he arrived, he’d propose to her with a giant diamond, and they would go on to live their most fabulous lives, basking in her fame and success. Made total sense back then. But the truth was nineteen-year-old girls could never imagine their life going any other way than what they’d envisioned. They could never foresee double lines on a pregnancy test or hearing no from every casting agent from Broadway to community theatre in Jersey. They couldn’t imagine not getting the happily ever after they thought they deserved.
All those dumb inspirational posters had sold them a load of crap. Except the “hang in there” one with the kitten. That one was totally worth the $5.99 she’d spent at Spencer’s.
When Tennyson had come home for fall break after having spent all summer and fall in Manhattan, everything had been fine. She, Kit, and Melanie fell into what they’d always been, with Kit doting on her and Melanie being their third wheel. But when she’d come home for Christmas, she’d known something was wrong. Her boyfriend and her best friend looked guilty. Correction: Melanie looked guilty. Finally, drunk on Zima at a New Year’s Eve party, Melanie had admitted that she and Kit had (gasp!) kissed after the fall party. She was sorry. Tears ensued. Tennyson may have slapped her best friend, and in turn, Melanie had begged Tennyson to forgive her and promised it would never happen again. Kit seemed to be unaware that Tennyson knew he’d made a mistake with Melanie. His kisses were just as sweet, but Tennyson knew deep down things were changing, and she was afraid.
When she was in Manhattan, her old life was far away, but when she was home, she wasn’t ready to let Kit go. She did everything she could to bind Kit to her, even going all the way with him, something he’d been begging her for since they’d started dating in high school. It had been beautiful, just what she’d imagined even though she’d promised she wouldn’t have sex until she was married. She’d signed that pledge and worn the purity ring her daddy had given her when she’d turned sixteen. Of course, she’d upheld that vow until that night . . . unless oral counted. The lines were blurry on if going down on one another was really sex.
But after they’d done the deed, Kit broke up with her. Oh, he did it in a gentle, “it’s not you, it’s me” manner. Essentially, he felt they didn’t need to wait on each other and needed the freedom to pursue their own lives. Yeah. He was sorry, but it was time they move on. Tennyson hadn’t expected it to hurt so much, but it had. And, like, he couldn’t have done that before they’d spent the entire break together having sex that violated her purity vow?
When she went back to NYC after the holidays, she made a new vow to herself—she was done with old things. Kit had been right about one thing—time to move on. She started accepting party invites, tried some things she shouldn’t, and ended up in bed with a few guys she should have never slept with. She tried like hell to forget who she’d been and find a new Tennyson, one who was modern, sophisticated, and never going back to Shreveport.
Yet now here she was, looking at Melanie, accepting that her only child would be marrying her ex–best friend’s daughter. Thirty years ago both women would have been ecstatic to know their offspring would marry. Today, not so much.
“I know it’s not funny or ideal, but our two kids are in love, Melly,” she said, finally responding to Melanie’s statement.
“Don’t call me Melly. You don’t get to call me that anymore. After what you did to me—to my family—you don’t get to act like we’re friends. We’re not. And never will be.” Melanie dropped the cigarette and ground it out with her sensible kitten heel. Then she stooped, picked up the butt, and shoved it under a potted plant.
Tennyson bit her lip because, again, that was so Melanie. Of course she hid anything bad she did. That was her way. Always toeing the line. Always the status quo. Never going after what she really wanted.
Except that one time. When she went after Kit. And got him.
“Fine.” Tennyson took a drag, not really liking the way the tar burned her lungs but not willing to smoke less than what Melanie had. “I will call you Melanie, or would