Blink and We'll Miss It by Ginny Kochis

Author:Ginny Kochis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zelie Press

The day passes in a whirl of sound and color and fried junk food until I’m standing on Main Street in a borrowed mid-length dress. It’s bright blue, a seldom-worn selection from Van’s more fashionable closet. She also insisted on doing my hair.

Live music blares from the stage by the waterfront. The last traces of sunset cling to the sky. I’m an observer here, the twinkling lights, crashing guitars, and crush of people swirling around me. It’s suffocating — the loneliness, the fear, the uncertainty that had waned but is back with a vengeance.

I feel like the tiny plastic figurine in the middle of a souvenir snow globe, at the mercy of whoever picks me up.

“Mae! Come dance with us!” Van’s face is a brilliant blur. Mason spins her around, then dips her. They two-step back to me.

Van’s dress is deep red, cap-sleeved with a sweetheart neckline. The full skirt fans out on a final twirl. My heart twinges when they come to a stop, the sweetness of their shifting bond overwhelming. “Impressive.”

Mason grins and cuddles her close.

Van and Mason insisted I join them at the street dance despite me making it clear I didn’t want to go. We left Shrimp Fest around two. I’d checked in with my mom, gotten a shower, and was writing in the loft when Nathan barged in and tossed a Nerf ball at me. “Van says y’all are leaving in an hour, and if you don’t come on and get dressed she’ll drag you in whatever you’ve got on.”

I could have stayed in the loft and worn the barn cats like a weighted blanket, basking in their softness and warmth. But being alone with my thoughts and a dozen cats felt a little too crazy-lady-in-the-attic.

I refused to be the protagonist in a southern gothic novel, so I gave in and climbed my way down.

Ezra was absent when I got to the Sutton’s house. Despite my best efforts to quash it, a weird mix of rejection and disappointment coiled in my chest. I must have looked tense because Mason reached out to squeeze my shoulders. “You look beautiful,” he told me, then leaned in to whisper, “Don’t worry. Ezra’s going to meet us there.”

But he’s not here, not yet, and the band shifts into a ballad. Mason pumps his fist in the air. “Excellent. Miss Griffin, would you excuse us?” He steps back and pulls Van in, waltzing her across the dance floor.

“Get out here,” Van calls. “Come dance.”

I look right and left and hold my arms out, empty. “No partner.” And no interest in a solo waltz.

“I mean, there’s always me.”

I spin around. Ezra’s standing there in a white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Faded jeans hang just right on his hips.

My cheeks flush. I drop my eyes to the ground. Which is a mistake, because even his feet are handsome. They’re tanned and calloused and shoved into a pair of dark brown leather Havanas. Why (oh why, oh why)

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