Page 1 of Coming Around Again

1

NAYA

“Looks like that’s all, ma’am,” the crew chief from WeMoveYou says, dusting his hands together. “That’s the last box.”

I survey the pile of boxes and the very basic furniture I brought with me from Cincinnati, where I’ve been living and working since I finished college seven years ago. It’s not much in the way of possessions, but it was more than I could handle moving on my own, so I’m grateful I found the moving service to get my stuff here to my friend Vivian’s neat townhouse in Charlotte. I thank the three guys who unpacked the rented van and tip them before they go.

It’s good to be back in North Carolina again. I’ve become accustomed to city living, after growing up in the small mountain community of Love Lake.

I mean, Love Lake and the neighboring town of Dogwood Falls are gorgeous, framed by our beautiful mountains. And from what my parents say, there’s all kinds of cool businesses operating there these days: a distillery, a new restaurant at the renovated Dogwood Falls Inn, a brand-new barbecue place, and a garden center.

But can you get a fresh bagel and a venti vanilla cream nitro cold brew coffee on your way to work? Nope. Can you go to the gym to work out at ten at night? Nuh-uh. Sushi? Not a chance.

Vivian uses her key to come in, and catches me staring at the stack of boxes. “Wow,” she says, smoothing her shiny black hair back from her face. “This is all you have?”

I sigh. “No. They put my bedroom furniture and my clothes and stuff upstairs. This is kitchen stuff, and stuff I don’t really know what to do with.”

“Didn’t you say you had a futon?” Viv asks, setting her laptop case down.

“Yeah. It’s in the third bedroom along with my desk. You told me that was okay.”

“That’s right. You get both of the smaller bedrooms because mine is huge and has the en-suite bathroom. It’s probably the same square footage,” she points out. She kicks off her shoes.

“Why do you even wear heels if you spend most of your day sitting behind a desk?” I ask.

Vivian gives me one of her wry smiles, the kind that made me want to be her friend when we were business majors at Wake Forest. “I’m a short Asian woman in the South. If I didn’t wear killer heels, those overgrown frat boys I work with would pat me on the head and ask me to bring them their coffee. Mostly I wear them to remind myself I am a badass.”

“You are a badass.”

It’s true. Viv is whip-smart and assertive, and she is making money hand over fist at the investment advising firm where she works.

“I know,” she says with satisfaction. “Now. I’m thinking sushi from Ru San’s. Delivered, because I need Atomic Salmon rolls stat.” I open my mouth, but she points a finger at me and I close it. “My treat. I’m so grateful you agreed to move in with me and split this damn rent. I’ve been nervous about getting new roommates ever since Ashley and Kevin moved out, and I didn’t want to live with just anybody.”

When I told Viv I’d snagged a job as a logistics analyst at GoPlay Sporting Goods, and would be coming back to North Carolina, she’d immediately begged me to share her luxury townhouse in the Elizabeth neighborhood. I’d immediately accepted.

Life’s looking up for me lately: a great-paying job in my field, living closer to my family and childhood friends, and sharing digs with my college bestie all at the same time.

Vivian orders sushi via YumWheels food delivery service. She tells me she’s going to take a shower, and not to worry about anything because she’s already paid on the app. I tighten my ponytail and start opening boxes.

I unpack my kitchen stuff and my sports gear and my notes from my MBA studies.

The last box is stuff from my high school days. I collected those name card things from as many of my graduating friends as possible, and here’s the little album I glued them in. This is my wrist corsage from junior prom, which I attended with my biology lab partner and friend Mike Wray, who’s married now with three kids.

I shift the papers at the bottom of the box, and the photo underneath hits me with a blow that’s almost physical.

It’s Desmond and me.

I remember his little sister Megan taking the photo, and then I remember her giving me the old-school print, and this is why people went to digital photos: so they don’t get blindsided by images of old dead love.

Des’s dark hair is blowing in the breeze and he’s smiling his wide mischievous smile, and his eyes are so blue my heart turns over looking at them. I’ve got my head cocked toward his, and I’m smiling but I look nervous. I don’t remember why.

Maybe because his family had more money than God and I was working as a maid at the resort that summer. Maybe because I didn’t know what was going to happen when summer ended and the two of us would head for different colleges—me to Wake Forest and Desmond to Pitt, in his hometown.

Maybe because right from the start I loved him and couldn’t believe he picked me.

Maybe because I knew he was going to dump me all along.

I sit there staring at the photo until the doorbell rings. I drop it back in the box and rush to the door, and Vivian comes downstairs in her panda pajamas. We eat sushi and catch up on our chick flicks on Hulu until it’s time for bed, and Viv turns to me. “You’re gonna be great tomorrow. You’re gonna love your new job, and you’re gonna love living with me in Charlotte, and you’re gonna love your life.”

---