Page 51 of Checking It Twice
After she leaves, Clare grins at me. “Tactical darkness solution?”
“It was a legitimate medical intervention,” I insist. “Completely different from a fort.”
“Fair point.” She studies the menu, which hasn’t changed since I was in high school either. “What’s good here?”
“Everything. Mel’s been making the same half-dozen dishes for thirty years, and they’re all perfect.” I don’t mention that I used to come here with Hannah after every home game or that we sat in the booth by the window where I could see her reflection in the glass.
Different girlfriend, different booth. Problem solved.
Clare settles on a grilled cheese and tomato soup—comfort food, which makes sense after this morning’s ordeal. I order the same thing because it sounds perfect for a gray December afternoon that makes you want to hibernate until spring.
“So,” she says, wrapping her hands around her coffee mug, “tell me about growing up here. What was little Mitchell Drake like?”
“Trouble, mostly.” I lean back against the cracked vinyl, letting myself relax into the familiar atmosphere. “I spent most of high school convinced I was hot shit because I could skate faster than anyone else in a fifty-mile radius.”
“Most of high school?”
“Senior year humbled me pretty effectively.”
“What happened senior year?”
I pause, coffee cup halfway to my mouth. Because senior year was Hannah, and the state championship we almost won, and the first time I thought I knew what forever looked like. It was also the year I learned that wanting something badly enough doesn’t guarantee you’ll get it.
“Got my heart broken,” I say finally. “First time.”
Clare’s expression softens. “Hannah?”
The name hangs between us, loaded with everything I’ve been trying not to think about since we got here. I nod, not trusting my voice.
“You don’t have to—”
“We were seventeen,” I continue, needing to get it out. “Thought we had it all figured out. I was going to get a hockey scholarship, she was going to study education, we’d come back here after college and live happily ever after in the house with the white picket fence.”
Betty appears with our food, sliding plates in front of us with practiced efficiency. “Anything else, kids?”
“We’re good, thanks.”
Clare waits until Betty’s out of earshot before leaning forward. “What happened?”
“Life happened. I got the scholarship to the University of Michigan, she stayed here and went to school locally. We swore we’d make long distance work.” I dip a corner of my grilled cheese into the soup, buying time. “Lasted eight months.”
“She broke up with you?”
“She tried to. I talked her out of it the first three times.” The memory tastes bitter and embarrassing. “Finally, she just... stopped calling. Stopped answering my texts. I found out through Facebook that she was dating someone else.”
Clare makes a soft sound of sympathy. “That’s awful.”
“The worst part was how relieved I felt,” I admit. “Once I got past the wounded ego, I realized I’d been hanging onto something that wasn’t working because I thought I was supposed to. Because everyone expected us to be forever.”
“But you got back together later. Obviously.”
Right. Because Hannah became my fiancée, not just my high school girlfriend. Which means I have to explain how someone who broke my eighteen-year-old heart ended up wearing my ring almost ten years later.
“We ran into each other during a visit home two summers ago,” I say carefully. “She’d moved back after her divorce and started teaching at the elementary school. We went for coffee to catch up, and...” I shrug. “It felt comfortable. Easy. Like coming home.”
“Comfortable,” Clare repeats, and there’s something in her voice I can’t quite read.
“Yeah. Comfortable.” The word sounds wrong now, inadequate. Because sitting across from Clare in this booth doesn’t feel comfortable—it feels electric, dangerous, like touching a live wire. “We both knew what to expect from each other. No surprises.”
