Page 22 of Old Habits
Chapter 6
Jovie
What the hell was I thinking?
When I agreed to get drinks with Will Myers, I couldn’t focus through the thick haze of heat and confusion long enough to foresee myself in this moment.
The last time I stood in this closet, it was grab and run. I took the items I couldn’t live without and left the rest. I often wondered what my father would do with this stuff. Toss it, maybe. Sell it for any spare change he could get for it, more likely. Can’t say I expected it all to still be here when — or if — I ever came back.
But it’s all still here. Ripped jeans and band t-shirts. Miniskirts and knee-high boots. I’ve never been the poster girl for modern fashion but I had a look, that’s for sure. Little retro here, little modern chic there. No fucks given everywhere else.
But I’m not that girl anymore.
So, what the hell am I supposed to wear tonight?
I remind myself again that this isn’t a date. I don’t have to look perfect. I’m just catching up with someone that I used to know. Someone I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with at one point but still just someone I knew before I knew any better.
I stop staring and start sliding the hangers to the side, taking a closer look at my options. It’s still too cold for a skirt or sleeveless, so that eliminates these. I grab a pair of old jeans and slip into them. A bit snug, but at least they still fit.
I find a black turtleneck in the back and step into a pair of matching boots. Good enough.
The engine echoes up the street just as I finish applying my lipstick. I pause, letting the sound sweep over me for a few seconds as I stare at myself. My first thought is to shut off the lights and head toward the window. That’s what I did so many times before but this isn’t high school anymore.
I stuff my house key and wallet into my jacket pocket and walk through the house toward the front door.
Hank sits on his chair in front of the TV. “Where are you going?”
“Into town to meet up with old friends,” I say, flicking the locks open.
“What friends?” he mutters. “You never had friends.”
I ignore the question. “I’ll be back later.”
“Don’t think I don’t remember whose bike that is.”
“I’m twenty-three-years-old, Hank,” I point out. “I think we’re past the age where you get to tell me who I can spend my time with.”
“I think if you spent more time listening to what I told you then you wouldn’t have moved back home at twenty-three,” he says, popping a victory cashew into his mouth.
“I’ll be back later,” I repeat, yanking the door open and stepping outside.
And just like that, I’m seventeen again; walking outside with rolling eyes and a shitty attitude to run away from my drunken father and straight into Will Myers’ arms. It’s almost nostalgic.
Will sits on his motorcycle at the end of the driveway and while my toes curl a little bit as he pulls his helmet off and smiles at me, my eyes instantly fall to The Bolt instead.
“Oh, baby,” I say, admiring it. “I’ve missed you.”
Will revs the engine once and the sound echoes throughout the neighborhood. “I’d feel jealous, but this is a really nice bike.”
“Damn right.”
He hops off his seat and lifts it open to grab the second helmet from inside the hatch. “For you...”
I take it from him, smiling wide. “Wow, you really did keep it.”
“Well, I’m a hoarder. Don’t take it personally.”
I chuckle and turn it over in my hands. “So, who used it after me?”