Page 1 of Strange Love

Chapter 1

“I Wanna Go Back”

Ivy - Age 23, 1994

Itake a deep breath, allowing my elbows to rest on the polished wood table. My blonde hair cascades down my back in loose waves, and I can feel it tickling my exposed skin as I gaze at my friends with a bittersweet smile. Tomorrow is my friend Sarah’s wedding day, a celebration we’ve all eagerly anticipated. But for me, it means coming face to face with him and confronting memories I have been trying to bury for years. A knot formed in my stomach two weeks ago, which has taken up residence ever since. There is no indication it will vacate anytime soon.

Sarah is busy with her family after the rehearsal dinner, so we girls decided to meet tonight for drinks. My best friend, Sascha, sits to my left, and my other friend, Kerri, sits across the table. They both left our small town for bigger and better things, so I’m officially the only one at the table who still lives here. That happens when you refuse to leave your hometown or are too scared to leave. That’s how he would word it.

The other ladies sitting with us seem pleasant enough, even though I’ve only recently met them through the experience of the wedding activities. Other than Sascha and Kerri, they are all friends of Sarah’s from college and her new job in a city three hours from here, interested in hearing about our small town and the famous hockey players it has produced.

“Can you believe Sarah is getting married tomorrow?” Sascha asks, her voice tinged with longing.

Kerri’s curly strawberry-blonde hair bounces with every shake of her head, a few loose strands escaping from her messy ponytail.

“I can’t believe we’re adults now,” she sighs. “Remember when we spent our weekends just hanging out, no worries about paying rent or studying for exams?”

A nostalgic glint appears in Sascha’s eyes as she adds, “And the North End Mall...those were my teenage stomping grounds. From age twelve to eighteen, I practically lived there. It’s where I found all my favorite goth clothes.”

Kerri and I share a laugh because looking at her now with her soft, pale pink sweater and jeans, it’s hard to imagine her as a rebellious teenager dressed in black from head to toe. When I met her, she could’ve passed for a member of Siouxsie and the Banshees with her inky black hair and thick charcoal eyeliner. Now, she wears her naturally light brown hair in loose waves. It fits perfectly with her new position as an advertising executive, giving off a polished yet approachable vibe.

My eyes glisten as I listen to the ladies talk about old memories. “The mall closed last year,” I say sadly, taking a sip of my Chardonnay and savoring its oaky flavor.

Kerri’s face lights up excitedly, “What about Donnelly Ice Center?”

I almost choke on my wine at the mention of the ice rink. “That place will never shut down,” I reply incredulously.

Only those of us from here know the intimate details of my relationship with that ice rink or the man who helped make it famous when he left for Boston. He’s now on his way to becoming a star in the NHL, putting our little town on the map. Just as it should be, I remind myself for the millionth time.

“I do miss high school,” Michelle says wistfully, scanning the group for agreement.

“Because you were a huge slut,” Misty interjects with a playful smirk, and the group bursts out in a fit of laughter.

“It’s true,” Michelle says proudly, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Still kinda am,” she adds with a wink.

“Okay, enough about that. What else do you miss?” Amy prompts the group, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

Misty offers up her first thought, “I miss the music. I’m not sure about this new grunge stuff.”

We all nod in agreement, reminiscing about the songs we used to blast from our cassette players. It’s amazing how we have so many shared experiences with being raised in the 70s and 80s, even if we grew up in different places.

As we continue sharing our memories, more ideas are thrown out one after another.

“The clothes.”

“The big hair.” Laughter radiates throughout the room as we remember our questionable fashion choices and hairstyles.

“No World Wide Web,” Michelle chimes in.

“My parents didn’t know or care about where I was,” says Misty. We all nod in understanding, grateful for our freedom as teenagers.

“Bike rides.” The simplicity of cruising around on our bikes brings a smile to everyone’s face.

“The plastic Halloween masks we almost died wearing.” The memory of those suffocating masks brings both laughter and horror to our faces.

“The movies.” We all let out an audible groan at the mention of John Hughes’ name. His films were such a big part of my coming-of-age experience. Our nostalgia turns into a discussion about how no one can capture the essence of teenage angst like he did.

Glancing up at the sparkling chandelier, I try to push the difficult memories away, focusing on the present moment, but when others begin sharing stories and laughter fills the air, it’s hard not to feel a pang of regret, a constant reminder of the choices that led me to where I am today. At one point, those choices were driven by courage and the need for independence, but now they feel more like chains holding me back from taking risks. Like mud oozing into my boots, this feeling weighs me down with every step I take.