Page 9 of Cruel Summer


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What will we tell the kids?

What if we tried it?

What if he’s got a twenty-year-old girlfriend?

He said he didn’t.

But he might be a liar.

He’s a stranger.

He’s a stranger.

He’s a stranger.

She let that one play over and over again, because it was upsetting and satisfying all at once.

She stopped in front of the coffeehouse and took one of her earbuds out, and then she could hear her breathing, which sounded less winded from working out and more shattered. When she touched her cheek, she realized there was a tear on it. She wiped it away quickly, then leaned against the brick facade of the coffeehouse, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her leggings.

Pony after drop-off?From Elysia.

Yep.From Whitney.

She looked up at the black-and-gold sign for Pony Espresso, their standard meeting place because they had coffee, avocado toast, and cake, so all moods could be served.

Here.

She walked inside, and grimaced when she saw most of the tables were full. It was loud, though. The sounds of the coffee grinder and the clatter of forks and knives combined with the chatter were a relief in some ways.

She’d been mad at Will for dropping his bombshell on her in public, but thinking about trying to explain what had happened last night in the relative silence of one of her friend’s kitchens felt impossible.

It would be better if all her words could be dampened here by the normal town gossip, which usually included such scandalous tidbits as the pastor of the local megachurch using tithes to finance his new hilltop house and the owner of Bella Notte stealing lettuce from the neighboring deli’s produce deliveries.

She ordered a piece of cake and a coffee. She wasn’t going to pretend she was out for her health today. This was all about coping strategies.

Not that she knew which coping strategies you were supposed to employ when your husband asked for an open marriage.

An open marriage.

She took her carrot cake and coffee to a four-person table in the back corner of the dining room and sighed with relief when Elysia walked in, her red hair piled on her head in an epic messy bun that looked like it had taken real effort when Sam knew that it hadn’t.

Elysia had been styling her wild curls that way since high school. In contrast, Sam had tried many things with her extremely straight brown hair over the years. From making it burgundy to making it blond and trying to style it with a little bit of wave. Right now she had bangs. A mistake she made every five years or so.

Elysia’s hair wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed much since high school. She was committed to low-rise jeans and hoop earrings. She was a flurry of movement. Hair and jewelry and the fluttering caftan she had on over her white tank top.

She held up a hand and gestured toward the counter, indicating she was going to order, and Sam waved back.

Whitney came in a few minutes later, her short dark hair perfectly styled, her makeup more suited to an evening out than morning coffee in a small town. Her steps were short and decisive as she crossed to the table, her wedge heels loud on the wooden floor. Whitney was the shortest in the friend group, by a lot, and always wore shoes that gave her a little bit of a lift.

She stopped and turned to the line, where Elysia had just made it to the front. She grandly mouthedcoffee, then nodded and continued to the table and sat down directly across from Sam.

“What’s going on?”

“I can’t say it twice,” said Sam, looking down at her cake.

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. Really yikes.”