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My mother has put up with a lot. The reputation I garnered, trying to defend her against a bully by becoming one, led me to commit more crimes than my father committed. Yet, she’s not judging me the same way she withheld judgment for my dad’s actions.
Instead of flying off the handle and making false accusations that my mother should have been forthright, I find an ounce of humility. I finally understand that I’ve spent a decade hearing what I want to hear. It added to my heart’s deepest and darkest narrative that the only way to get what I desire is to get back at the people who stand in my way.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
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33
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Sloan is browsing the shop. We’re waiting for my sales clerk to come back from her lunch break before we meet Kimber at Baked Beans. Kimber and Sloan are throwing Holly’s baby shower. I’m hooking them up with favors at cost and have a stack of promo catalogs and websites for them to peruse.
By the time I held Greer’s shower, I’d found so many cute things it was hard to choose. Not only for what gift to give but also the plethora of gender neutral decorations—Greer wanted the baby’s sex to be a surprise. Also, as someone in a situation where whimsical baby bottles filled with jelly beans aren’t ever going to be useful once the candy is eaten, I had a yearning for something more advantageous for guests to bring home. When it comes to parenting advice and shower gifts, people are generous by nature. I wanted to meet that kindness with appreciation.
Greer’s baby was born this fall. I’ve nicknamed her pink bundle of joy “Fancy Nancy” because every time I see the gorgeous little girl, she’s wearing the cutest tights with ruffles on the bum to keep her teeny-tiny toes warm.
Holly, who knows she’s having a girl, is enamored with these darling stockings. I swear her daughter is going to have the same sort of stellar wardrobe as her mother. I love that Greer had someone to be pregnant alongside. Everyone’s excitement makes having a second party right around the corner twice as much fun.
“Goodness, it’s cold out there!” An amiable young woman, who I haven’t seen before, stands in the doorway. She rubs her hands together and blows on them. “Why on earth is it this cold here?”
“My friend, Cece, says the same thing every winter,” Sloan replies. “But this winter is as cold as last summer was hot. If we’re lucky, maybe the weather will even out and next year will be milder?”
“Here’s hoping.” She tugs off her beanie and smooths flyaway strands of hair.
“What can I help you with?” I ask. “I’m Paisley, by the way.”
“Layla, and also, I don’t know. Everything?” She touches a cashmere sweater on the nearest hanger, and I know she’s already made her mind up to get it. “I got a recommendation to come in here from Kelsey. She works with my boyfriend, and she was so nice about it that I figured I’d pop in. What else is a girl supposed to do when she’s just moved and out of a job but spend?” Layla lets out a tinkling laugh, though her falling expression says she’s having second thoughts the last comment made the wrong impression.
“What do you do?”
“A little of this and a little of that. We’d planned on moving east sooner, so I quit what I was doing and started waitressing at the club my boyfriend ran on the Strip.”
Her answer gives me pause. “Where are you from?”
“West Hollywood. Don’t get too impressed. It’s hellishly expensive if you’re only making tips.”
“And your boyfriend was a club manager there?”
“Yep.” Layla brings the sweater and a matching scarf over for me to ring her up. “Julian is managing Sweet Caroline’s when it reopens.”
My mouth forms an “O” and I dart a quick look across the store at Sloan.
I’ll go out blocks of my way rather than drive past Sweet Caroline’s. The marquees are empty. The neon pink sign hasn’t been lit in months and the parking lot is dark.
A lot of the customers, who hadn’t been into the store since the rumor mill went crazy outing Jake’s and my “affair”, returned. They spoke boldfaced lies about Caroline without any shame. In these four walls, they circulated gossip about why Jake closed the club. The expectation that I’d shoot off my mouth and give them the real scoop was wildly unfair. I was a good person before I met Jake and none paid any heed that his dealings might be a sensitive subject for me.
I like that the mill girls don’t poke around. They meant it when they said everyone is entitled to their secrets.
The doorbell cam Trig installed confirmed Jake is in Brighton, but I haven’t seen him. Not in person, anyway. And frankly, his sneakiness isn’t winning me over enough that I care to ask what the hell he’s up to.
Sloan refuses to meet my gaze, pretending to rearrange a few items on display.
I roll my lips between my teeth and snatch the sweater from Layla. “I am so sorry!” I say when I realize what I’ve done. I use the garment to cover my red face. “I thought it was about to fall!” I make an excuse.
Layla accepts my apology. I add her contact information to the computer and offer to email her receipt. She thanks me and, after telling her to stop in again, I mention that Mind Your Own Beeswax has a soothing lotion for chapped hands.
Sloan stays quiet. The back of my neck gets sweaty and my pulse hasn’t returned to normal when we pick up our drinks from the order line at Baked Beans.
