So far, Jen had refrained from being the ultimate enabler. For now.
Instead she took the brunt of her mother’s frustration with life. Checking on her daily even though she was ungrateful, bossy, and irritable. Some days the woman didn’t even have the strength to get out of bed, and while Jen had urged her to discuss depression with her doctor, she didn’t think it had happened.
It wasn’t that she and her mom had experienced an ideal mother-daughter relationship up until this point. Quite the contrary—except for when things were going well in Diane’s life. But Jen had secretly hoped the diagnosis would inspire a change in their tumultuous relationship. So far, no dice.
“Do you need help?” Jen said to the closed door.
“No. Said I’m fine.”
Leaning against the wall in the hallway, Jen felt guilty for being annoyed. She hated the self-centered feelings she sometimes had regarding her mother, but as much as she wanted the woman to make a full recovery, caring for her was difficult. After a lifetime of bitterness toward her selfish mother, it wasn’t always easy to be the bigger person. It was downright difficult. But just as her mother had found the will to give up smoking and drinking, Jen had decided her contribution would be that of head cheerleader. Her constant attentiveness wasn’t earning her any thank-yous, but she wasn’t being told to lay off either. Deep down she knew her mother was grateful—they just didn’t really know how to love one another.
But Jen was trying, by showing up every day, driving her to the doctor when it was needed, making her food. Being present and kind, even when it was brutally hard and she was emotionally and physically wrung dry. She could only imagine how her mother felt—considering it was her poor body that was under attack—but sometimes Jen just wanted to stand on the side of the highway and hitchhike herself out of this life.
Glancing down at her phone, she realized she’d been there longer than she’d thought. She pushed off the wall and leaned into the bathroom door once more. “Okay, well, I need to get to work. You going to be okay?”
“Of course I am,” a slightly irritated voice answered.
Jen looked up at the ceiling and bit her tongue. Sorry for worrying about you.
The door opened, releasing a puff of steam into the air. She backed up as Diane Mackenzie stepped into the hall. Jen instinctively glanced away before her eyes could land on the woman’s satin robe. The way it clung to a flat—almost concave—chest. The same chest that used to fill out a Circle H gas station uniform polo to the point of straining the buttons. It wasn’t that Jen was repulsed by the sight of her mother’s double mastectomy, it just made her achingly sad.
And scared.
Fear of injury or sickness had always been a problem for Jen. The sight of blood or a trauma, or even just hearing about someone’s accident made her feel lightheaded. Then there was the panic of her own health. She’d finally forced herself to stop doing internet searches for the statistics of the heredity of breast cancer. The problem with that was, while she could stop looking, she couldn’t erase the previous information from her mind. It could hit her out of nowhere, and then repeat in her brain like an earworm of “We Are Family” after a night bartending a wedding. Having two relatives with breast cancer is more concerning if they are on the same side of the family. Bad news for Jen—her mother and her aunt were survivors. For now, anyway. So statistically speaking, it didn’t look good, and she couldn’t help thinking that her D cups gave cancer a lot of space to take up residence.
As she followed her to the bedroom, Jen noticed her mother’s hair had grown a little longer, finally covering the tops of her ears. It had grown in grayer than before she’d lost it. Diane hadn’t said, but Jen knew she hated that. If they’d had a normal mother and daughter relationship, Jen might have suggested she try styling it, to make her feel more like herself. But as it was, she couldn’t imagine making the offer. And it was possible the idea was stupid, since her mother’s hair had been down her back before the chemo. Something Jen had always thought silly for a woman in her forties. But when it had all begun to fall out in thick clumps, leaving her mother crying on the shower floor, Jen had quickly realized how a person’s hair—a woman’s especially—was wrapped up in their identity. Their self-confidence. Even their sexuality.
Now that she looked again, the short wisps around her mom’s ears suddenly didn’t seem like something to celebrate but more like a reminder of what she’d lost.
After finishing up her last round of chemo in May, they’d been hoping for some positive news. But three weeks ago, testing had revealed an elevated white blood count, which then led to an MRI, and of course they’d found another small mass underneath her armpit, because neither Jen or her mother could catch a break in life. Diane had barely reacted. Almost as if she’d known it was inevitable. Her lack of sadness, outrage, fear … any emotion at all, had terrified Jen.
Assuming she’d be ready to start fighting with another round of chemo, Diane had shocked Jen when she’d chosen instead to do a clinical trial of two new medications that had until recently been used only in Europe. Sure, they’d had some good results, but Jen was still furious about it. There was too much unknown. So far, the side effects appeared to be fatigue and depression. Or maybe those were just the side effects of dying.
“Do you have plans today?” Jen asked, trying to take her mind off her renewed frustration.
“I do. Terri is going to come by with dinner. Bringing a movie.”
“That sounds nice. You haven’t seen her since she took you to your last appointment, have you?” Jen leaned against the door frame. Terri was the only one of her mother’s friends she liked. Probably because she’d always been happily married and not as inclined to party like Diane and their other friends. The woman had also been a godsend the past year, helping take Diane to appointments, to pick up her prescriptions, and whatever else they needed help with.
“Not in a week or so, no.” Diane pulled some underwear and a soft tank-style undershirt from her top drawer. There was no longer much need for bras, and Jen had gotten rid of them before they’d even come home from the hospital eleven months ago. Her intentions had been good, but she still didn’t know if she’d made the right call by doing that. Her mother had never mentioned it, so she hoped that was a good sign.
“Can I do anything for you before I go?”
A heavy sigh preceded her “No, Jen. I’m just fine.”
“Just fine” was her mom’s favorite phrase. Jen had heard her say it a million times, as an answer to a million questions throughout her life. You’ll be just fine. We’ll be just fine. It’ll be just fine. Everything will be just fine. Jen had learned one thing: living a just fine life was pathetic.
“I’d like you to be good for once, Mom. Consider lying if necessary. Just to give me some peace of mind.”
Her mother turned and stared at her. “You know … you don’t need to check in on me all the time,” her mother snapped.
Jen pushed off the doorframe, ready to leave. She forced a deep breath and then replied in the sincerest tone she could muster. “Yeah, well, I think I’ll keep doing it whether you like it or not.”
“Then don’t complain about my response.” Diane tied her robe and jerked the belt tight.
“Noted. I’ll keep being the best daughter ever, and you continue to have a chip on your shoulder.” Jen waited for a snarky reply, almost pissed when one didn’t come. It had been a while since the two of them had engaged in a good yelling match. Maybe they were due for one, but Jen refused to be the one to start it. “Well, I’ll probably be late tonight. It’s the uncasking party.”
That seemed to rouse a genuine smile from Diane. “Give the guys my love.”
The “guys,” in Jen’s life, were her three bosses at the Stag Distillery, Dean, TJ, and Jake. And in classic Diane fashion, they had earned her mother’s love just by being handsome men.
“I will. They’d have liked you to come tonight.” Dean had insisted that Jen take
an invite home to her mother, who had at first been excited to go. That is until this new mass had been discovered.
“I know, but they understand.”
“They do. They just like to see you.”
“I’ll come visit them soon when I feel better,” she said. The which will probably be never remained unsaid.
“Okay, well, bye, Mom. Have fun with Terri.”
Her mother just raised a hand in response. Jen rushed through the dark living room to the front door, and took a deep breath as she stepped outside. She would never stop checking in and worrying about the woman, but it was always a relief to leave. Walking down the sidewalk, Jen turned to head up the metal and wood staircase. She and her mother both lived at the shitty Shady Meadow apartment complex in Maple Springs, Kansas, just a five-minute drive from the downtown square. And its name did not lie, because it was shady alright. The management did the bare minimum to keep the place maintained, and many of the residents were on a first name basis with the local cops.
Jen lived on the second floor of building C, her mother on the first of building B, right next to the parking lot and the mailbox, which had proven pretty damn annoying once or twice. Notably the last time Jen walked out with a guy one morning and her mother was standing there in a robe holding her Bed Bath & Beyond mailer. That had earned her a long, judgmental stare. Ironic, considering men had always been her mother’s third weakness, coming in after booze and cigarettes.
Dropping her keys on the sofa, Jen headed to her own tiny kitchen—identical to her mother’s except that it was flip-flopped—to grab her jug of distilled water. Saturday was plant-watering day, so she went from pot to pot checking on her babies, talking gently to them as she touched their soil and then watering those needing it. She currently had eight plants, down one after losing Fey a month prior. Some asshole had stolen the fern off her miniature deck, and Jen still hadn’t recovered from it. Who steals a fern?
She’d discovered her love of plants when her mother had her mastectomy and the owner of the convenience store she worked at sent a calathea to the hospital. Diane had seemed unmoved by the gesture and in too much pain to care for it, so Jen had taken it home.
It hadn’t taken her long to realize how comforting—and surprisingly therapeutic—it was to care for something else, especially something that couldn’t talk back. Slowly she added to her collection when she had a few dollars to spare, and now she practically had a greenhouse in her little apartment. She loved it. Not only were the plants peaceful, but she loved the way they softened the look of her crappy place. It felt more fresh and alive.
Once all the living things had been cared for, Jen headed to her bedroom to finish getting ready for work. She swapped her shorts for her favorite denim skirt and then gently maneuvered her fitted gray Stag tee over her half-up hairdo, which she’d sprayed into submission just an hour before. Jen had a bit of an obsession with makeup, and she could easily waste away an entire Saturday watching video tutorials online.
She’d recently purchased a new red for her lips, although she really shouldn’t have. But hey, it was from the drugstore, she was bad with money, and thus could convince herself that even she deserved a splurge now and again.
Moving her head from side to side, Jen inspected her eye shadow and liner. Perfect. As were her brows, if she did say so herself. Growing those puppies back in was one of her biggest personal accomplishments over the past five years. Pretty frickin’ sad for a woman who’d just turned thirty and had one day hoped to have her name in lights.
Standing in the doorway of her tiny closet, Jen stared down at her collection of cheap shoes. It would be a long night, but she wanted to feel a little cute, so she chose her Mary Jane–style athletic slip-ons.
After grabbing her purse, she headed out the front door and down the stairs. She couldn’t help throwing a quick glance at her mom’s front door—still closed, drapes shut—and then walked to her ten-year-old F-150 pickup. Twenty minutes later she had a quarter tank of gas, her favorite purple energy drink in her hand—another shouldn’t-have purchase—and was heading inside the Stag Distillery on the corner of Hickory and Sterling in Maple Springs.
Stepping inside, she was greeted by a chill rushing over her skin and the familiar yeasty scent of the distillery building she’d been working in for the past several years as a bartender and now also temporary receptionist. At first glance it appeared no one was here. The front desk in the lobby where she sat Monday through Friday was empty, so she checked Dean’s office. Empty. A little further down the hall she checked TJ’s, her heart accelerating. Stop it. Empty. And since Jake usually ran late, she didn’t bother checking his office or the meeting room.
Someone had to be here, considering the party started in less than two hours. She headed for the old freight elevator and pulled open the metal cage door before stepping into the car.
“Hold up,” a deep voice called out from the back room. Jen froze. Of all the people to encounter first, it would of course have to be TJ.
Sometimes she still couldn’t believe that after crushing on him all through middle and high school she ended up working for his company a decade later. When she’d applied for the bartending job several years ago to supplement her income at the community theater, she’d had no idea TJ was one of the owners. Dean, a co-owner, had hired her on the spot because they had started booking weddings at breakneck speed and were desperate. She’d happily accepted and started the same night, despite her only experience being a lifetime of watching her mother and her friends drink. Turned out that had worked just fine, and she’d learned the rest from Google searches on her phone when needed.
She could still remember that following weekend when TJ had come in and they’d seen each other for the first time in almost a decade. Her first thought—after catching her breath—had been that he’d barely changed. Still handsome as all get-out, just older, more muscular, and with a shorter, more modern haircut. The butterflies in her stomach had performed the same dance at the sight of him as when she was still in a B-cup bra.
There’d really been no mistaking the what-the-hell-is-she-doing-here look on his face that day. But as much as she’d wanted to, she couldn’t hold that against him because there was no doubt she’d been wearing the exact same expression at seeing him. And for the past several years they’d maintained a civil—albeit slightly tumultuous—working relationship. Mostly because she enjoyed pushing his buttons.
Before he got on the elevator, Jen quickly took a guess at what TJ might be wearing today. Khaki slacks with a light-blue button-up, or gray slacks with a white button-up. It was always one or the other. Belt, sleeves rolled up at the forearms, top button undone revealing a hint of his neck. God, he was so predictable it was maddening. In fact, she was almost getting tired of giving him shit because the material never changed. Then again, part of the problem was that he looked so damn good in those preppy outfits.
Jen stood waiting, holding the gate, listening as his footsteps sounded on the tile as he headed in her direction.
“Thanks,” he said as he stepped onto the platform and pulled the elevator door shut.
Jen swallowed, her mouth going dry at the shocking site of him this afternoon. Quickly finding her voice, she lifted an eyebrow and decided to throw him a bone. It was a day of celebration, after all. It was the least she could do for a sort-of friend. “You look rather GQ this evening.”
He glanced down at himself as the metal gears of the old elevator jerked to life. “Thanks. I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what to wear tonight.” The boyish grin on his face when he lifted his gaze back to hers had her feeling a little melty. Not entirely unusual for her in this man’s presence, although she hated to admit it, even to herself. Plus, she didn’t often see his smile. Not directed at her, anyway.
She shrugged. “I think you did okay. The jacket is nice.”
“Thank you. It was a gift from my mom.” He touched the lapel, glancing down at the fabric. He glanced up at her
through lowered lids. “I’ll await your ridicule for that.”
Jen feigned insult, putting a hand on her chest. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”
He just shook his head. Yes, she gave him shit. But she wouldn’t tonight. Besides, it was no surprise that he was the pride and joy of clan Laughlin, and tonight his mama made sure he dressed the part. His dark denim jeans were so perfectly fitted to his hips and thighs, Jen wondered if he’d had them specially made. He still sported his signature brown belt, paired with—wait for it—a blue-and-white-checked button-up. Something she’d never seen on him before, and while it almost should have been tacky, it was perfect. But the best part was definitely his mom’s gift, the navy dress jacket, and there was no doubt it had been tailored. That service alone probably cost more than her rent. But lord, it was worth every penny. The sight of his broad shoulders and firm biceps made her mouth water. She looked away.
Of all the men she’d encountered in her life, why did the fantasies in her twisted head always fall back on this one? It didn’t make sense, her weird thing for him. She’d known him for so long, had seen him go through his awkward pubescent phase and he her many awkward phases. Shit, she was still trying to figure out who the hell she was. Right now, she was knee deep in “almost middle-aged, broke woman trying to look put together.” But tonight, TJ was perfectly polished sexiness. Now her fantasies would never get a reprieve. Damn him.
“Excited for tonight?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Yeah. I am. Five years is a long time.” He was referring to the bourbon and whiskey they’d first barreled five years ago when he and his two partners Dean and Jake had first started their distillery business. Tonight, they’d finally share their signature offerings with the public.
“Good things come to those who wait. Or some trite bullshit like that,” Jen said.
TJ chuckled. “Hopefully they say it because it’s true.”
“I’m sure it is. This will be great. I’m happy for you guys.”
Maybe This Time_A Whiskey and Weddings Novel Page 2