Preview

“Shit.  Misty Rayne. The rubber broke!”

Tyler was sitting up holding the rubber and you could clearly see semen dripping from the tear. I just laid there. Closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. This isn’t happening. 

“Well damn Tyler if you didn’t buy your rubbers from the dollar store, we wouldn’t have to worry about this happening. There ain’t nothing I can do now.” 

I lived in the back woods of West Virgina. Dirt poor. Even if I had the money to buy a plan B pill, I would have to hitch a ride 30 miles outside of town.

I stood up from the grass, threw on my panties, situated myself and said, “you need to leave. Come by tomorrow to help papa with the apple picking. “

Tyler was my one and only. Together since day one. His family lived five miles down the road on their farm. When we were younger my papa and Tyler’s dad would take us out into the pastures on our four wheelers. Me and Tyler, best friends. I got dirty with the best of them. Kicking up mud, playing in the creaks catching frogs and crawdads. Splashing in the rain and warming up next to a warm bonfire. We often hung out with Tyler’s brother Ben and some other kids from school. Julie was one of my school friends. She hated the dirt and hated doing anything that involved mud and bugs. Often, she would want me to come over and play dolls. I tried, but as soon as I saw the boys outside with their fishing rods or nets, I would make some excuse to leave. Tyler knew I hated playing with girlie stuff. He would often try to harass Julie thinking that she would stop hanging out with me. I don’t think his approach worked very well. The only time I enjoyed hanging with Julie was when her mama let us play around in the kitchen with baking ingredients. I loved to experiment with baking. When we were nine, Tyler’s brother Ben drowned in the local ravine. It devasted Tyler and I couldn’t leave his side. We often escaped to the tree house, where we would sit silently gazing at the stars above dreaming of a place where people didn’t die, and summer nights never ended. We didn’t need much. Just each other. My best friend turned into the love of my life. 

Tyler started up his daddy’s 1970 red and white Ford pick-up truck and told me to get in.

“No. I’m fixin to walk.” We had 10 acres of apple orchards, and I wanted to walk back to the house. 

“Suit yourself.” 

I leaned into the window and softly kissed him on the lips. Inhaling his earthy scent.

“Damn girl. I love you.” 

I smiled slightly biting my lip. “I love you too.” 

Tyler drove off. His truck kicking up dust from the field. I reached up, plucked a McIntosh, and took a big bite into the crispy snow-white flesh. I loved the tart taste and slightly grainy texture of the luscious red queen and often used it when I baked my apple pies. 

I felt a strong late summer breeze coming in. I held the apple in my mouth with my head tilted back, I extended my arms to either side, closing my eyes. I let the breeze blow right through me as I felt the juices from the apple glide down my throat. I love it here. I didn’t care how poor I was, this was heaven to me. I opened my eyes to embrace the sunset and carried on my way home. 

The smell of home-grown cooking was wafting through the house when I entered. Granny was in the kitchen making supper listening to her records. She was everything to me. I loved her more than words could ever express. She was making papa’s favorite ground beef and sausage with onions, garlic, and gravy poured over mashed potatoes. He called it chuckwagon, but we all knew it wasn’t the traditional chuckwagon that the cowboys made over a night fire. Her gravy was home-made, and the herbs and vegetables were picked straight from our garden. 

She was hunched over the kitchen sink washing the dishes. Her gray hair tied loosely in a bun, dressed in her worn flannel and overalls. Barefoot. Her face weathered from the sun and age. Her hands raw from gardening and harvesting the apples. You could hear the popping of beef and pork in the cast iron skillet. I approached her and gently laid my hand upon her shoulder and said, “Granny sit down. I will do the dishes.”

She was hesitant but said okay. She liked things done a certain way. She was stern, but gentle. She gave me a few good licks growing up. That’s how we did it in the country. You never sassed talked your elders or you were sure to get in trouble. She sat down at our farm style table in the kitchen, rummaging through the mail and reminding me to check on the taters. 

“You don’t want them to be too mushy. Papa loves his chuckwagon.” 

Granny and papa had one child, my mother, Faith. I don’t remember Faith. She died when I was a baby. Granny kept a book of photos and often I would catch her in her chair at night under the dimly lit light gazing at the photos and wiping her hand across them as if she were connecting with her. Teardrops seeping from her tired worn eyes and pooling in her wrinkles. Faith was beautiful. Papa said I remind him of her. He would say, “You may look like my Faith, but you are my Misty. More sense than God knew what to give ya!” 

My mother died at the age of nineteen to an overdose of heroin. Geographically we were destined to be an area with a high percentage of drug abusers. We are a town of working-class folk that deals with a lot of physical labor leading to chronic pain and the abuse of pain killers. Drugs are always accessible and easily attainable.  

Granny and papa never talked about my dad. I only knew his first name. Levi. I never took an interest in learning anything about him. It wasn’t abnormal in our neck of the woods to grow up without your mama or your daddy. I had granny and papa, and they were my mom and dad. 

I have no desire to take the path of drug abuser. I don’t have many dreams because I am afraid of disappointment. We set our expectations low here. I do love to bake. My apple pie was to be desired by all within the community. I entered my first state fair when I was only eleven and took home the blue ribbon. The key, I discovered, is picking the right apples. Different types of apples carry different pH levels making some more suited for a pie to give that full slice flavor with the right amount of tenderness. Par-cooking them prior with the right type of spices, tempers them when placed in the cold flaky pie crust shell. You can’t forget my signature lattice weaving of crust on the top. Baking brings me joy. 

I was wrapping up the last of the dishes when papa came in. He playfully shoved me aside and began washing the dirt from underneath his fingernails. He was worn and tired. 

‘Smells good ma.” He kissed granny on the head and joined her at the table. 

“We got another notice today.” Granny slid a letter over to him and he disregarded it with an ominous look on his face. He inhaled deeply and slowly as if he were thinking of how to respond. Granny didn’t wait. She stood up to fix him a plate and gently placed it on the table in front of him. 

“I appreciate you pa.” Eat up and we can sit on the porch with our iced tea. 

Papa nodded and dug into his food. 

That evening, I looked at the foreclosure notice. Everything they have worked for can be taken away in just one moment. 

Business with the orchard had been slow. Papa and Granny were barely getting by. They were always just one payment away from losing it all. Their age made it that much harder in getting harvest completed in time, and they didn’t have the means to hire help. Me and Tyler often worked in the orchard, but Tyler had his own farm to contend with and while his dad was very understanding with Tyler helping, he was adamant about Tyler making home a priority. I hated to see them struggling when they have devoted their life in taking care of me and giving me the best they knew. A wholesome life filled with love. 

I had a baked goods farm stand at the end of the drive and decided to pull out some pie crust and bake. In addition to apples, we had a row of cherry trees, and we grew blueberries on the farm. Every Sunday I prepped my crusts and my fillings. It made the daily baking more efficient. I put together eight pies, four apple and four cherry. I also felt ambitious and decided to make fresh blueberry filling for my homemade blueberry turnovers. The summer night cooled down and the windows were open allowing the swift summer breeze to softly blow the kitchen curtains. I could here granny and papa laughing on the porch as I combined the blueberries, sugar, cornstarch in a saucepan gently adding in the fresh lemon juice, vanilla and cinnamon. I had a quick pastry recipe that took around thirty minutes to put together. I found it was just as flaky and buttery as the traditional method but less time and only four ingredients. These were papa’s favorite. It wasn’t long after I popped them in the oven when he came sneaking into the kitchen for first pick. 

“Papa, I’ll bring it out when they’re done.” Laughing I gently nudged him out of the kitchen and went back to work. 

Cookies went into the oven while the turnovers cooled. I plated one for granny and one for papa before cleaning up and packaging everything. I ended the night with a quick call to Tyler reminding him to be here by six AM. We blew kisses on the phone. I said good night to granny and papa and tucked myself away for the night. 

****

It was a typical morning. I was up before dawn. Threw on my cutoff jeans, gray V-neck t-shirt, and rubber boots. Tossed my hair in a baseball cap. Drove my baked goods down to the self-service baked goods stand, turned the sign from closed to open. Went back up to the house. Made breakfast for granny and papa. Eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. Lots of coffee. Headed to the chicken coop to collect our eggs and get started on a day of chores and apple picking. It was a beautiful morning. One of the mornings that one might take for granted. I try to appreciate the blessings that God sends down on us and embrace the nature and the peacefulness of being on the orchard. Not a cloud in sight, birds chirping, the bees buzzing. 

Sipping my coffee and sitting on the front porch swing, I heard Granny yell from the house, “Misty, Tyler’s on the phone.”

We didn’t get good signals for internet and cell service in our neck of the woods, which meant we had to have a land line which I enjoyed. I had a cell phone once and found it created more anxiety than I needed. 

“Hey, sleepy head. You were supposed to be here at six. You good?”

“Hey, dad needed me at the house. I’ll be over in a bit. I didn’t want you to worry. “

“Handle your business. I’ll see you later.”

“Can’t wait to see you.”

“You sure? I’m already sweating, and this heat is making me sticky.” I laughed because we both knew that I got crabby when the humidity kicked in. “I’ll see you later- Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hung up and went back to business. I grabbed my ladder and headed out to the orchard with my bushel baskets and radio. I passed granny in the garden. She was weeding and collecting our veggies for the week. I loved watching her. I don’t think she realized she had a natural smile on her face while she was with nature. She looked like she was in a bubble. Relaxed. This orchard was truly magical. A whole other level of life. One of wholesome living, family, and love. I wouldn’t be me without it. 

I set up the ladder and balanced a bushel basket on the ledge. Set my radio on the ground finding my favorite radio station and went to work picking the hanging fruit. 

Days like today I often wondered how my mom could mess this up. What if she chose me instead of the drugs? While I didn’t hyperfocus on Faith I had moments when I truly felt a sense of belonging here and could not imagine why she never had that same light bulb moment of family, love, and unity. Was she so miserable in herself that she felt she would be better off dead? Deep in my thoughts and singing along with the radio I didn’t realize that Tyler had been there watching me. I heard a snicker and was startled.

“You turd!” we both started laughing and I climbed down from the ladder and jumped into his arms. “God, I missed you. Am I supposed to miss you this much?”

I gazed into his eyes. His face, his lips, I loved every inch of this man. I squeezed in close to his body and rubbed my hands up and down his strong arms nuzzling my head into his neck and chest. He was sweaty and he is all mine. 

“I can’t get enough of you Misty Rayne. You complete me. I only want to live each day in your presence. I would follow you to the moon if you asked me to.”

“I only ask that you never stop loving me, because I will never stop loving you.” I leaned in to kiss him and I heard papa.

“You two need to get to work”

Looking up at my papa I smiled at him, and he returned the emotion with one of his loving smiles. He knew me. 

“Misty let’s finish the picking and then you and Tyer can have the evening off. Fair?”

“Of course, papa. Thak you.” Papa turned and then I quickly planted a full-on kiss with Tyler. Inserting a quick giggle before getting back to work. 

Tyler and I spent the rest of the afternoon collecting apples and sending them to the barn. Around 3:00 PM Tyler took off indicating he had to get back to the house.

“We got a new harvester for the corn and dad wants me to test it out with him. I’ll call you later.”

“Will you come by for a fire later? I’ll bake for you.” Tyler loved my pies. 

“Yes. I’ll be back around eight. See you later.”

“I can’t wait.” I kissed him and watched as he piled into his pickup truck and drove away. 

© Chloe Briggs

The character(s) in this post is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Without in any way limiting the author’s and publisher’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

 I have watched countless movies where people were on the stand in court testifying, but I never dreamt I would be one of them. I wasn’t testifying in just any trial but the trial in which I would be facing the person responsible for my kidnapping. 

    My palms were sweaty, and my mouth was dry. I sat facing a crowd of people. I looked over at him. No remorse in his eyes. Just a shitty grin. The last three years of my life will be unraveled here. On display for all to see. Photos of my scarred body. Medical reports of the damage done to my female organs which would keep me from ever having children. Once I started speaking, there was no going back. My lawyer approached and said, “Devon, do you see the person responsible for what has happened to you the last three years of your life?” I saw my mom and my brother in the crowd. My mom was sobbing as Tommy consoled her. She was just beside herself. She looked at me, dried her eyes, and slowly nodded her head up and down. Giving me strength. I then darted my eyes to the man that sat in the defendant’s chair. I was enraged and scared. I paused and took a sip of water. I then replied, “yes, sir.”

“Could you please point him out to the jury?” 

Without hesitation I did as my lawyer asked.

© Chloe Briggs

The character(s) in this post is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Without in any way limiting the author’s and publisher’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

The sky darkened and rumbled with the force of a freight train. The rain pelted my skin with the strength of a hundred bees as I ran. The lighting flashed so quickly and so dramatically that I leaned into its brilliance of electrifying momentum.  I didn’t look back. My bare feet sinking into the thick mud with each stride. This was it. I was either going to make it or he would catch me. Again. Once I reached the forest the trees sheltered me from the rain, and I was able to pick up speed. I wasn’t going to stop until I was far away. Branches and twigs ripped open my feet, but I didn’t care. My eyes darted for a clearing or a road. Some place where I could find someone to help or shelter to hide. I wanted to stop, but I kept going, fearful that just one break would allow him to catch up to me. The last five years of captivity flashed before my eyes, making me stronger. The more I remembered the angrier I got and the harder I pushed. His hot breath in my face, pinning me down, forcing his sweaty, musty, body into mine. That memory of the day when I was taken sank into the depths of my belly. If only I had stayed home instead of taking a chance and trusting someone I had never met before. Early on his words and his voice captivated me and I thought I was in love. Late night conversations and text messages clouded my judgment, and all remnants of common sense ceased to exist. I was lonely and he filled the hole that was burning deep inside. For a fleeting moment in time I thought, how lucky am I? Our online romance lasted a mere thirty days before I decided to meet him face to face in that dingy vintage diner. Walking in I saw him sitting at the counter. Pressed polo shirt and khakis. He looked just as he described. Handsome, strong. Our eyes locked and he smiled. There was a familiarity with him, and I had hoped I was everything he thought I would be. I took a seat beside him and the waitress placed a slice of pecan pie in front of me. My favorite. He remembered. We talked for hours, and I carelessly thought I knew him. I was comfortable. He drove me to his place leaving my car in the parking lot of the diner with a promise he would bring me back to it the next day. We listened to music on the drive and laughed. Pulling into the driveway the headlights shone on a murky gray looking home that sat deep in the woods. The darkness hid the falling gutters and chipped paint. He unlocked the door and said, “Ladies first.” It was only for a moment, but I hesitated. It was like a whisper in my ear saying don’t. 

The house seemed bigger on the outside compared to the inside and when I stepped into it, it had an earthy almost stale smell. It was not inviting. Ethan threw his keys on an end table and flicked on the light that stood upon it. There we stood illuminated in a time capsule from the eighties. Wood paneled walls and plastic covered furniture. A rust-colored floral sofa with matching loveseat, and a dusty golden lazy boy recliner adorned the space. In the corner of the room hung a large oil drip lamp with a statue of a naked woman in the center. The only item from this decade was the 65” flat screen tv which sat upon an old tv console. To most the condition of his home would seem alarming; however, I remembered Ethan telling me that he had inherited the home when his mother died just two years prior. She collected disability and never had the money to renovate or update the home as years went by. She was also a frugal woman and didn’t see the need in replacing something that was perfectly fine. Ethan worked as an insurance adjuster and was saving to renovate and make the home his. Still, even knowing this I had an unsettling feeling just standing in the cold room. Nothing about it felt like a home. It wasn’t the aesthetics of the room but the vibe of past souls that inhabited the space years ago. It made my hair stand on my arms and neck. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Ethan started walking towards another room that I believe was the kitchen. I followed him.

“Sure. Water would be great.” 

The kitchen was plastered with faux brick wallpaper, an orange refrigerator, and matching electric stove.  A fluorescent rectangle box light hung on the ceiling. You could see the bugs that had collected over the years within the light cover. 

Ethan handed me a highball glass the color of forest green filled with iced cold water. Even his dishes stood the test of time. 

“How does your sister feel about you living in your childhood home after all these years? Was she upset that your mom gave it to you in the will?”

Ethan’s face grew dark. It made me regret asking or bringing up his sister. He didn’t talk about her often. I just knew that there was a significant age difference between the two and her name was Sarah.

“Sarah was fine with the decision our mother made. Didn’t I tell you she is a successful realtor in California? Anyway, enough about that. I’m so glad you’re here Jane.”

He took the glass from my hands and gently set it on the counter. He leaned into me and kissed me softly on the lips. Our first kiss. I could smell the aroma of his aftershave reminding me of lavender and vanilla. He didn’t look anything like his home. He was polished and clean. I melted in his arms and immediately felt warmth. Get out of your head Jane. He likes you! I opened my eyes and looked into his. They were a deep brown reminding me of a pool of melted dark chocolate. They were the most beautiful brown eyes I had ever seen. His lips were full and perfect for kissing. I stared down at them hoping he would kiss me again. He brushed his hand across my cheek. 

“You’re so beautiful.” His face blushed. ‘I don’t want to rush this. I know I asked you to stay tonight, but can we just talk and be with one another?”

“Yes. I was hoping you would say that. I haven’t been with anyone in a while and I really like you, Ethan.”

“I like you too Jane. Hang out for a bit. I am going to get some clean linens and make up the guest room. “

“Okay.” He wandered down the dark hall into another room. I took my glass of water and started sipping it as I looked at the multiple photos that hung perfectly framed on the walls. There were photos of a little boy whom I believed to be Ethan. I could tell by his almond shaped brown eyes. His mom had one of those photos frames that had every school photo from kindergarten to twelfth grade. Each one displayed in an oval shape opening. 

“You were quite a handsome little boy.” I yelled. 

I could hear Ethan rustling in the other room. He didn’t respond. He probably didn’t hear me. 

There were photos of a beautiful girl. This must be Sarah. Ethan told me she was twenty years older than him. Gorgeous chestnut colored curly hair cascaded down her shoulders. Hazel eyes. Another photo hung of Ethan, Sarah, and their mother. It was one of those family photos you would get taken at Olan Mills. She was just as beautiful as Sarah. All three smiling as if someone just told a bad joke.  All photos taken and frozen in time. Each one holds a memory of days past. 

I heard a loud bang as if something had fallen. 

“Ethan! Are you okay? Do you need help?”

“I’m good. I’ll be out in a second.”

I got to one of the last photos on the wall and something struck me as odd. It was of Sarah standing next to a man. She was holding a baby. The photo was small. I had to inch closer to it to get a clear view. The man looked familiar. I squinted my eyes to see that the man in the photo was my father. How could this be? II squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. It was him. I dropped my glass of water shattering it into pieces. I felt a hand on my shoulder and a sharp pain in my neck.  It felt like a needle. I turned to see Ethan holding a syringe in his hand. 

“Good night, Jane.”

 © Chloe Briggs

The character(s) in this post is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Without in any way limiting the author’s and publisher’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

 Why in the hell did I decide to host a girl’s night at my house? My social anxiety has already peaked this week and the morning had me overstimulated. I tripped down the stairs when trying to get to the door to sign for my FedEx package landing in a pile of shit left by my pissed off goldendoodle Stella. It’s 11:00 AM and I am over it. The girls have been insisting I do something other than work. 

I pulled into the parking lot of Safeway and realized based on the jam-packed lot that Saturday mornings around noon was not the most ideal time to stop at the grocery store. I parked, turned the car off and took a deep breath. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. At the age of 25 I looked like a crazy middle-aged woman about to bite the head off chickens. I was undeniably a mess. Thirty days, six hours and twenty-nine minutes ago my fiancé left me at the altar. My Charlie hurt me in the worst way imaginable. No explanation. I still try to rationalize what happened. I still give him the benefit of the doubt. I tell myself if he came knocking on my door I would take him back in a heartbeat. No questions asked. I yearned for him, and I missed everything, even his snoring. I still hadn’t washed his pillowcase from the last time he was in my bed. I snapped out of it and gave myself a pep talk. You got this girl. Who needs him? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and tonight it’s just you, your girls, and a plethora of alcohol. I took another deep breath and exited the car. 

I repeated my mantra; I alone get to choose how I feel.  I said it with each step and as I kept walking, I could feel more in control of my emotions. I pulled up my grocery list on my iPhone as I grabbed my cart and headed into the store.  The more I recited my mantra and thought about having a girl’s night the more relaxed and excited I became. I caught myself humming and for once I wasn’t thinking about Charlie. I was in my bubble until a very familiar voice was heard in the produce section just as an extremely pregnant woman knocked over a pile of oranges. I turned to see him bent over picking up the fallen fruit and helping her out. That was my Charlie. Always willing to help someone in need. I watched as he handed her the oranges. She giggled and, in that moment, he leaned in and kissed her delicately on the cheek while subsequently rubbing her large belly. Did my Charlie know this woman? Why was he kissing her? I tried to inch closer to the couple unaware of my surroundings and I clumsily ran into an end display knocking over an entire case of Knorr noodles and rice. 

Jesus Christ. Just kill me now. 

I looked up and our eyes locked. I hadn’t seen him since the night before our wedding. Don’t say a word. Don’t cry. His lips parted a bit as if he was going to say something, but he placed his hand on the small part of her back turning her toward the bakery. Away they walked. He didn’t look back. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I left my cart and ran out of the store. 

Fuck my mantra and fuck my emotions. 

I don’t remember the drive home. I headed into the house, threw off my shoes and threw my purse on the floor, walked to the back and jumped straight into my pool. I went to the bottom and sat there letting out the most primal scream allowed when one is underwater. Floating to the top, my tears poured. Stella sat at the edge of the pool staring at her unraveled human.

I stayed there until I couldn’t take it any longer and walked back into the house dripping wet. I headed right to the bar cart and poured a whiskey over ice, wrapped my hair into a bun said fuck it. I didn’t even bother changing into my suit. I landed on my donut floatie back in the pool. If the girls want to eat, they can order pizza. I’m done. 

It wasn’t long before Taylor’s shadow was hovering over me as I floated in the pool.

“Tricia, what the hell?”

“Taylor, you’re blocking my sun and ruining my buzz. MOVE!”

Taylor was like a sister to me. We met in the second grade when her and her mom moved to Arizona. Both of our moms were single parents. Our dead-beat dads left us when we were babies. Her mom had a lot of issues and Taylor often stayed the night with us. She was the one person I could always count on, no matter what. When we were eleven, we ran away together and we made a pact that no matter where life takes us, we would never let one another down. We would always support and love one another. Sisters and friends for life. We were only gone for one day, but when my mom found us, she embraced us both. She never yelled. Years later when we were fifteen my mom died of breast cancer, devastating both of us. I don’t think either of us ever recovered from her death, but we had each other. 

“Are you already drunk?”

“Maybe.” I laughed hysterically and took a gulp of my ice-cold beverage. 

Taylor leaned over and flipped my float pushing me into the water along with my whiskey. 

“Sober up buttercup. We got an entire night ahead of us.” 

I climbed out empty glass in my hand and immediately pushed Taylor from the back, knocking her into the pool. I jumped in after her and we both started laughing and splashing one another. I laughed until my laughter turned to tears and the splashing stopped. 

“He was there Taylor. At the store. With a woman. She was pregnant. Very Pregnant.”

Taylor knew exactly who I was referring to and the look on her face remined me of Pacino in the Godfather when he realized Fredo had betrayed him. 

“That mother fucker. I knew he was bad news. What do you want me to do?”

Taylor was loyal. If I called her in the middle of the night and said, “bring a shovel and don’t ask questions.” She wouldn’t ask questions, and she would dig the entire grave.

“You girls partying without me?” Sam walked outside already in her suit looking like she was about to pose for Sports Illustrated magazine. Sam had the type of beauty that every girl craves. Solid figure, long blonde locks, tall, and tanned skin.  “Did you say you saw Charlie?” She threw herself in a lounge chair and sipped her margarita. 

“Sammy come lately. Always coming into the end of the conversation.” Taylor rolled her eyes.

I met Samantha in high school when I got a part time job at the neighborhood pizzeria slinging slices and waiting tables. It took Taylor time to get used to the third wheel of our friendship. Samantha was a trust fund baby. She was irritated her parents made her get a job, but to this day she insists, “If I never stepped foot into that pizzeria I would have never met my best friends.” Both of her parents died tragically in a car accident just a year ago, leaving her everything. 

We were a family. The trio that became inseparable.

Samantha introduced me to Charlie at one of her father’s work events right before the tragic accident. They hosted many at their lavish home. Charlie was the son of an influential businessman. Most of his business was in New York but he commuted back and forth from New York to Arizona. Charlie split his time as well and eventually earned an internship with his dad after college in New York. Our relationship was long distance for the most part, but every weekend was spent together. 

“Why would he leave me for a pregnant woman? It doesn’t make sense.” I was crying again and as I said the words, I knew what Taylor would say next. She was always cynical. This girl did not have one ounce of trust in anyone or anything other than me or Sam. 

“How do you know that baby isn’t his? I’m sorry Trisha, but what if you were the other woman?” 

Samantha audibly gasped. “There is no way I would have put you two together if he was with someone else.”

“I know, but what if you didn’t know either?” 

Taylor had a point.

“Fuck this. I am calling him. Give me my phone!” I went to my favorites and clicked on his photo. The phone rang, and just as I was about to hang up, she answered. 

© Chloe Briggs

The character(s) in this post is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Without in any way limiting the author’s and publisher’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.