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“I hope this doesn’t take too long,” I say to my sister.
Laurel insisted on tagging along as an insurance policy so that Jake won’t act up too much. A carbon copy of a lethal predator, he plays suave around people he doesn’t know until he’s trapped them in his good graces.
“I’m sure it won’t.” She waves off my fear.
“He could be firing me.”
“Doubtful. Look at the marquis.” Laurel lets go of the steering wheel, motioning to the large sign in front of the old building.
Congratulations Holly and Caryis spelled out in big black letters.
“Think he’s using this to his advantage?” Laurel mocks with veiled reproach.
“With Jake anything is possible,” I sigh, grabbing my oversized purse and heading toward the entrance.
Kelsey greets us as we reach the door. “Bad news. Jake’s not here.”
“How is that bad news?” My sister retorts.
I glance at her, confused by the flat tone she’s using, and step into the dark theatre. Something’s off. Kelsey isn’t on the schedule. Why is she here during the middle of the day? And why are the house lights off? I squint from the halo of the sun shining behind me toward the red emergency exit light, trying to get my bearings.
My sister pushes me forward and the heavy door thuds closed. A metal echo breaks the eerie silence, making my shoulder blades draw together and my spine straighten.
“Surprise!” The thunderous cheers have me jumping out of my skin.
My mill girls swarm around the cocktail tables along with some of my favorite dancers and Sweet Caroline’s employees throughout the years.
“OhmyGod!” I shout, my words running into a jumbled screech. “What are you doing?”
“You’ve refused to let us celebrate you. So do you think we were going to let this pass us by?” Kimber rubs a hand over her burgeoning belly.
Sloan holds me around the middle, agreeing.
“You were in on this?” I ask Laurel, stupefied.
“Good things happen, sweet sister. It’s okay to acknowledge them.”
“Every one of us reacted the same way,” Cece takes Sloan’s place, hugging me and laying reality on the line. “If you thought for a minute we’d plan an engagement party, bridal shower, or bachelorette, you’d be certain things would go wrong and go as far as finding a reason to get out of marrying Cary.”
“I would not!” I insist.
But as my bones resettle in my body, I know my friends are right. I appreciate them even more for understanding this about me. I can do life’s little wins. I can live, accept love, and be loved in return on the simplest of terms. But the big stuff? That’s harder for me.
Between William and then my parents’ death as I was getting back on my feet, I expect life will pull the rug out from under me. So, I roll the rug up before that can happen.
It took months for me to accept I’d proven I could handle the job, and I’d earned my role as manager here at the club. I still have fears that my age holds Cary back from a future with someone else. Although, I’m challenging myself to see that now that his eyes are open. We’re a team that can slow at the yield, look left and right and then keep moving.
I would have put an enormous red stop sign in front of my friends had I foreseen any party. Not because I don’t love Cary. Making a big deal out of anything seems precarious to me. Each time I’ve felt the slightest bit deserving of anything there have been expectations of myself I haven’t been able to live up to.
I should be mature enough to flip the sentiment on its ear. One man did this to me, and it washewho hadn’t lived up. Except it still feels like my failure that I’m trying to overcome.
Taking a deep breath, I do what I do best. I give. I hand those few hours over to my sister and my friends. I let them celebrate the way they need to. They regale stories of our shared past. At first, I put on my bartender’s hat while listening. After a while, I have an uncanny awareness that I’ve become intent on hearing what these women have to say the same way I sense Cary does whenever I talk to him.
Somewhere along the way, the dread at being the center of attention subsides. I’m honored by their extreme efforts to cut off my worst inclinations. And for the next few hours, instead of being an honorary mill girl, I am one.
________________
“I’m so sorry we’re behind schedule.” It’s one of my biggest faults.
