Hannah sipped her apple cider, hands cupped around the rose patterned ceramic. Her fingernails were painted orange, tiny jack o' lantern faces on her thumbs leering at me. Hannah had been doing her own nails (and mine) since we were in sixth grade.

"So?" I asked, taking a sip of my vanilla latte. Steam rose from the cup, and my tongue burned faintly.

She raised an eyebrow, "So what?"

"So do I have a milk mustache?" I rolled my eyes.

"Yes."

"Hannah," I groaned. Her dark eyes sparkled with laughter. "Axel. What do you think?"

Axel had departed barely a minute ago. He'd needed to pack. His flight home left early the next morning, and thankfully he'd been considerate enough to arrange his own transportation, sparing me the drive to Charlottesville.

She shrugged, "He's fine."

"Hannah."

"What?" she said. "He seemed nice."

"He seemed nice?" I folded my arms. "He's gone. Tell me what you really think." Hannah was possibly the most judgmental person I'd ever met, save for my mother and Lou when they were in a mood and talking about someone from high school.

She took another sip of her cider. The owner's cat twined itself around the leg of our table, tawny tail grazing my jeans. A cold gust of air caught my ear as the door open and shut. I waited imploringly for her response.

"I thought he seemed nice, Jules."

"That's it?"

"What more do you want?"

"Literally anything other than 'he seemed nice'," I told her. "You're my best friend."

"Best girl friend," Hannah corrected wryly, instinctual smile flickering across her face. She paled slightly, and her smile faded, realizing what she'd said. My mouth went dry. She lowered her cider slowly back down to the table, pressing her lips together apologetically, "I didn't—"

I shook my head, forcing a smile, "No— it's okay. You don't have to—"

"It's just—"

"Habit. I know."

She didn't have to explain. For a moment I'd nearly laughed too. It was so immediate. So natural. We'd been saying it for years. Since she'd moved here really, and we'd become close. Even in third grade Gavin had begun making the distinction, sensing someone infringing upon his territory as my sole best friend. And so came the phrase, best girl friend. And in Grant's case, because there was no way Gavin was allowed to exist in hypocrisy, best guy friend.

It became somewhat of an inside joke between the four of us as we grew older and realized people were allowed to have more than one best friend. Thus, whenever I referred to Hannah as my best friend, she corrected me as Gavin would have in the third grade. It was sweet and reminiscent and always made us laugh. Our way of teasing Gavin. At least, it used to be.

I picked at the edge of my napkin, tearing tiny holes in the layers of paper.

"Anyway," Hannah cleared her throat, sniffing, "I'm pretty sure best friends are supposed to pick up each other's calls and respond to texts with more than one word."

I looked down at the table, cowed.

"I'm sorry." The words didn't feel adequate enough.

She was right again. I had not been acting like a best friend as of late, girl or not. It was just— hard. Everything about home was wrapped up in my memories of Gavin, including Hannah. The same memories I was trying with every atom of my body to permanently scrub from my brain. The memories that were now coursing through me with every second I spent back in Lovingston.

The only reason I'd even spoken to Hannah was because of Gavin. He played a prank on me that resulted in some very unfortunate bangs, and the longest silent treatment I'd ever given him...until now of course. All this to say: because we were fighting, I didn't have a bus buddy for the field trip to the aquarium, and Hannah, being new, didn't have one either— the rest is history. History that was unfortunately colored with the boy I wanted to forget. Because remembering, being with Hannah, and remembering it all— just reminded me of everything I'd lost, everything I'd broken.

If I never talked to Hannah, I could pretend. I could pretend. But here, I couldn't pretend.

"Me too." Hannah sighed, sitting back in her chair, "That was bitchy of me."

"Yeah, but I deserved it." I thought about the slew of grey text bubbles I'd merely hearted, the glowing red of her name in my 'missed calls', and winced. I'd been objectively, a really shitty best friend, and honestly I was surprised Hannah hadn't come at me harder.

She smirked, "Yeah, you kinda did."

"So... Axel?"

"So Axel," she nodded. "He's hot." I laughed. Fair point.

"And?" Her mouth worked for a moment, and she twisted the ends of her scarf as she thought.

Finally she said, "He's—different."

My eyebrows shot up, "Different?"

"That's not a bad thing."

"You sure?"

"He's just different," she shrugged, wrapping a dark coil of hair around her finger. "Not your usual type." I almost asked her what she thought that was. I'd only ever really dated one other person. I didn't even know what my type was. I wish I did. Maybe that would make things easier. "I don't know, Jules. I just never imagined you with anyone but..." she trailed off guiltily. Nobody would say his name. Not even Hannah. I hated it.

I shut my eyes, "I know."

"I don't think anyone did," she continued. "I mean, we were all so shocked when we heard— sorry." She broke off, casting her gaze down to her half-eaten biscotti. Behind her, a teenaged girl wearing purple framed glasses tripped on her shoelace. Her fork clattered to the ground. I realized as I watched her kneel to the ground to retrieve it, cheeks red, that it was Mrs. Jenkins' daughter. Mrs. Jenkins was our sixth grade math teacher, and the faculty advisor for student government. I wondered how on earth she'd gotten her mother to let her dye her hair the color of shocking pink she was currently sporting.

"It's fine," I said quietly. "I sort of figured." I managed a weak laugh, "So the entire town hates him too, then?" Better than them hating me, I supposed. Though I was sure that plenty did. Everyone was Team Gavin, and they had every right to be.

"I never said I hated him."

"You don't like him though."

"I like Gavin," she said plainly.

I sighed, "Everyone likes Gavin."

"He's a great guy, Jules. He always has been." I knew that. Of course I knew that. It was my own fault Hannah felt any loyalty whatsoever towards him to begin with. They'd been friends too. I was almost certain they'd talked since I left. About me. About all of it. I wasn't resentful of this. In fact, much the opposite. It wasn't as if I'd given Hannah a side to be on. I hadn't given her anything. I hadn't given him anything. It was better that way.

I imagined Hannah and Gavin sitting together in this very coffee shop, providing each other comfort, and the thought filled me with immense sadness. I almost wished it was bitterness I felt at the image. Bitterness was easier than loss. But it was only loss I felt.

What happened to shared history when it was no longer shared? Intimate knowledge when that intimacy had been severed? Memories became only pain, only hurt, only loss. What were the use of memories if one no longer wanted to remember?

Hannah was still talking, knee jumping beneath the table,

"And it's not that I don't like Axel. I don't know Axel. What's more important is if you like him."

I considered that for a moment, turning my napkin over in my palm once, twice. I ignored the impulse to fiddle with the necklace around my neck. Mainly because I knew that it wasn't there, and every time I grasped for that gold chain in a moment of anxious thought and was confronted with only the skin of my throat I was reminded as such.

Hannah watched me carefully, waiting.

I nodded, "I do."

I liked Axel. Mostly. I liked that he was different. Sort of. I liked kissing him. Certainly. I liked spending time with him. Usually. I liked the way he made me feel. Typically. I liked that it was easy. Definitely. I liked Axel. This was true.

That wasn't what I was stuck on. I don't know Axel, Hannah had said, implying that I did, somehow. But I didn't. There was no knowing involved in Axel and I's relationship. I knew things about him, and vice versa, but there was no knowing. He did not know me. And I was startled to discover the fear that no one would ever do so again.

"Okay," she reached across the table and squeezed my hand. She smelled like oranges. "I'm really glad you're back. We missed you."

"Me too." And for the first time since landing in Lovingston, I meant it.

I paid for our coffee and biscotti, my self penance for the lack of responding. I bought an apple fritter for the road. Kelly, who had been the captain of the swim team, tucked the pastry into the wax paper bag, her customer service smile failing to conceal her judgment. Axel had asked her for soy milk and had been disgruntled when he found they didn't have any vegan baked goods, so I couldn't exactly blame her.

We linked arms and headed down Main Street, crisp wind whipping at our cheeks. The sky was shockingly blue, air clean and sharp.

"You up for Rapunzel's tonight?" asked Hannah, as we turned down Morgan, passing the Mendoza's grocery store. Rapunzel's was the local hang out spot for anyone aged 16-20. It used to be a bar, but now functioned more like a dingy basement that had a pool table, dartboard, and relatively shitty onion rings. They still technically had a bar, but would never serve alcohol to any of us. It was the price you paid in a small town. Parties were held in a field for that very reason— which royally sucked when it was ten below and the snow was up to your calves.

"Are you going?"

"Everyone who's back in town is." It was a Thanksgiving tradition. Hardly anyone from my town left my town, and those who did always came back for Thanksgiving. Rapunzel's was reunion central.

"Everyone?"

Hannah nodded, "He'll be there." She paused, shrugging, "You can bring Axel." My stomach clenched.

"His flight leaves early. I don't know if he'll be up for that."

"Well, I hope you are."

I didn't even ask Axel to go with me. I merely told him I was, and kissed him goodbye when I left, because I had a sneaking suspicion it would be the last time I spoke to him before he flew back to Oakland. He didn't bat an eye. He was too preoccupied with packing to pose any follow-up questions, and honestly, he didn't care enough to.

My mother instructed me to say hi to Hannah for her as I headed out of the house, her eyes lighting up in a way I didn't like when I told her where I was going. The moon hung high overhead as I opened my car door, round and full and bright. I immediately turned the heat on high, peering at my reflection in the rearview mirror before I pulled out of the driveway.

I'd put on a thick layer of mascara and lined my eyes in smudgy pencil. I was wearing lip gloss too. I'd applied the makeup as if preparing for battle. My favorite chestnut boots, dark green sweater, and denim mini skirt were my armor. I'd brought my jacket this time, and a scarf for good measure. A true feminist. My final layer of protection came in the form of a massive tortoise shell claw clip, collecting my red curls at the base of my neck, up and away from my face.

My hands drummed on the steering wheel, matching the beat of my heart in my ears. I chewed on my lower lip, turn signal blinking in my periphery. The street Rapunzel's was on was lined with cars, and my pulse spiked when I spied that familiar powder blue truck. When I finally squeezed into a spot I reminded myself that I didn't have to go in. I didn't have to be here at all. I could go home. I could turn around right now and hide in my house for the next few days and then everything would go back to normal. Normal.

I swung my legs out of the car, boot heels on the pavement. My bare skin prickled with goosebumps. I locked the car, purse over my shoulder. Hannah was already in there. She'd texted me twenty minutes ago.

The neon sign flickered in front of me, double doors looming large and mahogany. I could hear overlapping voices, loud, boisterous, familiar. The claw clip dug into my scalp. I took a deep breath, clutching my purse close to my body, and pushed open the doors.

Immediately I was hit with the scent of sweat and rubber and linoleum, all overwhelmed with grease. Bodies upon bodies surrounded me, sitting in booths and playing darts, singing karaoke in the corner. The football game played dimly on the screen above the dusty bar. My eyes darted through the crowds, and I received a few nods of recognition from old classmates. I barely registered them.

"You're here!" Hannah exclaimed, her hands clasping mine as she emerged from god knows where. She wrapped me in a tight hug, face flushed and warm. "I didn't think you were coming."

I shrugged, "Well..." I hadn't stopped scanning the room. "Is he—?" But the words fell away from me. I didn't know if Hannah responded because I'd found him. He was at the pool table, poised to make a shot with his cue. His sweater was pushed up to his elbows, eyelashes lowered in focus. Gavin took his shot. The cue hit the ball with pointed click, and his head lifted, gaze meeting mine instantly.

Adrenaline rushed through me, and the sounds around me blurred into one another, a low hum in my ears. I reached slowly up to my hair and took out the claw clip, curls tumbling down mourned my shoulders. And just like that, all my defenses were down. The gauntlet had been thrown.

"Are you okay?" Hannah nudged me, as I shoved the claw clip into my purse like it was a murder weapon. I nodded silently, swallowed.

"Let's go get a drink," I said hoarsely, tossing my hair over my shoulder. His eyes followed me. I could feel them, watching, tracking my every move. All my senses were on high alert, and I tried valiantly to focus on what Hannah was saying, focus on the vaguely awkward hellos as we ordered our Diet Cokes from Val, the gray haired owner who'd been running Rapunzel's as long as anyone could remember.

I smelled his cologne, woodsy and clean all at once. He was getting closer. I tapped my foot, smiling falsely at something Brian Adams was saying about the game, pretending to pay attention or even care about the score. Hannah handed me my Diet Coke, glass already perspiring. I shrugged off my jacket, draping it over the stool. I heard footsteps behind me. Hannah's eyes widened slightly.

"What happened to the claw clip?"

I turned slowly, pressing my fingertips into the cool glass, "Sorry?"

"Hi, Hannah," he waved, eyes never leaving mine. Hannah's eyebrows had nearly disappeared into her hairline, and it looked as though she was trying very hard not to smile.

"Hey, Gavin," she nodded, pinching the underside of my elbow.

"What happened to the claw clip?" he repeated.

"Oh so, you're speaking to me now?"

"That was your rule, not mine," Gavin shot back. I shut my mouth. Hannah's lips twitched. Traitor. Gavin and I stood there, eyeing each other, as if waiting to see who would break first. Hannah coughed. The silence persisted.

She cleared her throat, easing herself gingerly between us to grab my jacket. "I'll just go put this on the coat rack," she said pointedly, "and let you two...talk..."

"Bye, Hannah," Gavin smiled sweetly at her.

"Bye, Gavin." I was certain she was fighting laughter as her head disappeared from view. We were going to have words about that later.

"You let your hair down." He said, reaching his hand out like he was going to touch it. His fingers stopped just short, and disappointment shot through me like ice. My face felt hot and prickly.

"So?" I crossed my arms. Gavin rolled his eyes. "It was only up because of the wind. It was hurting my head. I took it down. Big deal."

He snorted, "You want to play it like that, Jules? Fine."

"It didn't mean anything, Gavin." Except it did. And he knew it. And I knew it. Hannah knew it. Hell, everyone in this fucking place knew it. But he was just as guilty, sleeves rolled up like that. It was my favorite sweater of his. A navy cable knit dream. I loved him in blue. He loved me in green.

"C'mon."

"C'mon where?"

He jerked his head at the far end of the room, "Let's go back over to the pool table." A smirk played lightly across his face, "Catch up." I blanched, grasping for an excuse, craning my neck wildly and helplessly across the crowd. There had to be a way out.

"Hannah—" I started.

"Don't even try it," Gavin scoffed.

"I'm not done with my drink," I said weakly.

The Diet Coke was a light, syrupy color, having mixed in with the melting ice. It was more than halfway gone. "I'll wait," he said, smiling beatifically at me. Gavin pushed the sleeves of his cable knit sweater up to his elbows, leaning back against the bar. I stirred my straw around and around, ice growing smaller and smaller, until it had fully disappeared. My straw sputtered on air. "All done?"

I clenched the glass tightly in my hand, allowing my palm to go numb and the condensation to seep into my skin. The paper straw as disintegrating between my teeth, "Maybe I wanted to order another one."

"You don't."

"You don't know that," I said, irritation pricking at his complete lack of uncertainty. "Maybe I do."

"You don't." He said, definitively. 'I know you don't because your bladder is tiny as shit and you're going to have to pee halfway through the second one."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "My bladder is fine, thank you."

Gavin sighed, motioning to Val, "Another Diet Coke, please. Put it on my tab." I opened my mouth to protest but Val had already slid the drink across the bar to Gavin. He handed it to me, "You can take it to go." Gavin's hand pressed lightly against the small of my back as we weaved through the throngs to get to the pool table. It was all I could do not to sink into his touch. There were eyes and whispers everywhere as we passed, and I ducked my head.

"Everyone's looking at us," I muttered, when we finally got to the pool table. I felt winded. I sipped on my drink in order to give myself something to to do and my bladder reacted in protest. I hated it when Gavin was right.

"Self centered much?"

I balanced my glass on the edge of the pool table, "I said us."

"Except clearly, they're looking at me."

I folded my arms, "And how do you figure that?"

"Well, for one thing," Gavin pointed at his face, grinning shamelessly. I shoved at his arm, nearly forgetting where I was and who I was with. It was too easy to fall back into it with him. Dangerously so. "And for another, there's the pregnancy rumors."

"Come again?" I choked on my own saliva, eyes blown wide in horror. I was not pregnant.

Gavin placed a solemn hand on his abdomen, "I know I'm not showing yet, but..." I could have punched that stupid smirk off of his face.

I groaned, rubbing my temples. "You're an idiot."

"Actually I'd prefer if you called me Mary."

"Oh you're going with immaculate conception?" I raised my eyebrows, riffing with him before I could stop myself. It was shocking how quickly we'd been able to slip back into our old routine with one another.

"Julia Woods," he clutched his chest, aghast. "I'm not a whore." He grinned at me, eyes dancing, and we burst out laughing, loud enough that we attracted a few additional looks from across the room. "I was chosen," wheezed Gavin, tears in his eyes. "Will you plan the shower?"

"Stop," I begged, giggling and trying to catch my breath. "I'm going to pee my pants." Gavin's eyes lit up. "Shut up," I grumbled, knocking his calf with my boot. But I was smiling, and so was he.

"I miss you," Gavin said, as our laughter died down, his gaze drifting slowly over to me. 

My smile dropped, stomach curdling. I shut my eyes, "Don't."

"I'm not allowed to miss you?" This was exactly what I'd been afraid of coming back.

"You're allowed to miss me, but not if you're doing the thing."

"The thing?" His lips twitched and he was making the face that always made me either want to punch him or kiss him in high school. More often than not I did both.

"The Gavin thing." I gestured at him aimlessly.

"I don't—"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't even try," I interrupted, folding my arms. God, he was still so stubborn. "The Gavin thing where your voice goes all soft and low and husky and you say you miss me, but it isn't just you missed me because you're Gavin and your eyes are somehow impossible to look away from. And you tilt your head just slightly, ever so wistfully, and—"

"Jules."

"And you say Jules," I pointed my finger at him accusingly, remembering too much, too fast. "Just like that, all gentle and teasing and affectionate and familiar, your lips twitching like you know a secret that you can't wait to tell me, just enough to make me want to melt, and kiss you and find out."

"Are you saying you want to kiss me right now?" he grinned.

My eyes narrowed. "Gav."

"Jules," he replied, with a slight raise of his eyebrow. He stood, turning so we were face to face. My heart was in my throat.

"You're still doing it," I sighed, pulse ratcheting up.

"Doing what?"

"Being Gavin." I tried to focus on the dartboard behind him, the green plush of the pool table against my thighs, but Gavin's eyes were as unrelenting as they always had been.

He stepped closer, "You still wanna kiss me?"

"I have a boyfriend."

"Of course," he nodded in mock appreciation. "The tattooed women studies major."

"Gav," I tensed, throwing him a warning glance. "Don't be an ass."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, I'm sure...?" he trailed off expectantly, looking to me.

"Axel," I muttered, looking down.

"Axel?" he repeated, snorting derisively, "Jesus Christ, Jules." He rubbed a hand over his face, "I'm sure Axel has it all covered on the being an ass front."

"You know what—" I started angrily, feeling defensive. I stood now, too. He had no right to— I stopped, ice flooding my veins, "How did you know he had tattoos?"

I watched Gavin's jaw tighten slightly. He swallowed, answered, "I saw you at Gordon's."

"Oh," I said quietly, digging my fingernails into the palm of my hand. "Why didn't you—"

"Say hello?" he finished for me, incredulous. "To my ex girlfriend from high school and her new boyfriend in his ridiculous leather jacket?" He scoffed bitterly, "Yeah, I didn't think that would be a very pleasant interaction for anyone involved."

My anger rushed out of me like air out of a balloon. I chewed on my lip, exhaling, "Right."

"You were in our booth."

"I'm sorry."

Silence set over us then. I felt like crying and screaming and nothing all at once. Just when I began to think that maybe I should leave before we said anything else we'd regret, Gavin's hand brushed over mine.

"Jules..." he murmured.

"Hm?" I said faintly, spellbound by the warmth at my fingertips and the proximity to his chest and the familiarity of it all.

"Did you miss me?"

"That's a stupid question."

"How come?"

"Because you know me, and so you know I do."

"Can you say it though?"

"I miss you."

"I know," he grinned, gently running his thumb across my cheek. "You let your hair down."

"Ass," I breathed. His mouth was moments from meeting mine. He leaned in, and I followed, pulled by some inexplicable magnet. I shouldn't do this. I couldn't do this. But—

"Jules," he said just before we kissed, eyes suddenly cold. "I can't do this. Sorry,"

He left the room without looking back.

A tear slipped down my cheek.