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No mention of Kayla? Classy.
Anonymous
This feels like it’s missing someone.
Anonymous
Piper keeps saying he doesn’t have a daughter, but the proof is in the paperwork.
Attached to the last comment is a photo, and tentatively, I open it, praying I’m not about to download a trojan horse porn virus onto this WHG computer.
It’s a birth certificate. I give it a quick once-over, and spy the name on the line for father. Mickey Angelo Davis. Underchild’s name, it reads Kayla Marie Lofgren.
Before I can process what’s in front of me, there’s a knock at the door, and someone walks in without waiting for my response. I’m poised to lose it, but see it’s José, his white apron covered in what looks like chocolate.
“How was it?” He gestures to the plate in front of me and narrows his eyes, and I realize I’ve barely touched my food. “Everything ok? Not like you to go hungry.”
“I’m fine,” I reply quickly. Too quickly. He gives me a suspicious look as I glance between him and the computer screen between us. “Really, just looking over some numbers. How are things going down there?”
“About to start the dances,” he murmurs, his face slipping into a dreamy smile.Bleh.
If I had it my way, Olivia and I wouldn’t have even done any dances. No one would have. We probably would have eloped and taken a much-needed vacation in some wintery location, far, far away from both of our families. But no, she wanted the attention, and God forbid, a Westfall kid doesn’t get married in a WHG venue.
“Holler if you need anything.” At my words, he gives me one last piercing gaze, before retreating back behind the door. I let out a deep breath, my hands clasping behind my head. I wobble in my chair, my brain whirring.
It takes a special kind of vindictive person to keep a child away from their parent, let alone their dying parent. I know that longing to connect with a parent all too well, except mine died long before I had the opportunity to even remember them. I wonder if Kayla was treated the same way?
On the other hand, Piper doesn’t really seem like the vindictive type. But, who am I kidding? I’ve probably spoken fifty words to the woman in the last twenty years. And for my own sake, I’m going to keep it that way.
Chapter 4
Piper
“Sosorrywe’relate,”Carla purrs, and slides into the seat next to Alex. At the high top table where she’s perched, my best friend is half standing, hands resting on her protruding belly. Across from her sits Penny, my sister, who seems to be just settling in herself. I sit next to her.
“What else is new?” Alex throws over her shoulder, leaning back to put a hand over the one that Carla uses to squeeze her shoulder. “Meeting go well?”
“Yeah.” I lace my purse strap through the hook underneath the table, thankful that this seedy bar has at least one bonus feature. “They were talking all about resentments.”
“Which was ironic as fuck,” Carla adds with an eye roll, “considering I don’t think I’ve seen Piper so wound up since that time she sawshe who must not be namedon TV at that Royals game.”
“I fucking love that name,” Penny laughs, waving a waitress over. “Don’t get me wrong, it fits, it just makes me think of the bitch with her nose cut off.” I shrug in agreement. That was half the fun of using the nickname for my former mother in law, Melissa. I could picture myself sending a well-placed curse hurtling toward her with a flick of a wand for all the things she’s said about me - to me.
The waitress saddles up to the table, and Penny says “Rum and Coke, double, and…” She looks at all of us. “Three club sodas.”
“With lime,” Alex adds, patting her stomach. The waitress looks at the two of us without a clear excuse for not ordering a drink, and I see her eyes twitch momentarily toward the ceiling before she walks away.
It took me a while to get comfortable going out to bars again after I stopped drinking. Long before I even took my first drink, I was dragged into places like this and forced to sip on a soda while Alex and our friends used their fake IDs or feminine wiles to drink the night away. I was on standby, as a designated driver and a wingwoman of sorts. But I was never really a public drinker. In the short period in which I drowned my sorrows with a bottle, it was always at home, which is why one of the keys to my sobriety has been working in the office nearly every day.
Living with Carla has been one of the best decisions I’ve ever made, leaving the house I shared with Mickey behind for our modest apartment. Carla’s edging toward five years of sobriety, with myself just passing the three year mark. After countless hours and dollars spent toward processing my trauma and following substance abuse, the way my body - and my mind - felt wasn’t something I was going to give up because of my temptations.
“Who all was there?” Alex asks as the waitress brings over our drinks.
“Us, Fallon, Jackie, Jessica - she’s married now, did you know -
“Yeah, to a fucking gorgeous specimen of a woman,” Penny says, taking a giant gulp of her drink, her thick, dark hair falling around her face. I eye her. “What? Mama’s got one night out this week, I’m going to enjoy it before I go back to diaper duty. And if you saw Jessica’s wife, you’d agree.”
“Don’t forget Kyle,” Carla adds. “Oh, and Fitz.”
