Page 44 of The Quit List
“Sabrina Wieler,” I say feebly, the veritable deer caught in headlights.
She comes to a stop just ahead of me, all perfectly curled auburn hair, perfectly manicured fingernails, and perfectly made-up face. “McPherson, actually,” she replies, faux-humbly. “Yes, Grant and I are married.”
I look at her, not computing.
“Grant McPherson. Our starting quarterback.” She says “our” like we’re still seventeen and she’s still a cheerleader fluttering her eyelashes at the jocks from her spot at the best table in the cafeteria.
“Right,” I say weakly, suddenly feeling like no time has passed and I’m still the mousy girl reading a book in the corner at lunchtime. The shrinking violet to Sabrina’s blossoming bouquet of prom queen roses.
She clearly misunderstands my staring at her in full nostalgia because she pats her round belly. “Two kids,” she volunteers blithely. “Third on the way.”
“Congratulations.”
“How about you? Who’s the lucky guy?” She seizes my left hand, tugging it towards her like I’m a freaking marionette. “No ring? Are you divorced?” She drops her voice, like “divorced” is a four-letter word, her eyes becoming beady and shrewd.
Sabrina Wieler has apparently not changed an iota since we went to high school, which is—thankfully—the last time I saw her. She was snotty and mean then, and she appears to be snotty and mean now.
“Oh, no, not divorced. Just plain old unwed,” I say lightly, looking around uncomfortably. Jax is at the end of the next aisle, examining a tricycle. I pray he’s not in earshot.
“Really?” Sabrina’s blue eyes grow huge as her hands release mine and go back to cradling her baby bump. “So are you… in the family way? Without a husband?”
Her voice goes up an entire octave on the word husband—man, this woman has vocal range. I try not to cringe at her use of “in the family way” instead of being normal and saying “pregnant.”
“No, I’m shopping for a friend.”
“Oh.”
Sabrina looks thoroughly disappointed by my non-pregnancy-out-of-wedlock. Would’ve probably made a great story for the group chat she surely has with all the populars from high school, all hanging on to their glory days.
“I still can’t believe it. Holly Greene, in the flesh. Still Holly Greene.” She laughs that nasally laugh of hers, her nostrils whistling. “What was your superlative in the yearbook? Most likely to do nothing surprising with her life?”
Either this woman has the memory of an elephant or she still reads our high school yearbook for fun. I’d bet money on the latter.
“Um, something like that.”
“Crazy!” she practically shrieks. “Crazy how some things change. Because I’m more than surprised that you’re single and childless, and I’m the boring, settled-down one.”
More crazy how some people never change…
Before I can think of how to respond, there’s a warm pressure on my back. A warm pressure, followed by an arm circling my shoulder and pulling me close. My shock factor only increases when lips brush the top of my head.
What in the?—
“I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty done with shopping.”
That deep, familiar voice I’ve come to know so well—and that has come to save me not once but thrice now—automatically soothes my frazzled nerves.
“I’m thinking that we grab these receiving blankets and that Melissa and Doug peg puzzle with the farm animals, and then go get a cheese board and a bottle of chianti at that cute little Italian place behind the… oh, hi.” Jax suddenly addresses Sabrina like he’s seeing her for the first time. I notice the false, husky sweetness in his tone. “Sorry, hun. I didn’t realize you were talking to someone. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
My mouth hangs open as I look at Jax, who’s currently gazing down at me like I hung the moon.
“I, uh?—”
“I’m Jax.” He offers Sabrina a firm handshake and a warm smile.
“Sabrina,” she responds breathily, staring at him with starry eyes as she fluffs her hair with her other hand. He twinkles right back at her.
“This is Jax,” I repeat dumbly, wondering what on earth is happening right now and wishing I had no part of it. “Sabrina and I went to high school together. And Jax is my fr?—”