Barney Fife opens the door and allows me to step out. “You’re free to go.” He unlocks my cuffs and hands me my purse.

I narrow my eyes on him. “Is this some kind of trick?”

He places the cuffs back into their holder. “Does it look like a trick? Get going.” His tone is rough, and disappointment is visible across his face.

I shrug it off and step around him to walk back to my car.

“Don’t get any ideas while you’re in town. I’ll be watching you.”

His taunting digs under my skin, and I turn around to face him. “I’m not a teenager anymore, you know? I think I can manage one weekend without giving you trouble.”

He grunts. “I guess we will find out, won’t we?” he says, turning to step into his car.

“I didn’t steal that cruiser either!” I shout back at him.

“Yeah? I bet that wasn’t you who defaced our town sign either, huh?”

He’s got me there - I was caught red handed, literally. The red spray paint I used stained my clothes and hands.

He walks closer. “It’s almost like the goat farm incident.”

I can’t help but laugh inwardly.

Cumming is home to a small goat farm, the goats of which were, accidentally, released by Striker and me. The town had rogue goats wandering the streets for days, which wouldn’t be so bad if goats were the peaceful, loving creatures that they would lead you to believe. Taking full advantage of their newfound freedom, they kicked and/or bit everyone in town.

“Or that time the confetti cannons at the football game got filled with ketchup and mustard.” He continues walking towards me, watching me with his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you know how bad it burns when mustard gets in your eyes?” He leans in, waiting for an answer. “Of course you don’t. You knew it was going to happen and made sure to stand out of the way.”

I point my finger at him. “I really didn’t do that one. That was all Striker. I mean, come on, do I look like I would do something that childish?”

The only response I get is a lifted eyebrow.

“Fine, I will stay out of trouble.” I hold up my hands, showing him my palms.

Apparently this satisfies him; he finally turns around and walks back to his car.

I get behind the wheel and continue with my journey.

Hearing about that football game puts a smile on my face. I really didn’t have anything to do with it. It surprised me as much as the rest of the town. Striker had it all planned out. It was our anniversary and that was my gift. I laughed so hard I cried. That was the same night we snuck back onto the field and had our own fun on the fifty-yard-line.

Striker rolls to his back. We’re both completely naked, laying on the grass with the dark sky above us. I roll to his side and trail my fingertips up his hard chest. His dark hair is a mess from the fun we just had and his lips are turned up into a smile.

“Thank you for tonight. I really needed that.”

He turns his head to look at me and his green eyes light up, even in the darkness. “Well it’s not as good as the gift you got me, but I thought you would enjoy watching everyone get sprayed.”

“It was better than what I got you,” I say, thinking back on the food fight I started in the cafeteria the day before.

His eyes suddenly become crystal clear, “I love you, Lex.”

I shake the thoughts from my head just as my parents’ house comes into view down the road. My run-in with Barney cost me some time – it is already 6:00 P.M. – but I still have an hour before dinner.

I step out of the car and lean against the door, lighting another cigarette while I survey my family’s immaculate property. The whole thing looks staged, everything from the perfectly planted flowers, to the giant fountain in the front yard, and the circle drive that surrounds it. I feel like the smudge on a freshly cleaned mirror. The one that always seems to be right in the center, distorting your face when you look in it. Just another reminder that I don’t belong here.

As the cigarette slowly burns down to my fingers, I am engaged in a mental battle to build up the courage to go in. My feet have not crossed that doorstep in six years; yet, my instincts tell me that when I step inside, everything will be the exact same. I would even bet money that the same pristine, white-and-cream-colored rug still runs down the center of the hallway.

One last drag more or less cashes the cigarette, and I flick the butt into the potted plants lining the porch steps. I pull my bag from the trunk and apprehensively make my way to the front door.

Anxiety and dread shadow every step I take, further emphasized by a strange, nervous pain in my stomach. It’s as if I’m a teenager again. I have always felt the exact same way every time I walked up these steps.

I push the glowing doorbell button and listen as it chimes throughout the house. My heart pounds and my body feels heavy, like I’ve suddenly been handed a sandbag. I can’t walk forward or run back. I’m frozen in fear.

How is this weekend going to go? Are they going to punish me for leaving and not coming back until now? Are they going to make me feel ignored and uncomfortable? Will they be inviting and welcome me with open arms?

My mother opens the door, smiling, but the smile drops from her face when she realizes it’s me. “Well, come in.” She turns away, leaving me standing on the porch.

I take a deep breath and push myself forward, walking in and closing the door behind me. I don’t follow after my mother; instead, I stand in the foyer and look around the room.

It’s exactly as I imagined, everything is exactly where I remember it being. The posed family picture hangs over the fireplace in the living room. Any visitor looking at it might think that we are the perfect family, but I remember the day it was taken. I was thirteen then, and had a huge fit that morning because my mother made me wear a dress. She threatened to take all my clothes and burn them in front of me if I didn’t smile for that picture.

My clothes meant everything to me. It was the only way I was allowed to truly express myself. In a house where I was expected to make good grades, attend a certain college, and live however they found acceptable, my fashion choices, or lack thereof, were the only part of my life I had control over.

After taking everything in, I follow the route my mother took to the right, into the dining room.

There, I find my mother at the head of the table with my older sister to her right. When Steph sees me walk in, she jumps up and runs to my side.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here.” She hugs me quickly and pulls away, blue eyes brightening.

I tuck a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

She takes my hand and pulls me toward the table. “Come sit with us. We’re going over everything for the dinner tomorrow night.”

My eyes flash to my mother, who doesn’t look pleased.

I pull my hand back. “Actually, I need to go and hang up my things before they wrinkle.”

“Oh, of course.” She looks quickly to the floor and then back to me. “But you will join us when you finish, right?”

I smile politely. “Sure.”

I head upstairs with my bag. At the top, I stop and peer down the long hallway. Somehow, its size makes me feel small again.

I will myself to walk down the long hallway, not stopping until I reach my bedroom door. I place my hand on the doorknob and turn slowly. The door creaks inward and I peek inside before stepping in. You’re being stupid, just go inside, I chastise myself. It’s just like downstairs, everything is the same as it was when I left. Same Blink-182 posters on the walls. Same knick-knacks and trophies lining the shelves. Same photos of old friends, many of whom I haven’t seen or talked to in years. It’s been so long that I no longer feel any attachment to any of it. It’s as if it belongs to someone else entirely. My old window overlooks the backyard. When I look out, I halfway expect to see Striker standing there, waiting for me to climb down to meet him. I pull the curtains closed and begin unpacking my bag.

* * *

An hour later, everything is put away and I am washed up for dinner. I make my way down the stairs and back to the dining room where everyone is in their proper place at the table.

“Hi, Dad.” I place a kiss on his cheek before taking my seat across from my sister.

My mother’s eyes watch me. I can tell she isn’t happy that my sister and father aren’t giving me the cold shoulder the same way she is.

The maid places dinner on the table and we all begin to eat in silence. I think everyone is feeling the strain.

My sister, trying to be the happy-go-lucky person that she is, talks about her fiancée and how they met. I’m only half-paying attention while distractedly picking at my food.

At long last, my mother breaks her stoic silence by slamming her fist down on the table, interrupting Steph. The water in everyone’s glasses takes several moments to stop sloshing around from the impact.

“Are you going to tell me that you’re just going to sit there and act like everything is okay?”

My eyes flash to her, but she’s looking at my father.

He lifts his eyes from his plate, not startled at all.

Wiping his mouth and adjusting his glasses, he replies calmly, “What exactly isn’t okay, dear?”

I look back and forth between them until her eyes land on me.

“You don’t have anything to say to your daughter that ran away six years ago?”

His eyes look to me. “It’s nice to see you, Alexis.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

My father doesn’t look pleased but he turns to me. “We need to have a talk about what it is that you’re doing with your life.”

My shoulders unintentionally slump down at this. I knew this was going to happen. Everyone’s eyes are on me now, and I can feel anger burning in my chest. “There is nothing to talk about. I am completely happy with my life…far away from you.” I look directly at her.

“Is that what I get? After everything? After raising you and clothing you and buying you nice things?”

I laugh. I don’t mean to, but it slips out. “After raising me? You didn’t raise me! I was just something to march in front of your friends at the country club. As soon as I stepped out of line, I was cut off.” I toss my napkin onto the table and stand. The chair skids across the floor behind me and wobbles, nearly tipping over.

“I agreed to come here for Steph, not you. And I don’t need you planning out my life for me.” I walk angrily toward the stairs.

“That’s right, run away like you always do!” my mother screams at me.

I rush to my room, just like I did when I was a child.

I hate it. I hate feeling this way. I hate what she does to me. She never once showed me an ounce of love. When I did something she approved of, I never got an “I’m proud of you.” No, I got, “Oh, what will our friends at the club think of this?”

I grab my purse and keys and lift my window. Here I am, twenty-four-years-old and sneaking out of my fucking bedroom window like I’m in grade school again.

I wander the dimly lit roads around town for a while, until I find myself sitting at the local bar. It’s not busy, but there is music blaring loudly, drowning out any thoughts I may have.

I order a martini and light a cigarette, noticing (although not surprised to see) that the pack is already almost empty.

“Lexi?”

Brett, an old friend, is approaching me from the other side of the bar. He went to high school with me and is good friends with Striker.

I stand. “Hi, how are you?” I ask, moving in for a hug.

He squeezes me tightly, lifting me off the ground and placing me back on my feet. “I’m good. Where in the hell have you been hiding?”

I take my seat and sip my martini. “Oh, you know, here and there,” I reply, avoiding a real answer.

“I was starting to wonder if you were ever coming back.” He bumps my arm with his elbow. “You know, you never did say goodbye to me.”

I smile. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t really say goodbye to anyone.”

“Oh my God, Lexi?” Gemma walks up between us.

“Hey! How have you been?” I stand and give her the same awkward hug. Gemma and I used to be friends. Not best friends, but we hung out on occasion.

She leans in and presses a kiss to Brett’s lips.

“Good! We’re married now.” She holds up her left hand to show off her ring. “Can you believe it?”

“Wow, congratulations.”

“Listen, I can’t stay. I just dropped by to see Brett for a few minutes before I go into work, but would you come over to our place tomorrow? We can have lunch and catch up?”

“I don’t…” Brett starts, but Gemma cuts him off.

“Please? Brett can fire up the grill and we can sit on the patio, have a few drinks, and catch up. What do ya say?”

I look back and forth between them. Gemma’s dark eyes are shining and her lips are turned up into a big smile. Brett looks a little nervous. His eyes are trained on his beer; I can’t read his reaction.

“Okay, sure,” I agree, mostly to buy myself as much time as possible away from my mother’s house.

Gemma cheers, making her red curls bounce as she jumps up and down. “Okay, come over around noon?”

I nod. “That sounds great.”

“I have to get to work. Brett, walk me out?”

He gives me a look I can’t place before nodding and following after Gemma.

Within minutes, he’s back sitting beside me.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask him.

“Shoot.” He turns to look at me.

“Why did you give me that look? If you don’t want me to come over, I won’t.”

He blows it off. “No, not at all. Gemma and I would love to have you over.”

I cock my head to the side. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “Absolutely.” He grabs a bar napkin, writes down their address, and slides it over to me.

I tuck the napkin into my purse before finishing my drink and checking the time. My mom should be retired to her room by now. “Okay. I will see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

* * *

I wake late the next morning, not surprised to see that my mother didn’t wake me for breakfast. I roll from bed and take a long shower before dressing myself in a pair of jean shorts and my favorite black t-shirt with cut-off sleeves. My dark hair is down free, flowing as it pleases. I fix my makeup and intentionally go heavy on the eyeliner, knowing that it will drive my mother crazy.

The irony of the situation hits me yet again. Twenty-four-years-old, living by myself, and still hell-bent on annoying her any way I can.

I escape the house without her seeing me and head in the direction of Gemma and Brett’s.

It only takes a few minutes to cross town to their place, where I pull into the driveway and park next to a red Dodge truck. I look at their house in a daze. It’s not a big house, just normal-sized with a nice, clean lawn. Not completely overdone, like my parents’ house; it’s just small, comfortable, and inviting.

I step out and make my way to the door. After a few knocks, I hear Gemma shout to Brett from the backyard, so I close the screen door and walk around the side of the house to the privacy fence. The latch opens easily, and I step foot into their backyard.

Gemma, setting up the patio table, beams when she sees me. “I can’t believe you actually came!” she says, rushing towards me. She pulls me in for a hug before latching onto my wrist, pulling me toward the table.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

She stands up straight and adjusts her white top. “I just wasn’t for sure, you know? We haven’t seen you in six years and we didn’t leave things on the best of terms.” Her eyes nervously flash down to the table.

I wave her off as I take a seat. “That was years ago. None of that matters now.” My stomach tightens at the thought of our last conversation, but I refuse to let myself go there.

She looks back at me and her smile returns. “Good. We have so much to catch up on.” She pours me a frozen margarita and hands it over.

I take a drink of it and set the glass on the table before taking a deep breath. Just being back in my hometown causes me to feel uneasy. I keep waiting for the moment I run into him. I know it will happen eventually, the town is too small not to.

“So, what have you been up to?” Gemma asks before she takes a drink of her own margarita.

“Nothing much.” I pray that she lets me slide by with that.

“Nothing much? You’ve been gone for six years. Where do you live? What do you do?” Her dark eyes meet mine and I see nothing but friendship shining beneath them.

I sit up straight and brush my hair from my face. “I moved into the city. I am part owner of a clothing store on the strip.” It isn’t much, but it feels like I’m giving away a piece of myself. I want to stay hidden away from this town and especially from a certain person. My own mother didn’t know where I was until I told her two years ago.

I was supposed to go to college, but I didn’t make it. Instead I took a different road, and in turn, got a different life. A life which my mother isn’t happy with.

Her eyes are wide and her mouth is damn near hanging open. “All this time you’ve been in the city? I thought you left the state. Striker must have thought you left the country, the way he looked for you.”

And there it is. Striker.

The mention of his name rips my gaze away from my hands and directly into her eyes. “He looked for me?” A chill runs up my spine. “How long?”

“Years. Hell, he may still be looking.” Her eyes flash to the back sliding glass door. “Although, I bet you are much closer than he thinks you are.” A grin pulls at the corners of her lips, but she won’t let it form.

I turn to look over my shoulder and see Brett walking out of the door with a tray full of meat for the grill. He’s turned around talking to someone behind him. When he steps out into the sunlight and I see him, my blood runs cold.