Sunshine & Whiskey

by R. L. Griffin

  “We’re driving across the country and going to stay in California for awhile,” Laura answers for me.

  “Like L.A., California?”

  “Like Napa, California.”

  Silence.

  My mother spreads her French manicured nails across the table in front of her. “I am very confused.”

  “Well, I have dinner prepared so we can eat and discuss everything.” Laura starts flitting about the kitchen getting everything set up and then waves me over. I walk to the kitchen and she leans into me. “Your family is super weird,” she whispers.

  “I know,” I respond, my voice just as low. I carry over platters of food. “Jackson, I have cheesy wraps,” I call down the hall. He comes running with Chad’s Auburn football in his hands. It’s once white background is covered with scribbles in all sorts of colors.

  “For all that’s holy what happened to that ball?” My father looks in horror at the signed football that was Chad’s favorite.

  “What happened to the guy who owned the ball?” my mother chimes in, her eyes cutting to me as I take all this in from the kitchen.

  “It’s probably not appropriate to discuss the guy with Jackson in the room,” Jack responds for me.

  “Let’s just say, I have no problem with Jackson using them as coloring practice.”

  My mother’s hands have remained in the same position, like she is inspecting her manicure. I take a plate with broccoli and cheese melted in a tortilla over to where Jackson is sitting next to Cari. I ruffle his hair as I set the plate down in front of him.

  Laura brings all the food to the table and we make our plates.

  “Are you going to say the blessing?” my mother asks me.

  I turn to my father. “Will you?”

  We all hold hands. “God bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies. Amen.”

  “Amen,” everyone around the table repeats.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Jack asks the question that’s on everyone’s mind.

  “Well, I want to get out of here before I become a household name. I gave my two weeks’ notice to my firm…”

  “But what about making partner?” my dad interrupts.

  “I won’t be partner at that firm, Dad.”

  “We’ve planned a trip across the country to stop at several cities we’ve always wanted to visit. Once we get to Napa we will stay there for awhile, until Megan figures out what she wants to do.”

  “What do you mean when you figure out what you want to do?” My mother’s face reads disgust at my idea.

  “I have hundreds of millions of dollars. I can be whatever kind of lawyer I want to be wherever I want to be it. I can also take a couple of months and really figure out what that means,” I answer honestly. I don’t know what all this means, it certainly doesn’t mean I won’t be back in Atlanta.

  “I’ve set up a trust for Jackson to pay for college, graduate school if he wants to go,” I say in between bites of lasagna.

  “But, you’re just going to leave.” Cari takes a bite of her caprese salad. I told Laura she wasn’t eating carbs, so Laura made her a separate meal.

  I nod, my mouth full. “I don’t want my life to become a circus. I want to get out of here before the media figures out where I live. However, I’m worried about how this will be for you, so I will try to make sure everyone is protected from where I am. I hired an attorney and have accountants dealing with the monetary aspects of all this.”

  “Well, I don’t even know what to say,” my mother says.

  “I set up an account to pay off your house.” I’m looking at my father.

  “We don’t owe any money on the house,” my mother answers, which is not true. My dad refinanced their house two years ago.

  “Oh, okay. We’ll work something else out,” I stutter.

  “That’s really very thoughtful of you Megan,” my dad offers.

  “Well, I’m nothing if not thoughtful.”

  “I can think of a few things that you are…” Cari’s hands cross over her chest.

  “You’re not going to give me a hard time.” I point my fork at her.

  “Why not? I just got you back and the second you win the lottery you’re leaving.”

  I laugh. Then Laura laughs.

  “Yep, as soon as I win the lottery I’m leaving.”

  “I mean, we almost left Thursday,” Laura adds.

  “How much are you giving me?” my mom asks out of nowhere.

  “Um, do you remember Lo?” That’s right, she said “me.”

  “No,” Laura says and shakes her head, her eyes the size of saucers.

  I expected this though. My mother.

  “Well, when will we find out?”

  “When Justin sends you the letter outlining all the details, but that’s only after you keep your mouth shut for one week.”

  Laura continues to shove food in her mouth. She isn’t used to this sort of family interaction, but Cari and I resigned ourselves to this shit years ago.

  “JoAnne, how about we celebrate Megan’s luck instead of grilling her about the specifics.” My dad totally calls her out, which causes my mother to turn four shades of crimson.

  “Oh, well I…” My mother stutters, appalled by my father’s bluntness.

  “It’s okay. It’s new to all of us,” I try to help soften the blow.

  “Congrats Megan and you didn’t need to do anything for us, but please know we appreciate it and we have your back.” Jack wipes his mouth and throws his napkin down to punctuate his statement. This is the man you want in your corner. I wish I knew how my sister got so fucking lucky.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Thor Might be My

  Favorite Mistake

  My mother hasn’t talked to me in a week. I did speak with my father and found out what he did with the money he got from the refinance. He just wanted it to pay for the lifestyle my mother demands without any understanding of the cost. Interesting, right? You know, it’s a funny thing what people allow you to see from the outside. Nothing is ever what it seems. I’ve always been a pretty open book, but I’m pretty sure that is the exception to the rule. Especially when dealing with couples. My mom and dad are very different, but who would think anyone would be so clueless as to what their state of finances is. It makes me wonder what other cracks there are in their thirty plus years of marriage.

  Laura and I packed our shit, which turned out to be significantly less than what we thought we’d pack due to the fact that I bought a convertible Mustang. It helped that Laura only thought she was going to be at my house for the weekend, so she only had essentials. My problem was that I didn’t buy one, but two Mustangs. I bought a 1969 Shelby, it was light blue and in mint condition. Now, I will be the first to admit that it is not a smart decision to drive such a car across the country. When I brought it home, Laura pointed to the street and told me to take it back.

  I did return to the dealership, but not to return my car. I bought a brand new Cobra something or other Mustang convertible. It is cherry red with a hard top that retracts into the trunk. It was built custom for someone who ended up not buying it. All of this to say, I know what you’re thinking. While I believe I’ve been smart about some of my decisions with my money, this was not one of them. By the way, I’m totally cool with throwing money away to get this car. Also¸ I’m going to let my dad drive the 1969 Mustang while I’m gone.

  We are allowed three suitcases each and they barely fit in the trunk and the back of the car with the top down. I slam down the trunk and look back at my house.

  I’m leaving everything I’ve come to think of as my life, but it isn’t the first time I packed everything and left. Maybe that’s what I do. Leave. Even after taxes, two hundred million dollars will allow me to leave several lives.

  I sigh and sink into the car for the four hour drive to start the epic summer road trip. “Before we leave you got everything finalized with Bucky, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. I met him at the repair plac
e this morning. Paid cash for the minimal damages and gave him your car.”

  I smile. Bucky didn’t give me a hard time and he could’ve, so I gave him my car. I also got him to sign an agreement that it was all he would get from me. You never can tell with winning the lottery, you must protect your ass at all times.

  “I gave him my number too. He’s a fun texter. He sent me a picture of a car that he repoed today. It was a Maserati. Can you believe it?”

  “People buy shit they can’t afford.” I put my bottle of water in the cup holder and plug my phone up to the Bluetooth.

  “You ready?” Laura smiles and pushes her massive Jackie O type sunglasses up her nose.

  “Those glasses are ridiculous.” I crank Thor. Yep, I named my car Thor. It’s all rumbly, and I giggle before putting it in gear. “But, yeah. Thor and I are ready for this shit.”

  “You’re so weird.” Laura laughs and pulls a few magazines from her bag.

  “You like my weird.” As I pull out of my neighborhood, I glance at the magazines and they have celebrities all over them. “You read that shit?” I really am surprised.

  “It’s good for brainless attention diversion. I don’t want to focus on traffic.”

  “There shouldn’t be traffic yet,” I assure her. People from New York use public transportation, they are not used to all the driving. I’m assuming my hitting Bucky the other day didn’t help her nerves either. After living in Manhattan for so many years, I had to get used to driving again. I have to admit though, one of the most amazing feelings in the world is driving fast with the wind throwing your hair all over the place and yelling to a song blaring through the speakers.

  “I mean sometimes there is really helpful shit in here. For example, Jessica so and so had plastic surgery and they have before and after pictures. The before is better. This is a deterrent for plastic surgery on my face.”

  “You’d have plastic surgery somewhere else?” I’m genuinely interested in this. She has nothing that needs to be changed.

  “I’d totally get fake boobs. I have a small B, I’d love a D.”

  My mouth falls open, and I just continue to look at the asphalt as I head out of Atlanta.

  “What?” she asks. “You thought I’d want something else, what?”

  “You’re perfect.”

  Silence.

  “I’m serious. I don’t understand why you’d want to do anything. People would kill for how you look. You’re gorgeous.”

  “But my boobs are too small.”

  “Your boobs are perfect for your frame. You’d look ridiculous with a size D. You’d look top heavy, you may even fall without warning.” I look at her. “Watch out people, can’t control my tits!”

  Her chest is moving up and down, but she’s silent.

  I look back at the road. “You’d have to wrap your shit with ace bandages. Maybe we could invent padding for women who have too big boobs. What should we call it?”

  “Padding, when your padding isn’t enough?” she asks in between full out howls of laughter.

  “When your boobs literally bring you down, let these pads cushion your fall.”

  “Falling down due to big breasts? We have just the pillow for you. Keep it on your chest at all times, when you fall it’ll be there.”

  We continue trading barbs about Barbie style boobs for the next few minutes.

  “I am really confused by the fact you’d want boobs.”

  “Why? I’d be hotter,” she rebuts as she flips through the magazine.

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  She looks up, puzzled at my response.

  “You have this natural sensuality, this casual confidence and that’s true beauty. You’re one of the most attractive people I know.”

  Her mouth falls open.

  “I’m serious. Your body is perfect for your frame. I don’t know why you’d change anything.”

  “I guess people want what they don’t have.” She shrugs.

  “But you’re gorgeous.”

  “I’d be prettier with big boobs.”

  “No!”

  “You’re just saying that because you have big boobs, you don’t know the pain of no boobs. Of taking off your push up bra and seeing the disappointment in men’s eyes.”

  I blow out a breath. She’s right. I have a size D. I have the opposite problem. “First of all, I seriously doubt that any man would be disappointed by seeing you naked. However, I guess you’re right.”

  “That’d I’d be prettier with big boobs?”

  “No, that we all want what we don’t have. I don’t want to wear two sports bras when I pretend I’m going to run. I want to wear those cute backless shirts with no bra. I want your no boob problem.”

  “Bitches man.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Not Until We’re Lost

  “Okay, I got us tickets to the Ryman and the Grand Ole Opry,” Laura says as she scrolls through her iPad. We’re in Nashville and I’m following Diesel, that’s the name I gave Thor’s navigation system, to the hotel. I like having men tell me what to do, what can I say.

  “Well, who are we seeing?” I ask.

  “Ray LaMontagne at the Ryman, and I have no idea who the people are at the Grand Ole Opry.”

  “Well, I’ll need to wear pants to see Ray Lamontagne.” I pull in front of The Hermitage Hotel in Nashville, but I’m waved around the corner to valet parking.

  “And why is that?” Laura puts all of her things back in her bag. The valet opens her door first.

  “Because when he sings, my panties fall off.”

  She freezes, and then laughs so heartily the valet bends at the waist to look in at me.

  “Seriously, it’s a problem.” I look at the valet and smile sheepishly. I get out of the car and get my ticket from the nice older man in the hotel uniform. It’s a very formal looking hotel. I take a few steps over to where Laura is texting someone. “Why are we staying here?” I whisper. She ignores me.

  Once our bags are taken away, we waltz back into time. The lobby of this hotel is gorgeous gold with ornate stained glass windows in the ceiling and Liberace style carvings on the walls and the ceilings.

  After we check in we take the elevators up to our floor and open the door to the junior suite booked by Laura. It’s really spacious for a historic hotel in downtown Nashville. I throw my purse on the ground and walk to the area with a couch. There is a bottle of champagne.

  “What did you do?” I ask Laura, who has disappeared.

  “What?” she yells from the bathroom.

  “There are champagne and cookies,” I answer while walking into the bathroom. “Whoa…”

  “Best hotel bathroom ever.” She’s still yelling even though I’m in the room with her. There is a tub sunk into gray marble, a TV in the wall over it. A silver tray reaches from one side to the other. The shower is separate, but the tile the same color marble.

  “I don’t take baths,” I comment as we stand in the enormous bathroom.

  “I love a good soak with a glass of wine.”

  “Gross.” I leave the bathroom as a knock sounds on the door. Opening it, I smile at the man with all our bags. “Hi.”

  “Ms. Walker.” He nods and pushes a cart full of luggage into the room.

  “It’s not gross, it’s relaxing.” Laura walks out of the bathroom and grabs her handbag from the table.

  “You basically lie in your own filth,” I rebut.

  She hands the man a ten dollar bill as a tip. You think that’s too much? We had like seven different things he had to bring to our room...so there’s that.

  “That is a disgusting way to look at a relaxing event.”

  “Thank you so much. If you ladies need anything please let us know,” the bellman says as he pushes the cart out of the door I’m holding open.

  “I’m serious. How could sitting in hot water with your own dirt in it be relaxing?”

  “Stop ruining baths.” Laura pouts.

  I walk over to the
couch and fall into it. Leaning forward, I grab a cookie and take a bite. “Oh my God, it’s still warm.”

  “Best hotel ever.” Laura pops the cork on the champagne.

  I flinch. Every time someone pops a cork, I flinch. I can’t help it, it’s like I think I’ll get hit in the face. I do the same thing with the can of biscuits. Every time. I digress.

  Laura fills the flutes with champagne.

  “Wait, why is there champagne here?”

  “Oh, I told them we were celebrating.”

  “What?”

  She looks at me with a question.

  “What did you tell them we were celebrating?”

  She makes a weird face and her lips disappear into her mouth.

  “To winning the lottery.” She raises her glass and shrugs off my question.

  Fuck it, I clink my glass with hers. “To the journey ahead.”

  “And our anniversary.” She snorts.

  We sit at a restaurant called Puckett’s down from our hotel. I’m consuming the most succulent fried pickles I’ve ever had and drinking beer. This is a great start to the trip.

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so light in my entire life,” I comment as I pop another ranch drenched pickle in my mouth.

  “I don’t feel light, I feel like a breakdown is coming. I’m without a job and have no prospects for my future.” She turns up her beer.

  “Yeah, the lightness is causing me stress.” What can I say? I’ve never felt light before. I’m not really sure how to handle it.

  “Do you think we stress about not having stress?”

  “Totally, I’m so used to being weighed down with paying bills, making my hours at my job, winning motions, writing briefs and trying not to piss people off in my personal life I’m confused about this feeling.”

  “It feels like the start of vacation, but there’s a niggling in the back of my brain that it’s not a vacation. That I need to get my shit together. I still can’t help but feel sorry for myself because I was fired.”

  “You weren’t fired. Being fired means you were terminated for cause, being laid off means your firm had to figure out how many people they had to let go in order to keep its head above water.”