“Rekindle your love . . . You know, I’m in the business of love, and even hearing you say that is making me gag.”
“What do you want me to say? Fuck on every surface?”
“Ew, is that what you’re going to do?”
“Ew? Why did you say ew?” I ask.
“Because Matt gives me the ick. You could do so much better than him.”
“So you’ve said,” I say with a sigh as I turn onto Almond Ave, aka the main street of Almond Bay, California.
Population 3,239, Almond Bay is on the Northern Californian coast, right above the not-so-famous bay in the shape of an almond. With one whole stoplight in town, we’re best known as the birthplace and hometown of the great Ethel O’Donnell-Kerr. Haven’t heard of her? Shame on you. Once a bright Broadway star notorious for her renowned leading role in Annie Get Your Gun, she spent over thirty-five years on stage and is now the proud owner of our town inn, Five Six Seven Eight. The unofficial town mayor, she makes it her business to know everyone else’s business and then selectively spreads the news according to what the news is. Not to mention, she’s the community event coordinator, therefore constantly puts on plays, dances, and activities to keep the town together. She’s exhausting.
But most importantly, Ethel O’Donnell-Kerr is the matron of the Peach Society.
If you look at Almond Bay from above, the roads connect like an A and have four corners on each end of town. Members of the Peach Society own these four corners. Let me break it down for you:
As you know, Ethel O’Donnell-Kerr owns Five Six Seven Eight. Located in the southeast part of town next to the cliffs that overlook the ocean. Beautiful location.
Second is Dr. Elizabeth Gomez’s veterinary clinic. She’s the loving, kindhearted lady who you’ll find rolling around in the town’s park with any animal that approaches her. The nicest of the four, her clinic is situated in the southwest part of town, right next to the post office and the pharmacy/doctor’s office.
Third is Coleman’s General Store, owned by Dee Dee Coleman in the northeast part of town. The general store has been passed down from generation to generation, and with every generation, it’s been given a makeover. It currently has immaculate hardwood floors and beautiful shelving stockpiled with everything you might need. Dee Dee sets the gold standard of what’s to be expected from the store owners in town.
And last, By the Slice in the town’s northwest, next to the drive-in theater—which is subsequently owned by all four members of the Peach Society. Keesha Johnson is the owner of By the Slice, the pizza shop here in town. Known best for the dip varieties offered for her crisp crust, they range from ranch to honey to something a touch spicier. She has brought in multiple Food Network shows to try her pizza, which has put Almond Bay on the map as a food destination. We don’t say that around Ethel, though, because as you know . . . Ethel is the main attraction.
These four cornerstones are the holy grail of Almond Bay as well as their owners. They decide what’s allowed in town, hold every business to a high standard, and keep the residents in check.
And why are they called the Peach Society when clearly our town has gone all in on almonds? Because the cornerstones of our town, the holy grail of women, are all lesbians, and that’s what they decided to call themselves.
I’m here for it.
“You’re seriously going to stay with him?” Maggie asks, clearly disgusted with me.
Matt isn’t that bad.
Sure, he’s had his quirks, and it would be nice if he acknowledged me more when he’s on tour. And maybe he forgot about my birthday once, but people get busy. I once forgot to tell him how much I liked his new Nikes when he sent me a picture, and according to him, I committed a sin. So we all apparently make mistakes.
“He’s my boyfriend, so . . . yeah, I’ll stay with him.”
“Or, hear me out. You go to his place, break up with him, and seek refuge somewhere else, like . . . oh, I don’t know . . . Hayes Farrow’s house?”
“Maggie,” I groan, fiercely annoyed with the mention of Hayes. The moment she found out I lived in the same town as the one . . . the only . . . Hayes Farrow—breaker of hearts and delicious musician—she’s been clawing at me to go see him. “How many times do I have to tell you? We hate the man, according to my brother, and if anything, I’m a well-trusted sibling who will hate the people my sibling hates. Plus, Hayes Farrow is a giant dick.”
“Oooo, I bet he has a giant dick.” She never gives up. “And tell me this, if you’re supposed to hate him, how come I hear you listening to his music all the time?”
All the time is a bit of a stretch, but . . . *raises hand* guilty.
I might not like the guy. He might be one of the biggest assholes I know, and even though he was born and raised in Almond Bay as well, I refuse to acknowledge he’s more famous than Ethel O’Donnell-Kerr—even though he is—because where she has class and pizzazz, he has a backward hat and a grumpy scowl.
But with all that said, I can’t help but like his music. He has this sultry, seventies rock vibe which is my favorite genre of all time. He did a cover of Heart’s “Barracuda” that made my nipples hard. And thanks to the fact that he likes to wear these low V-cut shirts during his concerts showcasing the apparent muscles he’s grown over the past few years, he’s become a total heartthrob, filling up every social media platform with videos, pictures, interviews . . . and thirst traps. Even Maggie was drooling over a few collages she found on Instagram. To my dismay, she even reposted them on her stories.
You can’t escape him. He’s everywhere.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I barely listen to his stuff.” Lies, I have a secret Spotify playlist of his songs. “He’s overhyped. Not to mention, my boyfriend works for him as his assistant. Did you happen to forget that? If anything, I listen to his music to support my boyfriend.”
“I like that you’ve rationalized all of this in your head.”
“I haven’t rationalized anything,” I say, taking a right on Nutshell Drive toward Matt’s apartment. “I’m just stating the facts.”
“Whatever makes you feel better, Hattie.”
“Well, I’m getting close, so I should go.”
“Okay. I miss you already, and if you need anything, you know where to find me. I plan on coming up in a few weeks. I’ll reserve a room at the inn because there’s no way in hell I’m staying with you and Matt.”
There wouldn’t be enough room anyway.
“Sounds good.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too, girl,” I say before hanging up and pulling into the back parking lot of Matt’s apartment building—if that’s what you want to call it. It’s two houses broken up into apartments. Matt makes really good money, but he’s been wisely saving it rather than paying expensive rent or a mortgage.
He’s always been smart like that. We met back in high school. He’s a year older than me, and when he graduated and shipped off to San Francisco for school, I followed him. I’ve been waiting for him to pop the question, and I’m pretty sure he’s been waiting for me to finish school, which . . . well, I think we know how that’s going. He’s been traveling with Hayes anyway, so it’s not like a proposal was coming anytime soon.