Page 21 of Bend

Nobody did anything dramatic. There was no big fall out.

They just… kept living their lives.

Graduations. Trips. New relationships. Promotions.

And I stayed in a room that smelled like antiseptic and tired hope, counting hours between nurse check-ins.

So yeah, I had girls.

I just haven’t had this in a long time. And now that I think about it, I guess “real” is a flexible word. Because when I really needed them, when my moms fight came to an end, and I had to say goodbye, they were nowhere to be found.

I swing my leg over and hop off, my boots hitting the hot pavement. The sun’s warm against my skin.Traffic keeps rolling past like none of this is a big deal as I pull my helmet off. My hair drops immediately, thick dark waves tumbling down past my waist like they’ve been waiting for freedom. It’s heavy, dramatic, and slightly ridiculous when the wind catches it. I rake my fingers through it once, flipping it back over my shoulders, checking the reflection in my bike’s mirror.

I twist the ends once, fluff it just enough so it doesn’t look like I’ve been speed-testing the highway for fun, even though I absolutely was.

Since I'd never been here before, I wasn’t really sure how to dress, one google search confirmed I definitely didn’t have anything really “Fitting” of this place, so I settled for black high-waisted leggings and a fitted black crop tank that hugs everywhere just right. Paired with some thin gold hoops, clear gloss and subtle black liner.

Sure, it’s clean, simple. But it shows just enough skin and girly flare to remind people I’m not strictly engines and attitude.

I adjust the small black crossbody pouch strapped across my chest. It’s small, compact, yet big enough to hold my wallet, phone, and keys. Which honestly, is all I need. I’ve never understood girls who carry their entire lives in a bag big enough to smuggle groceries.

Tucking my helmet under my arm, I take one more look at the place, then I head inside before I can talk myself out of it.

I walk through the café and out onto the deck off the side of the building where Bexley had told me they’d be.

The girls are easy to spot.

Cece’s purple hair catches the sunlight first—because obviously it does. It’s long, sleek, dramatic in a way that says yes, I chose this and yes, I pull it off. She’s in a cropped white tank and high-waisted denim shorts, legs crossed like she’s posing without trying. Relaxed, but in that deliberate way. Like she’s chill because she decided to be, though there’s a definite fuck around and find out vibe radiating off her, and honestly? I kind of love it.

Across from her is Bexley. Brunette hair smooth and glossy over one shoulder, cream tank, tailored shorts, and layered gold chains at her collarbone. The letters T and S rest there casually—subtle, except not at all. She’s dating not one, but both of my brothers, no pressure. She looks soft at first glance. Put together. Effortless in a way that makes you wonder if she wakes up like that or if there’s a hidden glam squad involved.

But her eyes are steady and observant. Calm in that grounded way that makes you feel like she’s already taken your measure and decided you’re welcome at the table.

Which, considering the circumstances, feels like a small miracle.

Lena’s just as blonde and sun-kissed in person as she is in the pictures I’ve definitely never stalked. She’s wearing a loose white blouse hanging open just enough to show a tie-dye bikini top underneath, cut-offs, and thick leopard-print sunglasses perched on her head like she lives here full time. It’s giving beachy boho badass in a way that looks effortless. I could probably pull it off if I tried. I just… don’t try.

They all look up when I step closer, and shockingly, they smile.

Not the tight, polite, “we’re being civil” kind of smile. Real ones. Which honestly throws me off more than if they’d just stared.

“Echo!” Cece practically yells the second she spots me, already halfway out of her chair before I’ve even made it to the table. “Míraaaala, she actually came!”

She’s grinning like I just showed up to her birthday party and not a casual lunch that could’ve easily be turned into an interrogation.

I let out a small laugh despite myself. “Yeah. Hi.”

She closes the distance fast, but pauses just enough to make sure I’m not about to bolt.

“Can I?” she asks, already half-reaching like the answer’s obviously yes.

“Yeah,” I say. “Sure.”

She hugs me tight. No hesitation or weird half-arm side hug. Full contact. She smells like mango and vanilla and something warm I can’t place, like she bottled up summer and decided to wear it.

It’s the kind of hug that hits you in the chest. The kind that makes your shoulders drop before you realize they were tense. All that low-grade anxiety I walked in with about them secretly hating me? Gone. Just… gone.

“I’m Cece,” she says as she pulls back, hands still on my shoulders like she’s doing a quick quality check. “I’ve heard so many things about you.”