Britches Get Stitches

by Elicia Hyder

“That’s great. They’re coming along faster than you thought, right?” he asked.

  “Yes. It helps to have four of us working on them, though I keep thinking about hiring one more seamstress.”

  “No more seamstresses.” Kiara was shaking her head. “We’ve got this process down to a science. You bring in someone else and it’ll throw a kink in the whole damn thing.”

  “Maybe so.” I smiled. “Jason, let me finish this sash, and I’ll be at a good stopping point for the evening. What time do we need to leave?”

  “The party starts at six thirty, but we can be fashionably late and show up in time for dinner at seven thirty if you want.”

  “Where is the party?” I asked, sitting back down at my sewing machine.

  “The Opryland Hotel.”

  “Fancy,” Kiara said.

  “Yeah, they went all out this year.”

  I finished sewing the edges of the white sash I was working on. “All done. Time to go change. Kiara, are you almost finished?”

  “Yes, ma’am. And I have a hot date tonight too. Davion is taking me to your friend’s restaurant out in East Nashville.”

  “Lettuce Eat?” I asked.

  “That’s the one. You keep talking about how good it is, so we’re going to try it out.”

  I hung the tiny dress on its hanger. “Make sure you ask to speak to Olivia, and tell her you work for me.”

  “Is this the same Olivia you were with at your awards banquet?” Jason asked as I cleaned up my mess.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Kiara, make sure you tell her I said thank you,” he said with a laugh.

  I laughed too.

  Up in my apartment, Jason laid across the bed while I got dressed. “What, no stockings?” he asked as I slipped my shoes onto my bare feet.

  “Do you not remember ripping the elastic out of them last weekend?” I turned to check out my backside in the mirror.

  “Oh yeah.” He smiled and laced his fingers behind his head on the pillow, closing his eyes. “We’d better not talk about that, or we might not leave this apartment.”

  “Does my thigh look too bad in this dress if I move a lot?” I asked.

  He sat up on the edge of the bed and looked at my skirt. “I can see it when your skirt moves, but you shouldn’t worry about it. Your legs look so amazing, nobody’s going to notice anything else.”

  “Right. I’m so sure that’s true.” I laughed and walked to the bathroom. “Let me touch up my makeup, and I’ll be ready to go.”

  Touching up my makeup meant adding more concealer to my eye. Unfortunately, no matter how many layers I slathered on, I still looked like Rocky Balboa post-Apollo Creed.

  Jason walked into the bathroom behind me. “I’ve given you a complex. I’m sorry. You look gorgeous, with or without the black eye and certainly with or without the makeup.” He kissed the side of my neck. “Can we please go so I can show you off to my friends now?”

  “Yes. Let’s go.”

  The Opryland Hotel was arguably one of the most romantic spots in all of Nashville. With three football-field-sized garden lobbies filled with every exotic plant and tree known to man, the experience was breathtaking on an average day. But at Christmas? Holy smokes. Talk about a winter wonderland. I was on the edge of my seat as soon as we pulled into the parking lot. Even outside, Christmas lights were tacked onto everything standing still.

  Jason valet-parked his truck and checked his watch when we stepped out onto the curb. “We’ve got a little time. Want to stroll through one of the gardens, maybe have a drink alone before we go to the ballroom?”

  “That sounds amazing.”

  Smiling, he took my hand and led me inside.

  The sound of rushing water cascading over rocks greeted us, as we entered the atrium from behind a two-story waterfall. Somewhere, “Carol of the Bells” was being played on a piano. I clung to his arm as we walked the shadowed winding pathway toward the indoor oasis.

  When we emerged onto the main path, the vision took my breath as it always did. Christmas lights twinkled high above our heads. The lush greenery was dotted with countless bright red poinsettias. A Christmas tree—seven stories high—rose toward the glass ceiling. It was hard to tell where the lights ended and the stars began, looking up at the clear night sky.

  “I love this place,” I breathed, closing my eyes as we walked along the trickling creek. “We used to come here every year when I was a kid.”

  “I’ve only been here a couple of times. And never with my family.”

  I wondered what his childhood must’ve been like. The closest thing I’d ever experienced to violence at home was my brother holding me down and trying to fart on my head.

  Jason pointed up ahead. “Looks like they’re serving hot cocoa over there. I wonder if they can spike it for us.”

  “I say we waste no time finding out.”

  Sitting at a private bistro table, tucked beneath a light-wrapped palm tree, we drank our cocoa (spiked with salted caramel liquor) and watched the dancing-water-and-lights show. It was timed with a piano playing on a third-floor balcony above us.

  “Grace, look at me.” His arm was draped across the back of my hair. “You have a bit of whipped cream just here.” He leaned in and kissed me.

  With my eyes still closed, I rested my cheek against his. “This is already the most perfect night.”

  He laughed. “I know. I’m almost afraid to go the party and let my cop buddies ruin it.”

  I had almost forgotten we even had a party to go to. “Five more minutes?” I asked, kissing the corner of his mouth.

  “Make it ten.” He pulled me closer against him, and I laid my head on his shoulder.

  We should have stayed at the lights show.

  It felt like all eyes were on me when we entered the ballroom. His strong hand settled at the back of my waist. “You all right? You look nervous.”

  “I’m in a room full of cops. I am nervous.”

  He slid his hand around my stomach. “Let’s make an appearance and leave. We don’t have to stay.” He leaned closer to my ear. “Or we could stay and check into a room.”

  A chill made me shudder. I felt him smile against the side of my neck.

  “Is that Jason Bradley with a date?” a man asked behind us.

  We turned to see a man in a suit and a woman in a floor-length navy dress. She blinked twice when we made eye contact, or rather when she made black-eye contact. The man laughed and nudged Jason’s arm. “Been keeping this one in line, have you, Bradley?”

  It was like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. I felt Jason go rigid beside me, and his fingers dug into my side. “She’s actually a badass roller girl, Jamison. She could kill us both with a hip check.”

  The man offered me his hand. “Is that so? Roller girl, huh?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “Grace Evans.”

  “Mitch Jamison. This is my wife, Wendy. It’s nice to meet you. I don’t think I’ve ever met a real roller girl before. And I know I’ve never seen Bradley show up to one of these things with a lady friend. Have you, Wendy?”

  She was looking at Jason like most women do. “Not that I ever recall.”

  I bet she would know.

  “How’d you two meet?” Mitch asked.

  This conversation wasn’t getting any better.

  “We’ve been friends since college,” Jason said. “Jamison, have they started serving food yet?”

  “Yes, sir. The line starts over there in the corner,” Mitch answered.

  Jason nudged my side. “Shall we?”

  “Please,” I said.

  When we were away from them, I groaned. “Well, that was a disaster.”

  “Eh, Jamison’s a rare breed around here. Not all my buddies are imbeciles.”

  “Jason!”

  Another man was walking toward us with a beer. He was tall with dark skin, black hair, and a goatee. The two of them greeted each other with a hug. Jason turned, smiling
at me. He pointed to his friend. “Case in point, Jordan Wade is not an imbecile.”

  “Who’s an imbecile?” Jordan asked.

  “Jamison.”

  “Screw Jamison. His cornbread’s not really cooked all the way through, if you know what I’m saying.” Jordan smiled at me and shook my hand. “You must be Grace. It’s nice to finally put a face with your name. Nice shiner. Roller derby, I bet?”

  My whole body almost went limp with relief. “Yes. How’d you guess?”

  “You kidding?” He gripped Jason’s arm. “This guy hasn’t shut up about you in a month. I told him, he has to take me to watch you play next season and introduce me to some of your roller derby friends.”

  I laughed. “We could certainly hook you up with that.”

  He clapped his hands together. “Hell yeah.”

  “Bradley!” another voice boomed.

  A guy in uniform walked over to us. He and Jason shook hands. “Merry Christmas, brother,” the man said.

  “Merry Christmas to you too, Metcalf. You on duty tonight?” Jason asked.

  The man nodded. “Working third. Just stopped by for the food.” He turned to me. “Well, well. What happened to you, gorgeous? Somebody need to call in a ten-forty-one on this guy?” He slapped Jason’s chest.

  I had no idea what a ten-forty-one was, but I could guess.

  “Metcalf, why do you have to be such a dick?” Jordan asked. “You remember what happened to his mom?”

  The smile drained off Metcalf’s face. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. It was a joke. A bad one.” He looked at me. “I apologize to you too, ma’am.”

  “Forget about it,” Jason said.

  “No, I’m serious. Let me buy you a drink to make it up to you. I insist.”

  “Metcalf, let it go.” Jason leaned into me. “Imbecile.”

  I chuckled.

  “What’d you say?” Metcalf asked, raising his voice.

  I gripped my temples.

  Jordan put his hand on Metcalf’s chest. “Come on, man. Get the hell out of here. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

  Jason took a deep breath. “Well, I’ve had enough holiday cheer for one night. Wanna go?”

  “Please.”

  We said goodbye to Jordan, then left without speaking to anyone else. I started toward the outside door, but Jason pulled me to a stop. “We don’t have to go yet. Let’s go find a table at one of these quiet, fancy restaurants and continue our evening. What do you say?”

  I smiled. “OK.”

  Back out in the atrium, I hooked my arm through his as we walked toward one of the restaurants in the center of the room. “I’m sorry about the comments that were made.”

  He shook his head. “You weren’t the one who made them.”

  “No, but it is my face. And, for that, I’m sorry.”

  He stopped walking and turned toward me, near the restaurant’s entrance. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s Christmas. I just want to be with you.”

  I kissed him, long and slow on the mouth. He still tasted of chocolate and caramel. Smiling, I pulled away and licked my lips. “About that room…” I said, gripping the lapel of his jacket.

  “Grace?”

  We both turned at the sound of my name.

  Clay.

  The most romantic place in all of Nashville, indeed. Walking hand-in-diamond-studded-hand was my ex-husband and his very pregnant fiancé.

  It was the first time I’d ever seen her up close. She was shorter than I expected, maybe because everyone was, with a tiny figure even into her third trimester. Her swollen boobs bubbled out of the deep V-neck bodice of her creamy mocha dress, and the silky fabric of the skirt clung to her perfect basketball baby bump.

  I wanted to slap her.

  I wanted to cry.

  I wanted to run away.

  But Jason held me close to his side.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Clay demanded as they stopped in front of us. He looked at Jason, the angry vein pulsing in a V-shape between his eyes. “You said you weren’t seeing her.”

  “I wasn’t.” Jason shrugged and wrapped his hand around mine. “But I am now.”

  Clay took a shocking step toward him. My eyes widened. So did Dr. Vagina’s. She grabbed his arm. “Clayton, honey, don’t make a scene.”

  Meanwhile, I was chanting in my head, Make a scene! Make a scene! Make a scene!

  “How could you?” Clay hissed.

  Jason shook his head. “No, man. How could you? Don’t ever come near me or my girlfriend again.”

  Whoa. Girlfriend.

  Clay looked at me. “My best friend? Really?”

  I pointed at Ginny. “Someone else’s uterus? Really?”

  Jason stifled a laugh beside me. Several people from the restaurant were now watching us.

  Ginny pulled on Clay’s hand. “Come on. It’s not worth it. Let’s go.”

  Clay knocked shoulders with Jason as they passed, and for a second, I thought it might spark a fight, but Jason restrained himself. I turned and watched them leave. Ginny didn’t even look pregnant from behind. Bitch.

  “You OK?” Jason asked, pulling on my hand.

  I tore my eyes away from her back. “Honestly? Can we go home?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “I’ve never really seen her before.” My feet felt frozen to the floor.

  “Grace,” he said gently, taking my arms in his hands.

  “Don’t. Don’t be nice to me right now, or I’m going to lose my shit in front of all these people.”

  “OK,” he said very matter-of-factly. “Let’s go.”

  With a shaky nod, I took his arm and walked toward the exit. It was a quiet wait for the valet to bring his truck. It was an even quieter drive back to my side of town. My thoughts were a dark and dangerous playground.

  He was really having a baby.

  He was really getting married.

  He really didn’t love me anymore.

  The gravity of reality settled on me like a load of jagged bricks. Silent tears finally spilled over my eyelids, dripping off my chin and making the Nashville skyline a neon blur passing by my window.

  I kept quiet until we reached my exit. It was a right turn to my house. A left turn to my parents’.

  “Jason? Can you do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Will you drop me off at my parents’ house? I think I need to go there tonight. Is that OK?”

  “Whatever you need. I turn left here, correct? They’re still over near the mall?”

  I nodded, unable to look at him.

  We didn’t speak again until I pointed out their street and then their driveway. He pulled in and put the truck in park. “I’ll need to go by your house and grab my stuff. Do you mind?” he asked.

  “No. You have my key, right?”

  “I do. I’ll leave it under your mat.”

  I turned toward him. “You know how you told me I’m not over it?” More tears flowed down my cheeks. “I—I think you were right.”

  He reached for my hand across the bench. “It’s OK, Grace. Do what you need to do.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it. “Don’t be. You didn’t do any of this.” He glanced toward the house. “Go on. I’ll wait until you get inside.”

  The front-porch light came on when I slid out of the truck. I looked at him for a long moment before I closed the door. My mother met me outside in her maroon robe and slippers. “Grace?”

  “Mom.” I burst into sobs when I reached her.

  Seventeen

  I spent the rest of the night at my parents’ house in the throes of all the emotions I thought I’d gotten over in the past six months. God, none of it was fair. Cheating bastards are supposed to get crotch rot, not a beautiful replacement wife with the perfect tiny baby bump.

  Early the next morning, I went home, showered, and changed my clothes before driving to Jason’s to apologize in pe
rson. My hand was shaking as I pressed the doorbell.

  His mother answered the door in her wheelchair. “Hi, Grace. My goodness, what happened to you?” Her face was horrified, and I suddenly felt guilty for showing up there unannounced, without giving Jason a chance to warn her. If Jason had some PTSD issues with my bruises, I couldn’t imagine what it might do to her.

  I covered my eye. “Don’t worry about me. I took an elbow to the face during roller derby practice, and I have a perfect wheel imprint on my backside to match it.”

  She sat back in her chair, then cracked a smile. “You’re pretty tough. I like that.”

  Oh thank God. My whole body relaxed.

  “I’m sorry to drop by like this so early in the morning, but I was hoping to talk to Jason. Is he home?”

  “Come in,” she said, rolling backward out of the doorway.

  I stepped inside. She’d been watching a church service on the television.

  “Jason’s asleep, but you should go down and wake him up.”

  I looked at the clock on their mantle. It was just after nine a.m., or past bedtime for day sleepers. “I don’t want to disturb him.”

  She shook her head adamantly. “No. He would be very upset if he knew you were here and I didn’t wake him.”

  That made me feel better and worse.

  “Would you rather I call him on the intercom?” she asked.

  “No. I’ll go down.” I turned toward the staircase, then hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  She pointed. “Go.”

  “OK.” I walked down the stairs to the basement. A small sliver of light was shining under the door to Jason’s bedroom. I knocked on it.

  “Come in,” he said.

  I pushed the door open.

  He was laying on the bed, propped up against his pillows, reading a book by Stephen King. “Grace. I thought I heard your car pull in.” He wore a white T-shirt and gym shorts.

  “Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

  He closed the book and placed it on the nightstand. “Haven’t done much of that since yesterday.”

  I grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “Not your fault. Want to come in?”

  Nodding, I walked into the room and around to his side of the bed. I sat down on the edge beside him.

  “What’s up?” he asked, sitting upright beside me.