Delaney James has it all: a handsome husband who just made partner at his law firm, a gorgeous townhouse in NYC's Upper East Side, and a blossoming career in fashion journalism. Life is perfect - until her husband leaves her for another woman. With...
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My Uber drives down Main Street, and nostalgia overwhelms me as I stare out the window at the town I haven't seen since the day I left for college. Some things look the same, but most of it has changed drastically. South Grove Presbyterian Church where my older sister Adelaide and I attended preschool is still standing, and if I close my eyes, I can still see us running around the yard at recess. There's the courthouse, where my best friend Jo and I spent way too much time after she got her license paying all the parking tickets she got. Most of the restaurants have remained the same, but there are a lot more banks than I remember, and there's a CVS or a Walgreen's on what seems like every corner. Jocelyn's – the boutique I worked at in high school – is still open, but the music store Jo and I used to frequent has been turned into a trendy, hipster coffee house.
South Grove, a small suburb of Wilmington North Carolina, is a beach town and the perfect place to grow up. As a little girl I spent almost every day in the summer on the beach with my best friends Jo and Greyson. We'd build sandcastles, collect seashells, and go surfing, and before we'd walk home, we'd stop and get water ice at Ellie's at The Riverwalk. At night we'd run around in my back yard catching fireflies and roast marshmallows for s'mores in the firepit while our parents watched us from the deck. We'd ride our bikes downtown and while Greyson was reading the latest Sports Illustrated at the only bookstore in a twenty-mile radius, Jo and I would sneak into the drugstore next door and play with the make-up samples.
Things changed as we got older. Instead of Barbie's and Candyland, Jo and I would lay out and tan on the deck of her father's boat, go to parties, and spend every Sunday night dancing at Pulse – South Grove's only nightclub. That's when they had their eighteen-and-under nights. Greyson and I started dating our freshman year of high school and spent all our free time together, but when Jo got a job at Maribelle's Diner when we were sophomores, he and I would keep her company, eating all the peach pie our stomachs could handle.
The thing I remember most though is the Fourth of July party the town throws every summer. Magnolia Lane, where the three of us lived, is shut down, barricaded at both ends so cars can't get through. Music plays, people dance in the middle of the street and neighbors provide the party with food and drinks, and after the sun goes down, everyone goes to South Grove Park to watch the fireworks. My childhood was damn near perfect, but those are the nights I remember being the happiest.
We turn onto my street, and I'm inundated with the feeling that I never left. Southern magnolia trees, tall and dark, line the sidewalks. It's nearing the end of spring and their bulbs have already bloomed full, picturesque white flowers. I still remember the way they smell - like the citronella candles my parents would burn on summer nights to keep the mosquitoes away. The treehouse I fell out of and broke my arm when I was nine is still in the Reinhart's backyard. I notice Mike, the same mailman we've had for as long as I can remember, walking his route, and the corner where Jo wiped out on her rollerblades and broke her wrist has the same broken curb it had ten years ago.
