Mixed Connection (Cypress Lake Reunion #1)

1. Chapter 1

1

You know, I could turn around and no one would be the wiser.

Lo

Get your fine ass in the car and call me when you get there.

The reunion invitation might as well be putty in my hands with how many times I’ve folded and unfolded it. When I was a teen, this place made my skin crawl. I didn’t have a great high school experience, my last year was a tough one, being constantly ridiculed by other students. Granted we were all kids, trying to figure out who we were becoming, but the interactions still left lasting impressions on me. Let’s just say being fat, in a hormonally raging teen fest, wasn’t easy for me.

A balmy breeze ruffles my curls, conjuring memories of the last few weeks of junior year, right before summertime fun would take over and it would be pool days from then on out with Paloma and Janelle. I miss those days.

“Why the fuck did I RSVP to this again?” I mumble, in an attempt to keep my voice low, as more people walk up the weathered concrete steps. I fumble with the thick cardstock, remembering the promises I made to myself after graduating. Determined I was done with allowing the bullies to win, done with not loving myself, and vowed to work on choosing me first in all areas of my life.

Forcing myself to relax my shoulders, I finally notice the old school sign and shake my head. Cypress Lake High School still has its raggedy sign in the entryway of campus, the deep-red letters are washed out and almost pink from years of the natural elements taking their toll. One would think it would have been replaced after all these years but apparently the administration hasn’t, and I’m not going to hold my breath that they ever will.

“de Que hablas Willis, why did you RSVP to this.” My best friend’s face scrunches up at me, before she continues with the pep talk I don’t want, but need. “Cass, you can do this babe. Just walk in. Besides, we made a pact to say yes to more things in life, even the stuff that makes us uncomfortable,” Paloma reminds me, her face filling the screen of our video call as if I need her throwing my own obligations back in my face.

The pact was something Donna, my therapist, suggested, and Paloma was happy to support me as an accountability partner. When we agreed to this effort almost a year ago, I promised to say yes to more things that would bring me joy. My early twenties were filled with moments of second guessing the importance of making myself a priority given my parents couldn’t fathom doing so. I knew I didn’t want to remain stagnant by being stuck in a cycle of second-best or the abandonment issues I was beginning to form prior to starting therapy.

After many sessions along with building trust with my therapist, it was suggested that just maybe , I needed to start by being the first choice for myself and move away from placing my worth in others, especially my parents. Removing the insecurity that I wouldn’t be anybody’s priority because I already was, to me.

Taking a deep inhale I tease, “You know, you were supposed to be here with me but you bailed.” I watch her eyes roll and can read her expression that says, I should cuss you out right now.

Silent conversations and Spanglish sass are our love language.

“Carajo!” She laughs. “I would be there if I could, but I’m sick as a dog right now.” Her shoulder-length, magenta hair is currently pulled up into a messy bun, lumpy from curls not brushed down, while a few wispy stragglers hang freely in the back, far too short to fit so high on her head. It’s exactly how I know she’s sicker than she lets on, it’s her, I-feel-like-shit hairdo. Shifting my shoulders slightly, I consider turning around and going home, not wanting to do this alone.

This is a place of such disdain for me. I kept in touch with maybe two other people, and we’re not even that close. The music from inside grows louder as a few people enter. I know I can’t stand out here much longer before I begin to look like a creep. Fuck, I look like a creep.

“You know I love you, and you can do this. These people, this place, they don’t have control over you anymore.” She slips out the last words right before a coughing fit hits. She pulls a tissue into view and I swear I can smell the menthol and eucalyptus from the vapor rub through the screen. Any time Lo is feeling under the weather, she slathers herself in it. Balling the tissue up, she tosses it out of view. Her nose is rubbed raw and looks as though it can illuminate a Christmas Eve night.

I can hear how tired she is and decide to take her advice. “I hate that you’re right. I love you. Now go take some medicine and ponte vicks,” I say the same words she tells me the moment congestion is a contender. “I’ll text you when I make it home later. Promise.”

We say our final goodbyes and I disconnect the call. She’s right. Why allow the anxiety of yesterday to bother what could be a great night in the here and now? Besides, I don’t have to be here long. I’ll pop in and say hi to those I remember and get the hell home.

I wiggle my toes, imagining my cozy bunny slippers.

In and out.

Being at Cypress Lake High isn’t all bad, I guess—I did meet my best friends here after all. And I’m proud of where I am in my life. There is nothing and no one stopping me from walking through those doors but myself, and I’ll be damned if I get in my own way.

I grab the cold, brass handle and pull open the door; my eyes go wide and a sense of awe presses in on me as I take in the decor.

Though the outside of the building looks the same as it did ten years ago, the reunion committee did an amazing job transforming the dilapidating interior into something worth having some school spirit over.

The inside of the main hall is completely revamped, the theme for this year being Botanical Oasis. The surroundings are decked out in shades of deep green with a combination of faux shrubs obstructing what I can only imagine are unsightly walls and baseboards still trapped in the eighties. Large, leafy, potted plants are arranged in clusters along with flowerpots throughout the space, and I think I may even hear the sound of rain playing softly.

Wanting to see a bit more, I stand on my tiptoes and peer over the shrubs. There are couches and chairs in small groupings so everyone can lounge about when they aren’t dancing or eating.

I dip into the bathroom to make sure I look my very best and to quell the bits of anxiety that are still seeping into my psyche. I’m met with a full-length mirror as soon as I walk in, a wall sconce adorns the top casting my reflection to look more like a framed piece of art. This perks my mood up a bit, ridding me of any remaining jitters. Swallowing a laugh, I tuck a loose strand of hair back into place. My deep-chestnut curls are perfect tonight. I gave myself a heavy side part and allowed them to fall where they may, cascading over my shoulders and fluffed to perfection.

My strapless bustier top glitters under the fluorescent bulbs. It has a dainty floral pattern embroidered into it and I knew it would be the perfect piece to bring my outfit together. I opted for exaggerated wide-legged, olive pants that flutter as I move to complement the form-fitting bodice—one that gives me enough cleavage to feel sexy but allows me not to worry about flashing anyone the goods. Giving it one last adjustment, and righting the skinny black belt that beautifully matches my thin choker, I feel a bit more settled in myself again. Taking in a deep breath, I smirk at the reflection because I feel fucking amazing, I’m not going to let this night get the best of me.

I remind myself of the pact Lo and I made, emphasizing that personal growth and inner joy can come from moments of discomfort. Leaning into the uneasiness of experiences we wouldn’t normally indulge in, might help release ourselves from the possibility of regret. We can live and enjoy, and learn from our mistakes and successes, but we won’t be stuck wondering what could have been.

Pulling open the bathroom door, I take my first step out and then another, and another, my heels giving me a bit more sway in my hips and I let that drive me forward. I told myself I was going to have a good time, that I would dance, and try to experience more joy. I’m giving myself permission to do the things I might regret not doing later—this is another yes I need to give myself.

By the time I step back into the hallway, the lighting has dimmed slightly to allow the colored LED lights to illuminate a more relaxed mood before the DJ takes over for the night. The smile dancing on my lips feels good but is short-lived when I hear my name.

“Wooooww, Cassidy? Girl is that you?” Her voice still grates against my skin like it did all those years ago. Before I falter further, I hear the words my best friend told me before walking in, “These people, this place, they don’t have control over you anymore.” She’s right, they don’t have control over me anymore, especially not her.

“Vanessa, how are you?” I respond, hoping she can’t detect the disdain in my facial expression. I watch her nose scrunch regardless. I was not expecting to see her so soon, but God must have a twisted sense of humor today.

“Girl, I’m doing great! I have been looking forward to this reunion since I got the invitation, but I was not expecting to see you here.” Her gaze is calculating as she looks me up and down, just like she always did.

“Why, exactly, wouldn’t I be here?” I question her, letting my annoyance slip through my tone.

My question doesn’t seem to stop her as she continues speaking. As if I didn’t say anything at all.

“I’m living the good life. Traveling the world for work. You know how it is.”

I, in fact, do not know how “it” is. She spoke of traveling the world often in high school, to literally anyone near enough to hear, and now she does. Immediately after graduation Vanessa applied to be a flight attendant. Living in a small town, well, everyone ends up knowing everyone’s business. I also don’t like to admit that I saw it on her social media pages. But she seems as though she wants to chat and maybe saying yes this once with her can be an olive branch. We’re adults now, after all.

“That’s great. I’ve finished adding a new space to my bar where I ca—” I begin, quickly realizing she doesn’t give two shits to the wind when she interrupts me.

“Mmhm, that’s so interesting. You know, if you would wear a shaper then that pudge on the side wouldn’t be so full.” She reaches out but hesitates, something very unlike the Vanessa I remember from high school. I make it a point to step back, giving her an assessing gaze. “Oh, you don’t have to be so sensitive. I thought you would have grown out of that.” Her sickly-sweet tone coats my skin and only furthers my embarrassment, and anger heats my face. This is why I don’t want to be here; I have barely made it inside and I am already making heart-eyes at the exit.

“And here I thought you would have grown out of being such a bi—” As I’m about to finally give her a piece of my mind, someone knocks into me so hard I lose my train of thought and I know I am going to hit the floor. I brace myself for the impact of the cold floor, squeezing my eyes shut but it never comes. Hands suddenly reach out, holding my arms to steady me. And whoever these hands belong to smells incredible, like the smokiness of a rich bourbon.

The owner of the strong grip ends his conversation, pulling only one of his hands away to tap on the bluetooth hidden in his ear as his eyes lock on mine. Craning my head back, I look at the offending bulldozer that knocked me off my feet, saving Vanessa from my fury in the process. He has to be at least six feet four inches, if how far I need to lean back to look at him is any indication. Wide shoulders and a strong chest have to be beneath the shirt he wears with the way the material stretches and wrinkles with his movements.

He gives me a warm smile I will not soon forget, one that tugs at teenage memories I’m having trouble placing, and all I can do is nod my head. It looks like he wants to say something before frustration slightly clouds his features. “Um, I…” he mumbles and my lips tip up slightly, welcoming him to say anything really . Instead, he gives me a tight lipped grin before he mumbles something I don’t quite catch as he releases me, his gaze never leaving mine, even as Vanessa waves her hand in a flourish of pick-me-energy .

“So are you going to pretend like I’m not here?” Before Vanessa fully finishes her sentence, he has already turned on his heel, making his way toward the main hall. I can’t hold back the smirk on my face, shocked by his blatant disregard for her, I bite the inside of my cheek to hold in a chuckle. He totally snubbed her, didn’t even acknowledge her, and the petty part of me loves it a little too much. When I twist to look back at her, her face is fixed in a grimace and her shoulders sag. I take the moment to look a bit more closely at the person standing in front of me. Watching her fold in on herself makes me question if I know this Vanessa, the one who is all grown up and no longer the bully from our teens.

That is until she notices my eyes on her and she quickly puts on the facade she is clearly carrying around. “We had a little fling back in the day, clearly he isn’t over me ending it.” She shrugs as I choke on a laugh. I know she’s not trying to pull that sorry card. Girl, please.

“Mmhm, that must be exactly what it is. I’ll see you inside.” As I start to turn, I look over my shoulder. “Oh and Vanessa?” She looks at me then and I say, “Just for the record, we might be inside Cypress Lake but this is not high school anymore. You need to grow the fuck up and start focusing on yourself.”

“Cassidy, I—” she begins, but I wave my hand, not wanting to hear anything else she has to say.

“Just… don’t, Vanessa. Save it. We had four years together and I don’t want, nor do I have the time for, anything else you have to say.”

Shaking my head as I spin around, I internally give myself a high five for finally standing up for myself. I understand hurt people, hurt people and some people need time to heal, but I am not going to be anyone’s punching bag. I gave enough of myself to her motives a decade ago and I don’t have it in me to give her any more of my time.

I focus on walking as I even out my racing heart. I want to say I hate her, but I refuse to give her that much power over my emotions ever again.

I shake off the negative energy and walk back into the event space thinking about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Shoulders wide enough for a hell of a ride.

The main hall is even more beautiful than the outer lounge area, vines with small flowers are cascading here and there from the ceiling. There is a soft glow that lights the room and pulses to the thump of the music, creating a welcoming ambiance with the scent of rosewater in the air. Clusters of chaises and chairs are grouped along the walls like in the outer area, but in the back of the large room, there’s a bartender near a full buffet. After my introduction to the night, I am going to reset it with a cocktail.

As I get closer to the bar, I take in a wide set of shoulders, and I think of the man who ran into me earlier. I’m staring at a tailored pair of brown pants that rest on this man’s trim waist, where a crisp white shirt is tucked in. Oh, it’s definitely him. The shirt is folded at the widest part of his biceps and I can’t stop the sigh as I notice how the fabric grips his deep-umber skin. His hair is cut low around the sides, and freshly twisted locs are wrapped in an impressive bun on the top of his head.

As though he can feel my perusal, he turns his head slightly to the side. The lights are dim enough that he would be able to tell if someone was walking up behind him but I’m just far enough away that there is no way he can see me checking him out. The bartender must have called his attention back as the mystery man faces the bar once more. Grabbing the short glass of liquid the bartender slides to him, he turns—nimble on his feet for such a large man—before he walks toward a cluster of chairs. I can’t help but watch his long strides, and the way his thighs power him forward as I settle up to the spot he was just standing in.

“Um… Miss? What can I get for you?” The hum of a voice behind the hightop pulls me from the naughty images of my thick legs tangled in his… naked. He walks with relaxed confidence as if nothing bothers him, something I enjoy in a man.

Wow , I shake my head at myself. What is it I find so captivating about him? It’s been a long while since I’ve laid my eyes on someone who fits my visual package so perfectly.

“Yes, sorry about that. Can I have a cherry bourbon sour, with champagne instead of soda?” The bartender nods, gives me a wink, and turns with a flourish to begin working on my drink. It’s one of my favorites, and I find myself smirking about my specialty titled, One Bed , the first drink that inspired Shaken Tropes.

My best friend and I opened the bar a few years ago and the business immediately took off. Patrons can come in for a drink, mingle, and read, though our specialty is hosting blind dates. Customers can share what they are in the mood to read and we’ll make a magical pairing of a beverage and a book, just for them. They are welcome to borrow the book while they drink and even buy it when they come to get a refill. And we never worry because they always come back for a refill.

The bartender hands me my drink and I lounge my back against the bar to take in the crowd around me as I spot a familiar face, one I haven’t seen since graduation.

“Janelle?” A giddiness overtakes me as I set my eyes on the side profile of an old high school friend, one I regret losing touch with. Her waist-length, box braids are parted down the center and sway with her movements. I lightly snort watching her hands move as fast as her mouth while she talks with another attendee. Janelle’s eyes sweep the crowd, waving goodbye to the former students as they part ways before she locks in on me and in a few quick strides, closes the distance between us.

“Oh my God! Cass! I’m so glad you’re here. I was hoping you would be.” She looks at me with a huge smile splitting her face as she stretches out her hands. We give each other a squeeze before laughing at the bits of awkwardness that waft around us.

We tried to text and call while she was away but life happens. Janelle went into the military after graduating and I was still struggling with the loss of my parents while starting university classes. I blame life circumstances on all the time we missed, but being here now—my chest warms recalling all the sleepovers Janelle, Paloma, and I shared.

We would pick whose house we would all head to Friday after school, stuff ourselves with junk food, and stay up far too late singing ourselves hoarse to music videos. Saturdays during the summer were spent at her parents’ pool. Paloma sunburned so badly one year, I thought she might turn into a tomato. I scrunch my nose up remembering the scent of aloe vera gel. So much aloe vera gel. Curling my lips into themselves I hold back a laugh. Being here with Janelle now makes me realize how much I missed her, we may have to do a real-deal girls’ night while she’s here.

“I know, it’s been a lifetime.” I return her smile, giving her arms a squeeze before letting go.

“It really has been, how is everything? Come sit with us,” she says, ushering me toward the back corner of the room. There is a grouping of chairs I didn’t see, hidden behind a large plant and sheer, ruby curtains. Crossing the space, we catch up on some of the last decade. I tell her all about Shaken Tropes and why I decided not to move out of state like so many of our classmates. We each pick a plush chair to sink into as she begins to fill me in on her life.

Janelle has been active duty in the military since graduating. She reminds me that her entire family is either retired or still in one branch or another. “Growing up it felt like I didn’t have any other choice, it felt like it was expected of me, and in some ways, I guess following the legacy of my parents and joining the military was a hope that, someday I would, you know?” I shake my head at her as I sip my drink, but stay quiet so she’ll continue. “Over the years, I learned that I really love the Army. Now, I can’t imagine doing anything else.” She has a soft grin that stretches across her cheeks, it lights up her face in a way that I know she truly loves what she does. “I’m going to be in town for a little while. I can’t wait to experience this book boyfriend pairing at the bar, tell me, are they only fictional?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, but my words get caught in my throat and in place of them, I laugh-snort, unable to hold back; Janelle joins in with her own loud and joyous laugh.

She nudges me with her shoulder before her gaze leaves my own and her grin grows wider as she stands to greet someone. “Jameson! I was wondering where you ran off to, or with whom. I swear you’re never a stranger no matter what room you’re in.”

All of a sudden, the same rich bourbon smell from my run-in with Vanessa hits my senses. The handsome bulldozer stands with the same confidence from earlier, he was definitely the stranger walking away from the bar. My fingers twitch as I eye his wide shoulders, putting his broad and muscled chest on display. I’ve never been more glad for Janelle to be a social butterfly than I am at this moment.