room where I slept until late that afternoon.

Around five thirty, I was startled awake by someone gently rattling my shoulder. I jolted upright to see Monica peering down at me, her dark hair tied back into a tight ponytail.

"Oh," she said, releasing her hold on my arm. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I rubbed my eyes as everything started to come back into focus.

"We invited our good friends over to dinner tonight."

I looked at her and gave a shrug.

"They live right next door to us. They'll be over in about a half hour so why don't you hop in the shower and get yourself cleaned up."

After she left the room, I did exactly that. I showered, put on a small amount of makeup, slipped on some jeans and a tank top and headed downstairs. When I entered the kitchen, Michael was sitting at the table reading the Sunday paper, and Monica was tossing a salad.

"Are you cooking again?" I asked, trying to hide the fear in my voice.

Monica must have heard it though, because she tossed the salad a little more fiercely and I couldn't help but notice how her words cut like knives when she said, "No. Kim's bringing over the main dish."

"Kim always brings over the main dish," Michael explained to me. Monica tensed up even more at his words, causing Michael to look over at her. He stood and walked over, pecking her on the cheek. "Besides, what would we do without your salad."

"Anyone can make a salad," she said, still tossing the lettuce with so much force it seemed like it was starting to wilt under the dressing and the pressure.

Michael looked at me. "Mon makes a mean salad."

The doorbell rang and Monica set the salad tongs down--finally. She wiped her hands on a nearby kitchen rag and headed to the door, Michael in tow. Uncomfortably, I joined the train.

The family that stepped through the door was far from the people I imagined being close friends with Monica and Michael. The mother was the first one in the door and she came in loud, squawking and squealing like she hadn't seen my aunt and uncle in ages even though they lived right next door. Her dark hair was a matted mess of tangles and her age showed clearly on her face.

Her large greeting was followed by a tight bear hug to Monica, who surprisingly hugged her back, though with a little less enthusiasm. Still I couldn't miss the genuine smile that reached Monica's eyes--the first real smile I had ever seen from my aunt--and I wondered even more about their unlikely friendship.

The lady then spotted me and smiled widely. "Oh my gosh! This must be Jamie!"

I smiled a little and raised my hand to wave modestly.