Get Over It, April Evans

One

April Evans knew she was prone to astrological panic.

She'd always put a lot of stock in the stars, knew when some planet's position was messing with everyone's communication skills, and had three different zodiac-themed tattoos. Still, she'd like to think panic was the wrong word, despite what her parents would say about it. She was simply dealing with at least twenty complicated feelings at any given time, just like any triple Scorpio.

But right now, as she stood in her own driveway and handed her house keys over to a divorced MILF with shiny brown hair named Trudy while her two kids poked their fingers through the holes of April's cat carriers, April definitely felt a sense of astrological doom.

"So garbage day is on Monday," she said to Trudy, even though these sorts of details were posted on the refrigerator. "And if you have any trouble with that hallway bathroom faucet, just shoot me a text."

"Perfect," Trudy said, tucking the keys into her linen shorts. "I know the kids and I are going to love summering here. Your house is adorable. So eclectic!"

April smiled without her teeth, her eyes gazing up at her admittedly adorable mint-green bungalow. She'd bought it nearly eight years ago, the first year her tattoo shop made a profit, and now she was a landlord, renting it out to a Clover Lake summer person for the next three months because she could no longer afford her mortgage.

She looked at her houseplants on the front porch, which Trudy had promised to water, but had a sinking feeling in her gut they'd all be dried out and brown by August.

Just like her life.

Okay, fine, that was dramatic, but in her defense, her horoscope for the last month had been nothing but darkness and gloom, words like change and risk and decisions constantly floating before her eyes. She shivered, thinking of Madame Andromeda's declaration about her life just this very morning.

Lately, you've been feeling small and overlooked. As a Scorpio, this is unfamiliar territory. So this week, try to view challenges as bright new opportunities to grow-there is always something beautiful hiding in the unexpected.

She was fucking tired of unexpected. And while she was a devout believer in Andromeda's clairvoyant insights, this proclamation was simply a sugarcoated way of saying, Buckle up, bitch.

And she'd really, really rather not.

"Mommy, can't we keep the kitties?" one of Trudy's kids asked. The smaller one-named Coltrane or Copeland or something else that sounded like a jazz musician's last name-pressed their face against the carrier's door. Bianca del Kitty, April's grouchy lynx point Siamese cat she'd had for seven years and who was named for one of April's favorite drag queens, hissed, while Bob the Drag Cat, her beloved orange dumb-dumb and the namesake of another incredible queen, lounged in his own carrier like he was at a spa.

"I don't think so, honey," Trudy said, but then lifted her eyebrows at April. "Any chance you need a couple of cat sitters for the summer?" She placed a hand on top of each of her children's heads. "They'd take good care of them."

April pressed a hand to her chest, appalled. This woman had taken her house-granted, April had freely offered it to her-but she would not take her fucking cats.

They were literally all she had at this point.

Two cats, one broken-down business, and a partridge in a pear tree.

In reality, she knew she had a lot more than that, like disapproving parents and a failed engagement and a best friend who lived three thousand miles away and hadn't responded to her last four texts. And let's not forget a love life that made her want to drill a hole through her skull. Add uncertain financial future to the list, and she was a veritable cornucopia of success.

"I'm good, thanks," she said as calmly as she could, then said a quick goodbye before she could add victim of catnapping to her list of accolades. She grabbed both carrier handles and hauled them to her ten-year-old turquoise MINI Cooper, which was already stuffed to overflowing. She didn't look at her house as she backed out of the driveway, nor did she mentally acknowledge the lump rising in her throat. And she definitely didn't glance at Wonderlust Ink as she drove through downtown, her tattoo, which that she'd only just closed four weeks ago.

Permanently.

She'd been fighting against the decision for over a year. Just six months ago, she'd let Mac go-her only employee, who was now working at a fancy shop in Concord-but that had hardly fixed April's financial woes. A small town like Clover Lake had only so many regular clients, and the summer crowd was no longer keeping her in the black. She'd lived in the red for the last two years, but when she started struggling to pay for high-quality ink and other crucial supplies, she knew it was time to throw in the proverbial towel.

So, about a month ago, she'd referred her regulars to Mac, flipped the sign to Closed on her shop door, and proceeded to spend the next week on her couch eating jalapeño Cheetos and trying to will Paris and Rory from Gilmore Girls to kiss.

Needless to say, they never smashed, and April had to face the reality of her situation, which was how she ended up renting out her home, packing her bags for the summer, and taking a job teaching art classes at Cloverwild, the ritzy new resort opening in just a few days on the north shore. The position came with room and board-a tiny lakeside cabin complete with a cabinmate-and the owner, Mia Gallagher, had asked absolutely zero questions about April's suddenly wide-open summer schedule and need for housing when she'd applied.

April hadn't exactly told anyone about closing her business. Not her parents; not her best friend, Ramona. Only Bianca and Bob knew her secrets, and they weren't talking. In Clover Lake, it was only a matter of time before the news broke, but she'd like to maintain her dignity as long as possible.

She pulled into a parking spot in front of Clover Moon Café, then stepped out into the warm June sunshine. The New Hampshire weather wouldn't get truly hot until July, so she cracked the windows, promised Bianca and Bob she'd only be a second, then ducked into the café for some coffee. She'd already enjoyed one cup this morning in her quaint kitchen, soaking up the way the pale sunlight streamed through her vintage-style windows for the last time, but she needed another hit to get through this day.

She stepped inside, the bell over the door dinging, and took in the familiar vibe of Clover Moon, all rustic wood, navy and green accents, and mismatched chairs. She slid onto a barstool and smiled at the owner, Owen-a bald man in his late forties covered in tattoos, a lot of which April had done herself.

"Usual latte, please," April said. "Oat milk if you've got it."

"I've got it," he said, wiping down the counter in front of her. "Triple?"

"Do I look like a woman who wants a small amount of caffeine right now?" April asked, pointing at the bags under her eyes.

Owen pressed his mouth together. "I'm going to shut my mouth and get to work on a quad shot oat milk latte."

"Good man," April said, then rested her elbows on the counter. Behind her the diner buzzed with activity from the usual clientele-Violet Chalmers sipping on a mocha latte spiked with a few dribbles of Baileys that she kept in her purse; Duke Hansard and his brother Jake with their daily helping of sausage links wrapped in buttermilk pancakes, then smothered in strawberry syrup; Logan and Natalie Adler fighting about what to name their soon-to-be-born twins. Personally, April liked Natalie's most recent favorites, Maple and Oak.

"Hey, darling, how are those cutie patootie cats of yours?" Penny Hampton asked, popping up next to April like an annoying neighbor in a sitcom.

April startled but managed a smile. "They're little demons."

Penny laughed, clicking her long russet-colored nails on the plastic menu in front of her. "Good company, I imagine."

April said nothing, not sure how to take that. Plus, the last thing she wanted was to show up as some story in Penny's gossip blog, Penny for Your Thoughts.

"Any juicy news from Ramona lately?" Penny asked, eyeing April over the tops of her tortoiseshell reading glasses. Her hair was copper red-just like a penny-and April was pretty sure she was wearing bright green contact lenses, which were new.

"Not lately, no," April said, widening her eyes at Owen to hurry it up. He just smirked at her, steaming milk happily.

When people started plying April for Hollywood news, it was time to get the hell out of Dodge. Mostly because she had no idea what Ramona was up to these days. At least, not the details. A few months ago, in a desperate attempt to feel more connected and informed about what her best friend might be doing around LA, she'd set up a Google alert for Ramona's name. So far, she'd only gotten one alert, informing her that Ramona and Dylan had attended some charity function last month. Other than that useless bit of information, she knew Ramona was immersed in a historical romance for Netflix with her boss, Noelle Yang. She knew Dylan, Ramona's movie star girlfriend, was just about to wrap filming a biopic in which she played Marlene Dietrich, which she'd been working on for over a year. But specifics? Those details were spotty at best, like bad cell reception on the south end of the lake.

She glanced at her phone, eyes drifting over her and Ramona's last text interaction. Several blue bubbles sent from April, asking Ramona if she thought getting a tattoo of an actual scorpion was a little too on the nose. And underneath the last text-the last text with no response from Ramona-were the words Read 8:41 PM.

That was two days ago.

April really didn't want to use the L-word-lonely-but ever since Ramona had moved to LA to work as a costume designer nearly two years ago, the word haunted her like Miss Havisham's ghost. Ramona was crushing it as Noelle Yang's assistant, taking on more and more responsibility with each project. It was everything Ramona had ever wanted, everything she deserved after giving up her whole life when she was nineteen to help raise her little sister, Olive, after her father's debilitating car accident, and she certainly didn't need her small potatoes BFF whining about loneliness and a struggling business.

Still, over the last few months, her texts with Ramona had been sporadic at best, and she couldn't remember when they'd last FaceTimed. She did know, however, that they hadn't seen each other in person since this past November, when Ramona and Dylan had come back to Clover Lake for Thanksgiving with Dylan's rock icon parents, Jack Monroe and Carrie Page. Even then, their time was taken up with Ramona's family and April hadn't wanted to impose.

Her own Thanksgiving was a quiet affair with Dr. and Dr. Evans, sipping red wine around her mother's immaculate table while trying to deal with her father's insistence that she invest Wonderlust's profits-that was a laugh-in the stock market, and her mother's constant hints about settling down. April didn't think Jacqueline Evans, a Capricorn sun with a Virgo rising, would appreciate April's long-term plans of becoming a cat lady, or how she'd recently decided to give up dating altogether, because what the hell was the point, so instead she'd sipped her drink and gotten a little too tipsy, which had only invited further disapproval from her parents.

Then, after walking home in a red-wine haze because her dad hadn't wanted to drive in the inch of snow that had fallen the night before, she'd promptly opened up her favorite dating app looking for something fresh and intriguing, only to be met with the same boring people asking her same boring questions.

Casual dating had been her bread and butter for the last three years, after her engagement had imploded in spectacular fashion, but it all felt so tiresome to her-the first dates that she never had any interest in turning into a second, getting naked in front of someone new, the whole song and dance afterward, when all she wanted was to go home and sleep in her own bed.

She wasn't really interested in anyone she dated and hadn't been since Elena. No matter how she tried to open her mind to possibilities, no one stimulated her imagination or affections, no one made her stomach flutter with that first-crush feeling or caused her heart to feel like it was going to bust right through her rib cage. No one made her smile uncontrollably or wake up in the morning marveling at how fucking lucky she was.

Lately, the only thing she woke up to was a hair ball vomited up by one of her cats at the foot of her bed.

But even if some Taylor or Scott or Lydia had inspired such feelings, April had been there, done that, and consequently been crushed into oblivion when the only person she'd ever fallen madly in love with left her after three years together for a twenty-two-year-old artist named Daphne Love.

Daphne Love, for crying out loud.

She'd rather not relive that experience, thanks, no matter what Ramona, her mother, or the entire town of Clover Lake thought about it.

"Ah, well," Penny said now, shoving her glasses back up on her nose. "We've got enough going on with this fancy new resort opening this weekend."

April hmm'd politely, dug her debit card from her bag and tossed it on the counter. Owen whipped it away, then set her latte in front of her. She gulped at it greedily, burning her tongue a bit.

"I hear it's to be quite the gaudy affair," Penny said, leaning closer to April and whispering. Loudly. Penny didn't really do quiet.

April nodded as Owen handed back her card and receipt. Cloverwild was a luxury resort and was indeed rumored to be extravagant. April had no idea if gaudy was an accurate description as she hadn't seen it yet, but when a vacation spot's entire purpose was to bring in tourists with a lot of money, it was bound to be pretty high-end.

"It's not gaudy," Owen said. "It's Mia. She's a classy broad."

"Ah, yes," April said, tucking her card away again. "Just what every classy broad wants to be called."

Owen laughed. "I've seen the main lodge," he said, setting a glass of water in front of Penny. "It's gorgeous. Should bring in a lot of good business."