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Us, we are the masterpieces, or disasters, however you want to look at it.
“Do you think you can drop me off at Below Deck?” My father asks from his place at the kitchen table.
“Having some work done to the boat?” My father has a boat as old as him. I get the sentimental value as it was a gift from my grandad, but truth is the thing is a mess. I think it’s in the shop more than its not.
Thankfully he has a friend in Decker Black who now owns the Below Deck Boat repair. His grandfather Vernon owned it prior to him and they take care of my father without trying to persuade him to scrap the old beater. Which is exactly what he should be doing.
“Just a few little things, nothing big,” he insists but when I meet my mother’s gaze and she rolls her eyes, I know he’s sugarcoating the real issue. I don’t ask though, it’s better that way.
“Sure,” I finish the coffee in my cup. “As long as I’m at the shop by one, to meet with Rosemary Walsh.”
“What’s Rosemary needing now?” My mother and Rosemary have clashed for years. But again, I don’t ask details. I’m afraid I’ll hear some stretched out tale of how it’s over some man, orworse a battle over my own dad. I prefer to remain oblivious on this matter.
“We are making her granddaughters dress, for Melissa Elders wedding. It’s next month and it’s a custom design.”
“Papa,” Regan interrupts the conversation and I am grateful. It would have been a long drug out bitch fest about how Rosemary walks around Magnolia Grove like the world owes her everything. I don’t want to hear it again; I could recite the complaint word for word by now.
“Yes, baby.” My dad stands and rounds the table walking in my daughter’s direction. “Did you see we made snickerpoodles.”
I smile, and notice my father does the same. But to him my girl hung the moon and the stars so he plays along beautifully.
“I did sweetheart, because snickerpoodles are your papa’s favorite.”
Regan grins wide, and my dad reaches over and picks up a still warm cookie. Bringing it to his mouth he takes a bite and makes an exaggerated mm sound.
“Perfection,” he leans in placing a kiss to the top of Regan’s head before doing the same to Riley. I love how is with them, refusing to let them go a day without feeling his love.
When he grabs another two cookies my mother eyes him.
“For the road,” he grins, kissing her on the cheek. “Zoey’s taking me to pick up Edgar."
Yes, he named his boat Edgar, or Ed and sometimes Eddie. Or there is POS which is my mother’s not so cute nickname for my fathers heap of junk.
eleven
. . .
Jayson
“Thanks,” I offer a nod to the waitress as she sets the next round of beers on the table. She winks, and I glance away to find not only Eric my best friend is smiling but so are Dean and Mattie. My brother and Dean Sullivan have been best friends for years. When we were younger it was like I had two brothers, the pair of them going everywhere together. Which also means he knows all about everything Mattie knows because my brother doesn’t believe in keeping any of my shit private. He loves to air my dirty laundry and use it against me. So when they are together they both find the joy in hassling me.
“If you get bored waiting around for Zoey, she looks interested.” Dean nods toward the waitress who is walking away but looking back over her shoulder. She’s also shaking her hips a little more than necessary to gain the most attention. Biting at her lip, offering a wink when she notices we are watching her. “I bet if you confess your love to her, she wouldn’t hesitate.”
I glance at my brother who is currently using his hand to hide his smile.
“Again, I didn’t confess my love.” I clarify yet again.
“But you do love her,” Eric says. It’s not a question.
Choosing to ignore them all I pick up another potato skin and don’t react when they chuckle. Meeting them all for dinner and drinks at Willy’s Crab Shack seemed like a good idea, then I show up and the three of them can’t stop harassing me. I was right, half of Magnolia Grove knew about my visit to Zoey’s shop by midnight the very same evening. The rest by the end of church services on Sunday.
Nothing is sacred, nothing is private, there were always and still are curious eyes and even more curious ears.
“Momma,” a loud squeal echoes over the restaurant and I look in its direction just in time to see a blur of blonde hair go barreling past the table. “I gotta pee,” the little girl screams which triggers laughter from a few of the guests.
“I got her,” it’s my brother’s girl who scoops up the little bundle of fire and carries her off toward the restroom sign in the back.
“Regan,” Knowing that voice, I shift around in my seat and immediately find Zoey in the crowd. She is holding out her hand to another little girl who looks like the one Emma carried off.
