Flavor of the Month Read online

Charlie wanted more, and that’s what Darcy Wells was offering. On a silver platter. How stupid would she be not to jump on a chance like this?

  “Hello? Earth to Charlie.” Emma’s voice yanked Charlie back to the present. “Did I lose you?”

  “No, I’m here. Sorry.” Charlie cleared her throat at Emma’s choice of words, felt the weight of them, the pain, the sadness. “No flavor of the month. Got it. Promise.”

  It was time to move on, to move forward, to slowly loosen her grip on her old life and reach out for the shiny new one that was so close, she could taste it.

  It was the right thing to do. For both of them.

  Wasn’t it?

  Chapter One

  Five years later

  The peace. The solitude. The extra time to think. Charlie had forgotten how much she loved to drive.

  When you lived in Manhattan, a car was pretty much unnecessary. Cabs, Ubers, the subway, car services, walking…there were any number of ways to get around that didn’t involve having your own car. Her old beater had over a hundred thousand miles on it, and paying to park it cost almost as much as rent—well, rent in a normal apartment in a normal city, not rent in NYC—but today, she was thrilled she hadn’t gotten rid of it. She wasn’t sure what it was, but something had made her hold on to her old Toyota Corolla even though she didn’t need it, and as she sat in the driver’s seat heading north, she was suddenly unendingly grateful for it. The first hour or two? Tension. But then things relaxed. Traffic eased up. Tall buildings gave way to houses and trees, then houses spaced farther apart and even more trees, then the occasional field of cattle, lush green grass, and fresh air. That relaxation lasted for the next two hours as she drove along, windows down because the air-conditioning hadn’t worked in two years.

  Relaxed and laid-back…until she realized how close she was to her destination.

  Nervousness and dread mixed into a sour and icky cocktail and took up residence in the pit of her very empty stomach, a steady thrum of trepidation until she caught sight of that familiar brown wood sign that read Welcome to Shaker Falls! Complete with an exclamation point, as if she should be overwhelmingly excited to be there. She wasn’t. The sign was old, still nicked in places, and the gold paint accenting the writing had faded in the sun. As she drove past it, the nervous anticipation kicked up a notch or twenty, and the thrum morphed into a pounding, the dread sloshing around in her stomach like chop on a lake on a super windy day. She turned down the stereo, making Cardi B quiet for a change, and she actually considered pulling over so she could throw up on the side of the road.

  Two years.

  She hadn’t been home in more than two years.

  A small, harmless detail of her existence when she still lived in New York City, when she was busy with her life there, doing things she enjoyed, living in a way she’d only dreamed of. It wasn’t that far away from Shaker Falls—just five hours by car. And it wasn’t like she was some ungrateful absentee child who’d vanished. Not at all. She was a good girl. She talked to her parents once a week, invited them to visit anytime. And they had. Twice. And they’d looked overwhelmed and mostly freaked out the entire time. Charlie didn’t know why she was surprised by that—they’d each been born and raised in Shaker Falls, Vermont. Small Town, USA. She’d so wanted them to love the city the way she did, but that just hadn’t happened.

  “The big city’s not really for us, honey,” her father had tried to explain, and he really did seem to feel bad about it. But truer words had never been spoken. It made Charlie sad when she realized she was relieved to see them head home. Relieved for them. Relieved for herself.

  And she hadn’t been home in more than two years.

  Now? Now, that seemed like kind of a horrifying factoid. Two years? How did she let that happen? Who does that? What well-loved kid leaves and doesn’t come home to visit for years? She’d missed Thanksgivings. Christmases. Her mother had certainly been heartbroken to have one of her kids absent over the holidays. As she drove, Charlie felt like Shaker Falls itself was looking at her with accusation, scolding her for staying away so long. Welcoming her back, yes, but with a healthy dose of side-eye and a hug that was just a little too tight.

  Life, man. She still couldn’t believe the turn things had taken. Then, Nope. Not going there right now. Focusing on the road and her surroundings was better.

  Shaker Falls was the epitome of a small town. It had two traffic lights and one center street that held most of the businesses in a single stretch. A coffee shop, a couple restaurants, two banks, The Muffin Top bakery—which was new, she noticed—and various others. She always described it by telling people it very much resembled a town in a Hallmark Channel Christmas movie, and then she’d laugh and shrug and say things like Such a cliché! But it was true.

  Not much had changed, but a few things had, she took note of as she slowed way down, knowing how strict the local cops were about the thirty-miles-per-hour speed limit. The last thing she needed was to be pulled over before she even showed her face anywhere—news traveled way too fast in a small town like Shaker Falls. The gas station had been remodeled and finally took credit cards? About damn time. The playground equipment at her old elementary school was completely new and modernized, all dark wood and blue plastic, the space underneath a deep black, indicating rubberized ground so clumsy kids didn’t crack their skulls open when they fell off the monkey bars. Her memory tossed her an image of Stevie Todd, who broke his arm when they were seven years old and thought hanging from their knees at the very top was a fantastic idea. The dry cleaner was the same, as was the J-Cup Coffee Shop, where Charlie had written many a term paper, hoping to be able to concentrate away from the chaos of her house while drinking the world’s worst coffee. The old diner on the corner was gone, replaced by a new restaurant, the whole building redone to look sleek and updated and slightly out of place next to the older storefronts. Painted a sophisticated dark green with a burgundy awning hanging over the wooden double doors, it was inviting, and Charlie found herself inexplicably wanting to have dinner there. Big brass handles shone in the early summer sun. EG’s, it was called.

  And that was it. All of it. She was through town and heading to the ’burbs, which was what anything outside of downtown Shaker Falls was called. Which meant pretty much everybody lived in the ’burbs, including her parents.

  Heart pounding, she turned onto Elm Street, and there it was. Their house hadn’t changed at all, and for a moment, she felt like she’d driven through some sort of a time warp, back to early summer nine years ago, back to when she first left for college. How was it possible not a single thing was different? The simple white siding, the black shutters, the open front porch, the pots of red geraniums and white petunias her mom worked so hard on every year without fail, her pride and joy. Always geraniums and petunias. Always red and white.

  “The house where time stood still,” Charlie muttered as she pulled into the driveway, her hand hovering over the key but not turning off the ignition. Emotion suddenly felt too close to the surface as she sat there in her car, everything she owned in there with her, filling the trunk and the back seat. Her brain made her stop and absorb that, take it in: she was twenty-seven years old, and everything she owned fit in her Toyota Corolla. Not even crowded in—she could still see out the back window just fine, and the passenger seat was clear, save for her purse and a McDonald’s bag that still held the lunch she’d thought she wanted, but couldn’t manage to eat. Her breath caught in her throat, and that emotion welled up, made her swallow painfully.

  I am so not ready for this.

  That one hit her hard. Right in the gut like a fist, so suddenly and so acutely, she felt tears spring into her eyes and made a small sound as she gasped for breath. She hadn’t predicted any of these circumstances, hadn’t expected to be discarded like an old tissue, and in the blink of an eye. She hadn’t expected to be fleeing back home, back to tiny Shaker Falls to live with her parents, and a wave of panic, dread, and shame washed
over her. So big, so powerful, she fully expected it to drown her right there in the driver’s seat as she slapped ineffectively at the window with an open palm, unable to save herself.

  What the hell happened to my life?

  It wasn’t the first time she’d asked herself that question, and she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  Maybe I should just put the car in reverse, back out of the driveway, and go. That was the next thought that grabbed her. By the throat, tightly, squeezing. Maybe I should just drive away. To someplace else. Anywhere but here. Her hand was on the gearshift, her foot pressing the brake, when a gleeful shout cut through the summer air and froze her in place.

  “Charlotte!”

  And then it was too late.

  * * *

  “I am so, so happy you’re home.” Charlie’s mom couldn’t keep her hands off her. “My eldest.” Or her lips. Loud smacking sounds filled the kitchen as she leaned over again and kissed Charlie’s cheek four times in a row.

  “All right, Mom. All right.” Charlie wanted to be annoyed with her like she’d always been as a kid. Like how you hit that age when the last thing in the world you want is visible physical affection from your parents, lest your friends see it and torment you endlessly later. But she couldn’t. Much as she didn’t want to be there, embarrassed as she was to be in her situation, affection from her mother seemed to be just what she needed, and she was soaking it in, even if she didn’t want to admit it to herself.

  “My babies will all be home for dinner tonight.” Charlie’s mom pulled out the chair next to Charlie’s and took a seat. “Do you know how long it’s been since that’s happened?”

  Charlie did know. She knew exactly: two years and two months. The last time they all ate together was when they’d gathered for a sort of makeshift family dinner during Charlie’s last visit home. It was just the family—Charlie’s parents, her younger brother and her younger sister. But her mother looked so wonderfully happy right now, Charlie didn’t want to spoil it by taking the wind out of her sails. Instead, she reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “It’s good to see you.”

  Her mother had always been a very beautiful woman. There was no denying it, especially when she let loose with a full-on smile. When they said somebody lit up a room? That was a legit fact when it came to Vicky Stetko. Charlie had seen it, even as a kid. Her mom could’ve been a model, easily. Even now, at forty-eight years old, she turned heads. Blond hair in a shade of gold that people paid good money for, unique hazel eyes that she’d passed down to Charlie—luckily, because Charlie didn’t get the hair or the long, shapely legs. When her mom smiled, it accented a set of dimples that made her seem much younger than she was. Charlie didn’t get those either. Her hair was almost always pulled back in a ponytail or a twist of some sort to keep it out of her way as she cooked, cleaned, crafted, gardened, or did one of the endless activities that made up the day of a homemaker, and today was no different, the ponytail swinging as she hopped back off the chair at the sound of the oven timer.

  “Mom. Did you seriously make cookies?” Charlie asked, pretty sure she was unsuccessful in hiding her delight. The warm, spicy scent had hit when she walked in, but she was twenty-seven years old and not supposed to get excited over things like cookies, so she hadn’t mentioned it.

  Her mother shot her a look over her shoulder that said Is that a real question? as she slid out a sheet of Charlie’s very favorite molasses cookies. She’d had them from the best bakeries in New York City but could honestly say that nobody’s compared to her mom’s.

  “You’re, like, a walking cliché of a stay-at-home mom, you know that, right?” Charlie grinned at her.

  Her mother shrugged, smiled as she turned away toward the counter, and Charlie thought she saw her expression dim just slightly. She pulled out a spatula and said, “I’m about to break the first rule of cookie baking, which is to let the cookies rest on the sheet for a minute before transferring them to a cooling rack, but my oldest girl is home, and molasses cookies are her favorite, so…” Another shrug, and she let the sentence hang as she slid the spatula under two cookies, moved them to a small plate, and set the plate in front of Charlie. Then she poured her a glass of milk and sat back down to watch her eat.

  Warm cookies and a glass of milk. That’s how Charlie’s mom welcomed her home.

  Was there anything better?

  Charlie felt a pressure in her chest, a squeeze of her heart, and just like that, she was ten years old again, home from a long, upsetting day of school. The inviting smells of her mom’s kitchen, the warmth and the feelings of safety they evoked, her mother sitting with her elbows propped on the table, chin in her hands, waiting Charlie out. It’s how she always did it. She never had to force Charlie to talk. She’d just wait, knowing that sooner or later, Charlie would. Her mom had more patience than anybody she’d ever met.

  The cookie was warm, the center soft, the blend of spices perfection. As she chewed, those memories of home and childhood wrapped around her, hugged her close, made her feel protected enough to let her guard slip just a little. Annoyance hit when she felt her eyes well up, even though she’d kind of expected they would. Her mom had that effect, too.

  “Are you doing okay, honey?” The words were soft, the tone tender, and that was all it took. It was always all it took.

  Tears spilled.

  Without a word, her mother slid her chair around, the legs scraping the floor, until she sat next to Charlie and could wrap her arms around her as Charlie tried—and failed—not to cry. “Shh. It’s okay, my girl. It’s all okay. Let it out.”

  And Charlie did.

  Crying quietly in her mother’s arms, it occurred to her that it was the first time in months she felt safe, felt loved.

  Sometime later—a few minutes or a few hours, Charlie really wasn’t sure—she felt the tiniest bit better. Wiped her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand, blew out a breath of relief. Of course, next came the embarrassment, finding a home in her head, settling in, just as it usually did, as this was the order of things. She hadn’t given her mother many details, just the basics, and she wasn’t ready to give them now either.

  “That girl wasn’t good enough for you,” her mother said, an edge to her voice as she handed Charlie a tissue that she seemed to have pulled out of thin air.

  “Mom,” Charlie warned, not ready to go there yet, but secretly loving the Mama Bear tone.

  “Well, she wasn’t.” Fingertips brushed some of Charlie’s hair away from her face, tucked it behind her ear like she did when Charlie was little, a gesture that seemed to comfort them both. “I’m your mother. Mothers are allowed to say that.” Charlie gave her a watery smile, and her mother gestured with her chin at the small plate. “Eat your cookie.”

  Charlie did as she was ordered, finishing both cookies and the entire glass of milk while her mom sat with her. Charlie didn’t mention that it was more than she’d eaten in several days.

  When she finished, Charlie blew out a breath as if she’d just worked really hard on a huge meal and told her mother, “Okay. I’m going to get my stuff out of the car and bring it upstairs.”

  “Actually, I have a surprise for you.” There was a sparkle in her mom’s eyes as she said it.

  Charlie furrowed her brow, puzzled. “You do?”

  “Follow me.”

  Growing up, Charlie had shared a room with her sister Sherry, who was five years younger. Their brother Shane fell between them at two years younger than Charlie, and they’d had their own rooms in the three-bedroom house until Sherry came along. Shane had moved out two years ago, so Charlie naturally assumed she’d stay in his room, as Sherry still lived with their parents, and their old room was now hers.

  But instead of taking Charlie upstairs, her mother opened the basement door and headed down the stairs. Charlie followed, curious, and when they got to the bottom, she gasped in wide-eyed wonder.

  Everything was different. There were large windows a
nd a set of sliding glass doors on one wall of the walk-out basement, allowing access out into the large backyard. Bright and open, the space had started as a playroom. All their Fisher-Price toys, Shane’s train set, Sherry’s dollhouse, her Easy-Bake Oven, it all lived down there. As they grew, their father, a contractor, changed things around, and it became a rec room of sorts. Berber carpeting, a big sectional couch, TV and DVDs, PlayStation, Xbox, the board games Charlie loved, they were all still there, but not front and center like usual. Now, that stuff was shifted to one side of the room and looked like a makeshift living room. Up against the far wall was a double bed, made up in a deep eggplant colored comforter with ivory and lavender throw pillows, and a large dresser with five drawers. One of those assembly-required racks for hanging extra coats or clothes you don’t wear anymore stood in a corner, empty hangers waiting patiently to be draped with Charlie’s things. Her father had added a second full bathroom down here years ago when he realized three teenagers sharing one bathroom could very possibly start World War Three.

  Charlie stood there in awe, looking at what was essentially an adorable and roomy studio apartment, minus a kitchen.

  She turned to her mother, tears in her eyes yet again, which annoyed her, yet again, and asked, “You guys did this for me?”

  Her mother nodded, waved a hand dismissively as if it was no big deal to haul a bed and dresser through the backyard, as well as shifting everything that already occupied the space into a whole new layout. “Well, you’re home now, and we wanted you to be comfortable and to have your own space.”

  “This…this is amazing, Mom. Thank you so much.” As Charlie hugged her, she decided not to correct her on the you’re home now part. Charlie had no intention of staying, but she also had no idea how long she’d need to be there.

  Anger, frustration, joy, hesitation, love, worry. They hit her all at once. A veritable stew of feelings, and Charlie had had her fill of that particular meal, thank you very much. She swallowed down that now-familiar ball of emotion that had become a regular fixture in her throat as she stood and took in her new digs, her new life, and she sighed quietly, could only think of one thing. One question that plagued her.