by Kelsie Fann
Liz wanted to throw her arms in the air in celebration, but she looked at Mr. Chambers. His mouth was tight with resolve, but his eyes were downcast with defeat.
She walked to the bathroom to celebrate in private and decided if Chambers could give her a little more time, she would be able to find a buyer for him, maybe even Hamilton.
She stood by the sink and slowly washed her hands, trying to wash the meeting off of her skin. She dried the front and back sides deliberately and smoothed a flyaway hair before she left the room.
As she walked out of the bathroom and down the glass hallway, she noticed Darcy and James, standing at the end of the corridor with their backs toward her, talking by the conference room door.
She walked up behind them slowly and stopped to catch bits of their conversation while out of their sightline.
“Could we trust him?” James asked. “Maybe he took care of it like he said.”
Darcy leaned into the glass wall. “Absolutely not. If we buy it, we will spend the first year interrogating every employee and second-guessing every action from every executive.”
James ran his hand through his light red hair. “I believe him. He’s only of those old school guys who still means what he says. Like southern hospitality and all that.”
Darcy scoffed. Liz walked slower. As she got closer to the pair, she saw Darcy tip his head back, resting it against the glass wall. “Don’t get emotionally invested, James.”
Liz watched James turn to look at his friend and say, “You’re the one who should worry about becoming invested. I saw the way you looked at Liz when we walked in. I know you like something about the south, too.”
Liz’s stomach twisted. Nothing good ever came from eavesdropping. Now she wanted to get out of hearing distance as fast as possible.
“I am not interested in Liz. Nothing about this city or the women who work here appeal to me. Let’s move on and focus on the Denver acquisition.” Darcy pulled a phone out of his pocket.
Of course, Liz thought. Nothing about Savannah was good enough for high and mighty Darcy. She marched passed the men, annoyed that she was even brought up by James, but not hurt. The feeling is mutual, she thought. Darcy was the last man on the planet she would ever be interested in.
18.
Liz jumped out of bed the next morning. Within twenty minutes, her feet were walking down the Savannah sidewalk. She was ready. Darcy was gone. Now she just needed a new way to save Chambers’s Media. The sun beamed down on her, but she barely noticed the trickles of sweat under her clothes.
When she saw the building ahead of her, Liz noticed her coworkers gathered outside the door.
Elise was standing on the fringes of the group, looking forlorn at the large wooden doors. “What’s going on?” Liz asked.
Elise raised her hand slowly and pointed at the door.
Liz followed Elise’s finger to a white piece of paper, with big black letters, taped to the entrance. She made her way through the crowd of employees, who were muttering to each other, and read the notice taped to the door. “Thank you all for your years of service. Unfortunately, Chambers’s Media is closed. Effective immediately.”
Her eyes locked on the harsh sentences as her world froze. This couldn’t be happening. She needed time, just a few weeks, to find a new buyer. But Mr. Chambers had another solution, and it was there in black and white.
Elise leaned up against her, and Liz put her arm around her new hire. “I thought we were getting bought out,” Elise said.
Liz couldn’t take her eyes off the piece of paper. “It fell through yesterday.” Liz wished she could think of something more comforting to say to Elise and herself.
“Did you know?” Elise asked.
Her hand moved subconsciously to her phone. Surely, she missed a call from Mr. Chambers. Surely, he would have called to warn her and to talk to her. She’d worked for him for over a decade; she’d known him her whole life. Liz looked at her phone. There was a Snapchat from Stella, but that was it. Nothing. There was no call from her boss—former boss.
Liz read the sign on the door again, and the grief of losing her dream started to weigh down her shoulders. Her greatest fear had come true. She was jobless.
19.
As Liz walked away from the building where she’d spent the last decade of her life, she knew she needed a break. From her ex-job. From her townhouse. And, for the first time, from Savannah.
She got in her car and started driving. Soon the Savannah skyline disappeared from her view, and about an hour later, she entered her hometown: Sugar Hill, Georgia. Population 1,499. Where most of the population was either covered in babies or gray hairs—or both.
Liz drove passed a woman pushing a stroller and cursed her life. This wasn’t how her career was supposed to go. If she worked hard and kept learning and built an amazing team, she was supposed to become president of Chambers’s Media. Instead, now it was gone.
A tear rolled down her cheek for herself.
And poor Mr. Chambers. The company he built for the last fifteen years was gone in an instant. She knew how he’d hustled to start the company without any money after his papermill filed for bankruptcy. How he’d built it one client at a time, persevering through ninety consecutive client rejections.
A tear rolled down Liz’s cheek for him.
And Dee. She must feel awful about the lies she’d told. She probably agonized about how to tell her father, whose only wish was to help her raise her son, that his books were a lie.
A tear rolled down her cheek for Dee.
As much sorrow as she felt for Mr. Chambers and his daughter, she also felt completely betrayed by them. Dee could have warned her. And Mr. Chambers could have had the decency to call her and say he was shutting the doors for good. Instead, they blindsided her.
Liz let another tear roll down her cheek for herself as she pulled her car underneath the one and only stoplight in Sugar Hill. It was still dangling by a wire.
“Not me. Not today,” Liz said out loud as the stoplight turned green and she thrust her foot on the gas.
Liz parked in front of her mom’s iconic house. Besides the Chambers’s House, it was one of the most noticeable houses in Sugar Hill because it was pink and the roof was arched into a high peak. If you were creative and under ten years old, you would probably think it looked like a rose-colored barn.
She could still hear her childhood tormentors, Coney and Shoney, snorting and screaming, “Go get your slop!” as she got off the bus.
The memory of the torments was one of the reasons why she had a hard time coming home. The other was her grandbaby-obsessed mother. Liz took a deep breath as she reached out to knock, but before she did, she changed her mind and reached for the doorknob. No one ever locked their doors in Sugar Hill. The door flew open before she could turn the handle. Liz expected her petite, brunette mom, Margaret, to greet her, but instead, a big, hairy man stood in front of her.
“So glad yer here, Lizzy.” Liz scanned the man and fought the urge to get back in her car. “Remember me?” he asked with a lopsided grin.
She knew exactly who he was. “Coney,” she said, brushing past him with her bag.
“Elizabeth!” Her mom ran toward her with her arms wide open.
Liz gave her mom a hesitant embrace. It was one of the worst days of her adult life, and Coney was the last person she wanted to see. “Can you get him out of here?”
Coney plopped down on her mom’s striped couch and cracked opened a can of Diet Coke. “Margaret is helping me watch my figure.” He patted his bulging belly.
“I just thought you might want to see one of your old friends.” Her mom patted a spot on the couch next to Liz’s childhood rival. “You know Coney; he’s our neighbor now. He has a nice place down the street. And he owns the Sugar Hill Tire and Lube.” Margaret’s eyebrows raised, like she’d just said Coney was the most eligible bachelor in Georgia.
Coney took a sloppy swig of his drink. “I’ll take you down to my
new digs after dinner, Lizzy. Show you ’round.”
Liz shook her head. Absolutely not. She would rather go back to Savannah and beg for a job in front of the Chambers’s Media building. “No thanks,” Liz said.
She didn’t want Coney showing her around his house. Or anywhere. She hadn’t seen him since she left for Savannah, and the decade since hadn’t treated him well. His huge belly stuck out underneath a greasy T-shirt. His boots were scuffed, and the soles were pulling away from the leather.
Margaret not-so-subtly waved to get her daughter’s attention. Her large gesture moved the ruffled apron-tie around her waist back and forth. Margaret pointed at Coney and mouthed, “He’s single.”
Liz rolled her eyes and walked into the kitchen. “I’m sure he is,” she said, not caring if Coney heard her. Margaret jumped off the couch and followed her. “What is he doing here, Mom?”
Margaret grabbed Liz’s hands. “I just thought it would be nice for you to have some company.”
Liz wiggled out of the embrace and poured a glass of tea. She sat down at the old kitchen table; the chair let out a faint creak. “I don’t need that kind of company.”
Margaret wasn’t ready to give up. She brushed Liz’s hair over her shoulder. “I know you’re upset about your job, but if you’re going to be here for a while, I just thought it would be nice for you to connect with some people your age.”
“Mom.” Liz took a drink of the syrupy sweet tea; it tasted just as good as she remembered. “Are you serious? I’m coming home for a few days, not moving back to Sugar Hill.”
Liz set her cup down, realizing arguing with her mom wasn’t going to help her mood. “What’s in the pot?” She changed the subject and walked toward the stove.
Her mom reached into the dated yet pristinely-maintained honey oak cabinets and pulled out four bowls. “Coney likes my chicken noodle soup.” Her voice sounded proud.
“It’s a hundred-freaking-degrees outside. Is he crazy?”
“Shh.” Margaret nodded toward the living room, where Coney was sprawled out on the couch.
Liz raised her voice even louder and yelled toward the living room, “Coney, you’re an idiot for wanting soup during the summer.”
Coney grunted from the living room. “I like those pet names you’re giving me.”
Liz’s nostrils flared. “Idiot is not a pet name!”
Liz watched her mom carefully dip the soup into bowls; the steam swirled into Margaret’s short, gray curls. “Let’s take this into the living room, so Coney doesn’t have to get up.”
For the second time that day, Liz froze. Did the steam from the soup give her mother a stroke? Margaret never let Liz eat anywhere except the kitchen table growing up. Liz could still hear her mother’s reprimand, “Proper people eat in proper places.”
Now this beached whale was on their couch and she wanted to eat in the living room?
“Close your mouth, Elizabeth.” Margaret walked past her with two bowls. “And grab the other bowl please.” She smiled, raised her eyebrows, straightened her apron, and disappeared into the living room.
“I’ve died. And this is hell,” Liz whispered to herself as she grabbed the bowl of soup. She walked slowly toward the living room, trying not to let the liquid slosh up and burn her fingers.
Liz sat down on the faded recliner on the opposite side of the room from Coney and her mother. Margaret was sitting on the end of the couch as Coney was still spread out in the middle, using his gut as a TV tray. He picked up the bowl, lifted it to his lips, and let out a giant slurp as he sucked in the liquid.
Then he lifted his shirt up high enough to display his hairy stomach and wiped his mouth. Liz’s own stomach lurched at the sight, and she placed her bowl on the side table before she gagged and made a mess.
“I like it hot.” He winked at Liz.
Margaret grinned. “Isn’t he funny?”
Liz rolled her eyes. “Hysterical.”
Margret put her bowl down on the coffee table and primly set her hands on her lap. “Elizabeth is going to be here for a few days, Coney. Anything you need help with around your house?”
“Just got new blinds.” Coney lifted his bowl up and took another giant slurp. “Need a lady to help me pick out curtains.”
Liz looked at them both, pointed to herself, and shook her head. Her loose curls bounced across her shoulders. “Not this lady.”
Coney picked up his bowl for the final time, this time draining all the liquid out of it. “Come on, Lizzy Piggy. Come see it.” He stood up and walked toward the door.
Liz knew Coney was gross. She knew he was hairy. And now she knew he was still a bully. She looked at his face, and she could see the face of the boy who’d teased her mercilessly growing up.
He opened the door and raised his eyebrows. There was no way Liz was going anywhere with him. She got up and stomped upstairs to her childhood bedroom.
Liz threw open the door to her bedroom and was teleported back to her teenage years, where random boyband posters hung on the walls. Her twin bed was still covered with a black comforter, which she had purchased during her goth phase, which had lasted all of twenty seconds. On her dresser, there was still the black mirror she used for putting on thick purple eyeliner.
She ran her finger across the dresser; there was not a speck of dust. Liz sighed, realizing her mom had kept her room clean for the past fourteen years. It made Liz’s heart break to think how lonely she must be in this house all alone, cleaning for a daughter who never came home.
Liz walked across the room and fell forward onto her bed. She lay there, thinking about her job, Coney, her mom, her dad, Hamilton, and high school. Then she thought about it all over again until she didn’t know how long she’d been thinking.
When Margaret sat down on the end of Liz’s bed, Liz couldn’t hold back her feelings. “Why did you do that to me? This has been one of the worst days of my life. I lost my job, and I don’t know how I’m going to get another. I just need sympathy, not matchmaking services.”
“I know, honey.” Her mom rubbed her back, reminding Liz of how she comforted her as a chunky adolescent and again after she dropped out of college. “And I’m sorry. I really am.”
Liz buried her face farther into her pillow. “It doesn’t seem like it,” she said.
They sat in silence for a second, then a minute. It was five minutes before Margaret broke the silence. “But you’re my only child, and you’re thirty-two.”
Liz could feel her blood pressure start to rise. “Don’t say it. Do not say it,” Liz growled at her mother.
Her mom didn’t heed her warning. “Coney has a job, and he’s nice. And maybe he’s the one. And then I can have grandbabies. You know, that Willard girl you went to school with already has six babies.”
“Mom,” Liz groaned. “That’s because she got pregnant in high school. I have plenty of time to have babies—if I decide that’s what I want.”
Another minute passed before she heard her mom speak again. “I want to be young enough to play with them. I’m lonely.”
Liz flipped over to onto her back to face her mom, and Margaret used the break as an opportunity. “Coney is the last single man your age in Sugar Hill, honey. And he owns a business and he’s got something even better . . . ” Margaret raised her eyebrows like Coney had won the lottery.
“What?” Liz asked, even though she knew she didn’t want the answer.
“He has man parts! Man parts to make babies with!”
Liz huffed, turned back over, and threw her head back into her pillow. She wanted to strangle her mom. “Half the population has man parts!”
Liz wished her mom saw everything she accomplished. She was important at work; she had a team; she was a director. Then it hit her. There was a word those statements had in common: “was.”
Silence returned, but her mom continued to rub her back. Liz didn’t know what to say to make her mom feel better, and her mom didn’t know what to say to make Liz feel better e
ither. They were two different people.
Her mom coughed, clearing her throat. “Can’t you give Coney a chance?”
Liz rolled over onto her back and sat up. She knew the only way to stop this crazy conversation was to shut it down. “Never.”
Margaret’s eyes narrowed, and she placed her hands in her apron-covered lap. “What if he finds someone else? You’ll lose your chance.”
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Margaret didn’t respond, but Liz could tell she was trying to think of a way to convince her to date Coney.
“I know you’re lonely, but there is not a chance Coney and I will be making your grandbabies in this lifetime. Period.”
Margaret nodded, and her mouth tightened into a thin line. “Okay, sweetheart. I just wanted to give you the option. I’m glad you’re home.” She got off the bed and shuffled out of Liz’s room. The way her feet moved heavily across the old carpet made a lump form in Liz’s throat.
Liz wondered if she was destined to the same fate, the same loneliness as her mother. She shook her head. She didn’t care. She would rather be lonely than be with Coney.
Liz lay back down and fell asleep in her childhood bed, dreaming about the note Mr. Chambers taped on the door and her forced date with Coney. She didn’t know what tomorrow would hold, but she knew it had to be better than today.
20.
The next morning, Liz opened her eyes slowly. Very slowly. Through the slit in her eyelids, she saw bright rays of light peeking through window. She brought the black comforter to her face and let out a long, low groan as the reality set in. She was in her childhood bedroom. She was in Sugar Hill.
Liz pulled the covers over her head, making a dark cave around her, but when she lowered her blanket, she smelled pancakes. Her stomach growled in response, so she threw her hair up into a sloppy top-knot and headed downstairs.