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It’s been seven years since we got married and I left and five years since I last saw him. Now he’s coming back into my life, shaking up everything in my predictable little world?
I’ve curated my life for the least amount of upset and confusion humanly possible, from living in my house on the outskirts of town to avoiding having to talk to people when I don’t have my shield up, to being exactly what my mother wants me to be, to working at the family restaurant even though it was what I once swore up and down I’d never do.
The restaurant was started by my grandmother, and when she passed, was given to my mother who worked there her entire life. As soon as she had the keys in her hands, she tried to move it from a cozy family breakfast restaurant to a snazzy upscale brunch place.
If we lived in New York or Philly, it might have worked, but instead, we live in Ashford, population 992, and the people here have zero need for a mimosas brunch at ten on a Tuesday.
So now, Monday through Friday, it’s pancakes and eggs and hearty breakfast foods in the morning, BLTs and patty melts at lunch, doors closing at three. On the weekend, we offer brunch options, but they’re rarely ordered. It never stops angering my mother that instead of classy groups of girlfriends visiting for Bloody Marys, she gets rowdy groups of families and maple syrup smeared on everything.
When she realized the restaurant would never become what she envisioned, she gave up, hiring nearly everything out and making me manager when I returned back from tour so she would have to do the least amount of work possible.
In a way, even though it isn’t what I’d ever have chosen for myself, I’m grateful. I have a steady job that keeps me busy and my mind from wandering too much. I don’t need the money, but having a job in town also helps with nosy questions I don’t want to answer.
I like the job, except for on Wednesdays when Mrs. Crawford rings the bells over the door, giving me a shitty look before I even have the chance to greet her.
Mrs. Francesca Crawford is my mother’s sole remaining friend after treating everyone so terribly in Ashford, no one wants to spend time with her. Some people would see that as a wake-up call, but my mother, bless her heart, only sees it as proof that this little hick town is so much below her.
“What, no one works here anymore? You just sit around and dilly-dally?” I look down at the table in front of me, where silverware and napkins are sprawled as I roll them up for the upcoming day. “Is that what your mother’s paying you for? No wonder you can’t afford updates to that hole you bought, Stella.” I bite my tongue and the urge to be just as rude back to her. I’ve done it in the past, and while the satisfaction simmers for a few moments, the utter and all-consuming chaos of dealing with my mother after the fact is so not worth it.
“Of course not, Mrs. Crawford. How can I help you?” I ask after giving our hostess, Amelia, wide, joking eyes and standing, ready to start my boring, predictable little life.
My safe life.
A life Riggins Greene no longer has the right to haunt
When I get home from work, that hope dissipates when I open my mailbox and see a single postcard with a familiar scrawl on the back.
Good to be home, little star.
All my love, Riggins.
5 YOUNG BLOOD
THEN
STELLA
The summer after Riggins graduated high school, Atlas Oaks picked up any and all gigs they could in the area, from countless shows at the Atlas, where they got their name, to dives up and down the Jersey shore and even a few in the city. It didn’t take long for a label exec to catch wind and sign them. Throughout the winter of my senior year, they recorded their first in-studio album, and now they’re traveling as an opening act for a larger Jersey band this summer.
The first tour for Atlas Oaks started in May of my senior year and spans to almost September. Of course, my parents said there was no universe where I could go with them. I suspected as much and even accepted it, knowing I would be finishing up my senior year and wanting to spend as much time as possible with Evie before she went to school in the fall, but now that they’re gone for real, I wish I had fought more.
They’ve only been gone a week, and I’mmiserable.
I’m quickly learning this town is nothing without Riggins, nothing without the band. It’s strange realizing you have nothing and no one in your hometown other than your twin sister and a boy you’ve been in love with since you were a kid.
A week after Riggs leaves, I’m sitting at the kitchen table doing homework when my mother walks in, her designer bag hung over her shoulder, a pile of mail in one hand. She hangs the bag up as she walks into the kitchen, not acknowledging me, though I don’t mind. The more invisible I am to her, the better my day goes.
She tosses her keys and phone on the island, eyes on her hands as she flips through the thick stack of mail. She eventually speaks to me, and the words make my stomach churn and send anxiety rolling through me.
“Lenore and I have decided you will be going on a date with her son next Friday.” She says the words as if I’m not 18 but a child, and she’s decided I’m going to the dentist for a cleaning rather than a date with a near stranger. Finally, my head moves up, and I stare at her, my brow furrowing as I fight my instinct of shouting, absolutely the fuck not.
Things with my mother have been tense for as long as I can remember, but in the past year, they’ve gotten even worse. I don’t know if it’s my decision not to go to college in the fall or the recent urge to step out of the perfect mold she built for me, but either way, it feels like I’m constantly on the verge of feeling her anger and disappointment.
“Thank you, but I’m not interested,” I say diplomatically. I can’t wait to tell Riggins how she wants me to go on a date with the douchey lacrosse captain when he calls me next. He’s going to get a kick out of this one. Especially since Tripp constantly made fun of Riggins and me when Riggs was still attending Ashford High.
“It wasn’t a choice, Stella. I phrased it very specifically,” my mother says, her hands moving a bit slower as her fierce stare hits me. “You’re already embarrassing me by not going to school, giving up on everything. I’ve convinced my friends it’s because you want to help take over the diner, but I can’t explain away you just staying in the house and doing nothing.”
I wonder if she was always like this, cold as ice and only concerned with public appearance, money, and status. And if she was, why thefuckdid my dad ever marry her?
