by Ellie Hall
Mom jumps into helpful mode. “I’ll get the safety pins, the measuring tape, and a pad and pen for you to write down the measurements.”
“Thanks,” I say tonelessly. My heart aches. I’m disappointed with myself for feeling so dejected. Mom’s right. I am better off without Gavin. I still can’t believe he’s marrying Collette. He used to poke fun at her in high school for being such a spoiled brat, saying that he wouldn’t wish Collette Williams on his worst enemy. What the heck has happened to him? I guess I’ve been away for too long.
Mom returns a couple minutes later with the goods as I get to work, pinning the dress. For a few seconds, I forget that I’m working on Collette’s dress as my love for the art of sewing takes centerstage. I’m so focused on my work that I don’t even realize that Mom and Kitty have stepped off to the side, jabbering about the latest gossip surrounding members of the Lake Pine’s Women’s Club, leaving me and Collette alone.
“Gavin was so sweet with his proposal,” Collette begins, interrupting my thoughts.
My insides freeze.
“He took me to Mobile to this quaint little Italian restaurant.” Collette’s voice has an annoying sing-song quality. I’m so used to the rapid clip of the New York accent that, to my ears, Collette sounds like she’s acting out a poor attempt of Scarlett O’Hara on the stage. “He even paid a violin player to serenade us as he got down on one knee and popped the question.”
I probably should remind Collette that it’s not smart to poke the hornet’s nest when the hornet in question is holding an open safety pin.
“I hope this isn’t too awkward for you,” Collette continues.
It’s all I can do to force my voice to sound neutral. “What do you mean?”
Collette chuckles. “I know it was tough when Gavin broke up with you. It’s good to see that you’ve moved on.” Her voice brightens. “Who are you dating now? Mom said you were head over heels for some doctor, but then he dumped you and ran off to a third-world country. I’m so sorry,” she coos. “It’s interesting how things turn out. You were the queen of the crop back in high school. And now …” She shrugs her angular shoulders. “Well, it’s just interesting.”
One little prick with the needle is all it would take. I look longingly at the satin fabric. Nope, I’d better not do it. I’m in enough hot water with Mom as it is. Still, it would be so satisfying to give Collette a jab with the pin. It would serve her right for gloating. Talk about kicking a girl when she’s down. Collette is merciless.
“I can help you find a date if you’d like. It’s the least I can do.”
Did she really just say that? “Thanks,” I hum, “but I’m good.”
“Gavin’s taking me to Maui on our honeymoon.”
An invisible fist clutches my stomach. When Gavin and I were together, he promised that one day, he’d take me to Maui. It was something we dreamed about together. It became our imaginary place—the spot where everything would converge in perfection. I can’t believe he’s taking Collette there! It’s the ultimate betrayal. Rage burns like a blowtorch through my veins. I move the pin into striking position. Don’t do it, the angel on my shoulder urges. What’ve you got to lose? the devil on my other shoulder argues. I suspect that Collette knows that Maui was mine and Gavin’s favorite daydream. That’s why she insists on tormenting me about it.
“Did you hear what I said?” Collette prompts in the pompous tone of one who has the world by its tail. “Gavin’s taking me to M—Mwwah!” she squeals when I jab the pin into her hip. I take it out as fast as the pin goes in.
Collette whirls around, enraged. “You did that on purpose.” Her eyes bulge as she twists her head around to inspect the damage. The small red circle of blood on the white satin fabric is evidence of my dastardly deed.
Mom and Kitty rush over. “What’s going on?” Kitty demands.
“She pricked me!” Collette wails. “Look, there’s blood on my dress.”
“Oops,” I utter contritely. “My hand must’ve slipped.”
“That’s it!” Kitty seethes. “We are out of here!” She turns to Mom. “You’re a good person and friend, Sable. Too bad I can’t say the same about your horrible daughter.” She shoots me a look so blistering that it’s a wonder it doesn’t cause the skin to peel right off my bones.
Mom’s face is as pale as a statue. To the point where I almost feel sorry for her … almost. Until I remind myself that this whole debacle is her fault.
“Let’s go!” Kitty growls.
“But I need to get this thing off to get the blood out,” Collette protests. “Otherwise, my dress’ll be ruined.”
“Run it under cold water,” I suggest. “It’ll do the trick every time.”
Collette gets up in my face. Her words fly out in a hissy, saliva droplets splattering onto my skin. “You’re a monster.” She grunts. “You’ll get what’s coming to you soon enough.”
I have no idea what Collette’s talking about, and I don’t wanna know. I’m so done with Collette Williams. I roll my eyes as I take a step back and wipe her disgusting spit off my face. “Good grief, I don’t see what the big deal is. It was only a pinprick.”
3
Chunky Monkey
I need ice cream, and I need it now. I pull into the first open parking space I can find at the Piggly Wiggly. To say that Mom is ticked would be the understatement of the year. After Kitty and Collette stormed out of the house, Mom broke into a tirade of, “Albany Jane Featherstone, I don’t get you. You take everything I try and do for you and throw it back in my face.”
Therein lies the problem. For all her good qualities, my mom is selfish. She believes that everything revolves around her. I tried to explain that my beef with Collette has nothing to do with Mom, but she just doesn’t get it. Then, when I thought things couldn’t get worse, Mom announced that she’d set me up on a blind date for tomorrow night with some podiatrist from Mobile named Wallace Bogart the Third. “After the little stunt you just pulled, you owe me,” Mom seethed before marching off and barricading herself in her bedroom.
That’s when I decided to take a trip to the Piggly Wiggly and get some much-needed supplies … starting with ice cream. Lots of it!
The nerve of Mom setting me up with some podiatrist. Eww! The last thing I want to do is go out with some pretentious podiatrist. Also, what was Mom thinking with the alteration thing? She knows that I was heartbroken when Gavin broke up with me. How could Mom have thought that I would alter Collette’s dress? Maybe all of that hairspray that Mom insists on caking onto her hair has eaten through her scalp and destroyed her brain cells.
I grab a buggy and make a beeline to the frozen foods section. I pass a couple of people on the way. It doesn’t register in my brain that they are smiling and nodding a greeting until I get past them. In New York, it’s rude to make eye contact with strangers. Here, it’s the norm. I’m sure the two people I passed think I’m a snob for ignoring them. I’ll have to remember to be more congenial.
“Albany Jane, I heard you were back in town,” a voice says from behind me.
Great! Just what I need right now … to have to make small talk. Plastering a smile over my lips, I turn around.
“Hello,” I say with genuine sincerity, relieved that the person standing in front of me is Fern Primrose, the mother of my former best friend Penelope, or Pen as she likes to be called. I guess I shouldn’t say that Pen is my former best friend. That makes it sound like we had a falling out. We didn’t. We just drifted apart as people do. I went to New York. Pen stayed in Comfort and ended up marrying Timothy Norwood, one of the darlings of the town. The Norwoods are the closest thing that we have to royalty in Comfort, Alabama. Their ancestors were one of the founding families. Timothy and Pen live in a mansion in the historical section of town that has been in Timothy’s family for generations. My practically perfect friend finally got her practically perfect life—picket fence, neat rows of flowers, and all.
“How are you?” Fern asks.
/> An automatic reply blips from my lips. “Fine.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Fern says with a smile.
It has been a long time since I’ve seen Fern. She’s frailer than I remember, and her hair has gone completely gray. Actually, it’s more of a snow-white color. It’s attractive and suits her, I decide. Fern’s face is lined, the edges of her eyes ruffled in deep wrinkles. She’s around the same age as my mom, but she looks at least a decade older. In Fern’s defense, she has fibromyalgia. Her health has always been tenuous, even back when I was in high school. She works as a librarian for the elementary school. Whenever I think of Fern, I picture her with a book in hand. Her husband left her for another woman when Pen and her older brother Beau were kids. To my knowledge, Fern has never dated or gotten involved with anyone else.
I’ve always liked Fern. She has an aura of contentment about her that few people ever find in this life. Fern strikes me as being happy with herself and her life. She’s not one to constantly go searching for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but rather has the rare perceptiveness to realize that the brilliance of the rainbow itself is the true gift.
Fern leaves her buggy and enfolds me in a hug. I catch a whiff of baby powder and something fruity, probably her shampoo. “I’m so glad you’re back,” she breathes.
“Thanks,” I mumble, wishing I could say the same. When I was in New York, I was so sure of my place in the world. Now, I feel like someone has taken my life, shoved it in a blender, and turned the speed on high. And I’m supposed to make sense of whatever concoction comes out on the other side.
She gives me a searching look. “Have you seen Pen yet?”
“No.”
Fern looks disappointed.
“It’s been hectic since I’ve been home,” I lie and then wince inwardly. Lightning is gonna strike me dead right here between the produce and deli sections of the Piggly Wiggly.
“You’ll have to stop by.” Her features tighten. “Pen could use a good friend right now.”
My brows tug together. “Is everything okay?” It’s uncanny how quickly my sympathies rise. Even after all this time, I still feel a sense of protectiveness over Pen.
“Yeah, she’s good. She’s settling into marriage and trying to make the Norwood Mansion her home.” A wistful smile drifts over Fern’s lips. “Pen is just wound up so tight. She needs to relax and look at the big picture rather than getting bogged down with all of the social drama. I tell her that she should take time for herself and start painting again.” She pauses. “I wish Pen were more like you. More outspoken, more willing to follow her dreams.”
I try to squelch the startled laughter that rises in my throat, but it escapes out as a half-squeak. “Me?” I don’t feel like a success. I feel like I’m starting over at the bottom. A new revelation hits me, and I discover the root of the problem in my life—Pen and I have the wrong mothers. Had mine and Pen’s birthdays not been two months apart, I would have sworn we were switched at the hospital. What my mother would give to have Practically Perfect Pen as her daughter instead of me. I guess pairing Pen and me with opposites was nature’s way of evening out the playing field. “Thank you,” I say to Fern, still trying to process her compliment.
A second later, I notice the expression on Fern’s face. There’s some sort of worry or secret behind Fern’s eyes that lets me know that Pen is not okay. I run my mind through a list of possible problems—health, marriage, job, infertility. Surely Pen isn’t considering having a baby. She and Timothy have been married for less than a year. They’re still in the newlywed phase. I would think it would be tough enough to adjust to marriage without adding a baby into the mix. Then again, what do I know? I’m certainly no relationship expert. And, I’m dreadful at listening to the intuition of my inner voice. Ever since I came home, I’ve had the nagging feeling that I needed to go and see Pen. I just couldn’t make myself do it, thinking it would be too hard to see Pen and her perfect life while mine is in shambles. Hot guilt blankets me. I should’ve listened to that inner voice and stopped being so selfish. I get so frustrated at Mom because she’s so self-centered. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I need to do better—whip myself into shape. I’m not this defeated girl that life has thrown for a loop. I’m a fighter, dad-gummit. I will fight … after I’ve had my ice cream and a long binge session of Netflix.
I talk to Fern for a few more minutes, during which time she makes me promise to go and visit Pen. I assure her that I’ll go soon. Curiosity is now pricking at me, making me wonder what’s wrong with Pen. Surely, if it were something devastating like cancer Fern would tell me. Maybe Pen is just down in the dumps. It happens to the best of us. She’s probably trying to come back down to earth after marrying the man of her dreams. Pen has been enamored with Timothy Norwood ever since I can remember. Personally, I don’t see what the big deal is. Timothy is too much of a pretty boy for my taste. I shouldn’t generalize, but it has been my experience that guys born with silver spoons in their mouths end up becoming putzes. Okay, that’s a bit of an overstatement. I guess time will tell if my theory applies to Timothy. I hope for Pen’s sake that he’ll beat the odds.
As I pass the meat department, a low wolf whistle stops me cold. What is it with meat departments? Ever since I was a teenager, the guys who work in the meat department get their jollies out of ogling all the girls. This would never happen in New York! Down here, it’s everyday business. Although, no one has ever been brazen enough to whistle at me before. I turn and scowl. The guy behind the counter is sporting a goofy grin.
“Hey, Albany, welcome home.”
It takes me a second to merge the image of the hunky guy with my memory. My jaw drops. “McKenzie Holder, is that you?”
He holds up his hands as a broad smile tips his lips. “In the flesh. It’s Mac now, by the way.”
The McKenzie I knew was scrawny and annoying with a whiny voice. Time has certainly done him good. I wheel my buggy closer to the counter so I can talk to him without yelling across the store.
He looks me up and down with a bold eye of appreciation that instantly gets on my nerves. “You look great.”
“Thanks. So do you.”
A low chuckle sounds in his throat, sounding like heh, heh. “That’s what they tell me.”
I fight the urge to laugh. McKenzie was always cocky. At least now he has the looks to back it up. He’s well-built, and considering that his shirt is sleeveless, I’m getting a great view of his muscles. I’m sure that’s the intent—for McKenzie, or Mac—to show off his body. He reminds me of the cartoon character Johnny Bravo. Sure, he’s pleasant to look at, but he doesn’t have much upstairs. I’m not just saying that because Mac works in the meat department. He was dense in high school, and I get the feeling that not much has changed.
“Hey, now that you’re back, the least I can do is take you out for a beer.”
He speaks as though taking me out would be doing me a favor. I moisten my lips. “Sorry, but I don’t drink.” It’s bad enough for me to be so addicted to ice cream. No way am I gonna add drinking to that list. I like being in control of my own faculties. Also, liquor puts on the pounds. I’d rather eat my calories rather than drink them.
“I can live with that. We can get pizza instead. How about tomorrow night?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no, but then I remember the blind date with the podiatrist. I reach a fast decision. “I’ll go.” Mom’s gonna blow a gasket when she realizes I’m going out with McKenzie Holder. The fiendish part of me takes a second to gloat over that fact. Maybe it’ll teach Mom to stop interfering in my life.
“Rad,” he bellows. “I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
“Nice blouse,” he winks.
“Uh, thanks.” At least he had the sense to call it a blouse rather than a shirt.
I can feel his eyes on me as I move away from the counter. Somehow, I get the feeling that I’m gonna regret
my spur-of-the-moment decision to say yes to Mac Holder. His leering gaze tromps on my nerves. Oh, well. It’s just one date. And maybe it’ll get Mom off my back.
I make my way over to the ice cream section. To my dismay, there’s not a single container of Chunky Monkey, my favorite Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, left. The label is there, but the slat, shelf—or whatever that thing that holds the ice cream is called—is empty. “Seriously?” I grumble. “Don’t they know how to keep things stocked in this town?” I’m so disappointed I could cry. My mouth waters thinking about the silky banana ice cream packed with chunks of fudge and walnuts. Briefly, I consider driving across town to the other grocery store in Comfort—the Stop and Save—to see if they have Chunky Monkey. No, that would be too much of a pain. I guess I’ll have to make do with the Peanut Butter World and Cookie Dough flavors instead. I pull open the freezer door and start chucking cartons into the buggy.
A low chuckle sounds behind me. “Still eating ice cream, I see.”
I recognize the melodic voice instantly. It melts my insides to sloshing goo as I turn around. “Hey, Gavin.” My eyes flick over him. Good grief, he looks good. Yeah, I’ll admit it. I’m ogling. That’ll teach me not to cast judgment on Mac Holder.
Gavin flashes me his trademark lopsided grin, the one that has been known to sweep me and half the female population of Comfort off their feet. “Your mom told me you were coming home. I figured I’d run into you sooner or later. How ya’ doing?” He looks me up and down with an appreciative eye. Whereas I resented Mac scouring me with his eyes, I don’t mind so much now that Gavin’s doing it. My skin goes warm under his scrutiny, and I have to fight the urge to adjust my shirt … ahem, blouse. “You look great,” he murmurs.