Page 89 of SnowBound

“Impossible. I’m living my best life right now. I play music. I fuck when I want. I go out when I’m free. What more could I wish for?”

My friend’s laughter died down, and he watched me. I could feel the weight of his gaze even through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses. “The thing is—and for the record, I can’t believe I’m saying this—you don’t sound like yourself, man. You sure you’re okay?”

I tipped the bottle to my lips and downed a long gulp. “Yeah. No worries. It’s all fine.”

He sighed. “Your lips say one thing, but your face says another. Believe me, I love the carefree I don’t give a fuck thing you’ve got going on. It’s better than your pussy-whipped, I’m a sad puppy attitude of last semester. But since we’ve both been back to New York, you’re nothing like your old self.”

I turned my head, trying to evade his heavy stare.

“Talk to me. We’ve been best friends for a long time. Something happened when you went back home. I can tell. You’re turning into a jerk.”

My head snapped back, and my eyes fixated on him, my jaw tensed and my posture straight, praying the emotional tsunami playing inside me wouldn’t show on my face.

“It’s nothing. Forget about it.” My gaze lingered on the people playing chicken in the pool. “Wanna join them? I bet you can’t win against me.”

He cursed under his breath. Joe would never be able to resist a hot, soaked girl perched on his shoulders, her inner thighs pressing against his nape. I knew the guy better than I knew myself.

“Don’t tease me.” He shook his head. “We’re staying right here. Don’t change the subject, man. Come on, spill your guts. Uncle Joe is listening.”

He leaned back into his lounge chair, linking his fingers together behind his head and spreading his arms.

“Are you playing shrink right now?” I asked.

“Isn’t it evident?” He cocked one brow as if to say Play along.

Before he could get another word out, I pushed from the chair, jumped to my feet, and dived headfirst into the deep end of the pool.

The last words I heard from somewhere behind me were “Is that fucker serious?”

* * *

I adjusted the strap of my guitar around my neck and the microphone on the stand before me. “Good evening, folks.” The crowd grew silent. “My name is Andy, and I’ll be your entertainment tonight.” I turned my attention toward an older couple. “Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, happy fortieth anniversary.” I raised my champagne flute to them, and every guest did the same.

The Jacksons’ children had given me a set list of songs their parents loved, and I had included some of my own in between.

I played for one hour straight before taking a fifteen-minute break. I’d met Mrs. Jackson at her daughter-in-law’s baby shower last April, and she had booked me to be the main event at her anniversary party this September.

People smiled and danced and sometimes sang along as I strummed my guitar and delivered the lyrics about love and destiny, sorrows and forever.

Seeing the happy couple swaying to my music teased the old version of me to make a comeback. I put my heart into the melody while I got lost in the contemplation of their love that had survived four decades.

Midnight rang, and like a modern-day Cinderella, I cashed my pay and went back home. In the last three hours, I’d received three different offers to spend the night in some random girl’s bed. Not tonight, though. I wasn’t in the mood.

What I hadn’t told Joe last week, when we attended the pool party, was that sometimes, late at night, when I couldn’t sleep, I still searched for Abby online. The infatuation I had with her had died down, but a part of me was curious. Call it a challenge, I couldn’t believe she had turned into a ghost.

The other thing I hadn’t told Joe was that on my drive back to New York, after I left Memphis and camped in Nashville for a couple of nights, I went to Silverville. For almost a week, I acted like a stalker on the SSB campus. I knew the semester was over, but knowing Abby and the little enthusiasm she showed to go back to her parents’ for winter break last year—call it a hunch—I believed she’d be the girl enrolling in summer classes.

My search led nowhere. Nobody had heard of her, and nobody I talked to knew who I was referring to.

So now, once a week, I brought my stalker ways online. I just wanted to make sure she was okay. And happy. Nothing else. Or maybe it was just how I convinced myself it was all for her own good.

On my bed, freshly showered, I stared at the ceiling, wondering about my life. And how I got here.

I perused the space around me. In all the time I’d lived here, I never really took the time to make this bedroom mine. The white walls were bare, no color, no pieces of art or pictures. A mismatched nightstand and a dresser that doubled as a desk, which I found in a garage sale when I moved here in sophomore year, flanked the queen-sized mattress. A pile of old wooden cases in a corner served as both a bookshelf and a junk drawer. The snow globe Abby gifted me that night was set atop. Against the wall, between the door and the closet, lay my guitar case over a suitcase filled with stuff I never used and didn’t have the time to store elsewhere. I only realized then how depressing it looked.

I scrolled through the social media feeds on my phone with my thumb, my eyelids weighing heavier with each passing minute.

The low-battery warning popped on the screen, and I plugged the charger in, returning to my wandering thoughts.

At some point, I drifted to sleep before I could take the time to put on a pair of boxer briefs and slip under the covers.

The chime of a text notification woke me up the next morning. A loud groan escaped my mouth as I flipped to the side and stretched my arm to unplug the device on the bedside table.

Mom:Anderson. Enough with this. I wanna talk to you. Give me a call, or I’ll show up at your apartment in NY and won’t leave until you let me explain.

I snorted and discarded the phone on my bed as I stood, ready to get dressed and jumpstart my day. Joe’s uncle had scheduled me to repaint two walls in the lobby today.

Yeah. Well, I had no intention of talking to my mother or seeing her if she wasn’t bluffing and was going to show up at my door.