She plants one hand on her hip and points at me with the other, the picture of Mom. “Well, any man who makes you all stammery and nervous is someone I want to see you with because this” —she gestures her open palm at all of me— “is a riot. No matter who he is—oh, shit!”
Her eyes go wide again as she falls to the couch beside me. “What are you going to tell Reed?”
“Nothing. It’s none of his business.”
She twists her lips wryly. “You know it is, Rix. Everyone thinks you’re gonna end up together, including Reed.”
I shrug. “I’ve made it clear that I don’t think that. We haven’t dated since high school.”
“You know he’s waiting on you. He follows you around like a damn labradoodle with sad puppy dog eyes, begging for treats. To be clear, you’re the treat.” She smirks, looking me up and down like I’m something different from what she sees in the mirror every day.
Damn.
Emily’s right, and I do know it, even if it pisses me off that everyone still thinks they get some say-so in how my life plays out. I chose escaping to the Army as a show of creating my own destiny, a fuck-you to everyone who thought they knew best for me, even though I loved them and they only did it out of love for me.
But the Army hadn’t played out like I thought it would, since here I am, back home a few short years later, and while I’ve changed, nobody else has. Neither has the picture in their heads of little Rix and where she’s going.
I’m pretty sure Dad thought I’d come home, finally marry Reed, and start popping out grandkids.
But that’s his plan, along with Reed and Uncle Smitty.
Know whose plan it’s not? Mine.
“I’ve made it clear to Reed that I’m not interested, regardless of who plotted what when we were kids or what I thought I wanted when we were in high school.”
Yeah, losing my virginity in that Toyota Corolla in bay three? That was to Reed at an embarrassingly young age. For me, it’d been a sweet progression of our puppy love, an adventure into something adult-ish. For him, it’d been a declaration that I was onboard with the whole marriage-babies plan that started immediately after high school.
I hadn’t wanted that then, don’t want it now, and don’t know that I ever will. But even if I one day wake up and decide I want that life, it won’t be with Reed. I know that much. He’s safe, he’s easy, and he lets me walk all over him. None of those are things I want, for a right-now guy or a forever guy.
Emily shrugs noncommittally, obviously not convinced. “If you say so. Just don’t hurt him too much. But Brody? Go to work on that man and tell me all about it.”
A smile teases at my lips. “Are you sure, Em? Really sure?” I don’t want to look back on this moment and see that I shouldn’t have believed her, that I fucked us up again.
Her hands cover mine and she looks deep into my eyes. I might as well be looking in a mirror because I know every fleck in hers just like my own. “I’m positive. Now tell me everything.”
It’s like no time has passed between us, like we’re back to being teenagers, giggling about boys at school.
I tell her about almost taking Brody’s head off with a wrench and cussing him out, and she gasps and proclaims it ‘classic Rix.’ I don’t dispute that she’s right.
I tell her about the almost kiss that Reed interrupted, and she raises a knowing brow at me that I pretend not to see.
I tell her about being stingy and bitchy inside about introducing her to Brody, and she smiles as she tells me I’m a good sister. I almost believe her.
And last but not least, I tell her about that mouth-fucking kiss. We both fall back on the couch, swooning. I even drink another glass of wine in one gulp, like I’m swallowing medicine, but instead of a gross bitter flavor, it’s just a little bit sweet this time. Not too bad, just like telling Emily wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. And also, I might be a little tipsy.
“I’m no saint, obviously, and have kissed my share of guys. But I swear, Em . . . that was something else entirely.”
“So, now what?” she asks, careful to let me fill in the details, an allowance I appreciate more than she could possibly know.
“Now, I’m gonna call him. Obviously.” I laugh as I say it, but I mean every word.
Chapter 8
Erica
“Remind me again how I let myself get talked into this?” I grumble, holding Em’s bags while she browses.
“Because you love your sister, you’re a glutton for punishment, and I think you secretly like to be forced to do things that don’t involve testosterone and beer.” My mom’s right, as always.
“And so, here we are,” Emily summarizes, stopping to sniff at a candle from one of the vendors’ booths.
We’ve been to the farmer’s market on the Great Falls side of the mountain a few times, and despite my current show of fake grumpiness, I always enjoy it. It’s just so early, and I have so much work to do at the shop, but Emily’s invitation had taken priority and Reed can handle the garage today.
I look at Mom, watching her happily shop with Emily.
We are an interesting family from the outside looking in. Emily and I have tawny skin, freckles, a dark curtain of thick, straight hair, and deep brown eyes, while Mom and Dad are picture-perfect Americana, with blond hair, blue eyes, and an affection for baseball and the ‘old days,’ which are apparently the 70s. Mom says it’s because things were simpler then. Dad says it’s because they were high all the time.
But I’ve never known anything different since Keith and Janice Cole adopted Emily and me when were barely even two. My earliest memories are of Mom and Dad dancing around the kitchen with dinner cooking on the stovetop. I’m glad I only have happy memories, and neither Emily nor I have ever felt called to find out ‘where we came from’ because we already know. We came from Mom and Dad’s heart, just like they always told us when we were kids, and you can tell by the way Mom looks on fondly while Emily flits here and there.
“Are you sure there’s no beer here? Seems like they might have some craft brews somewhere . . .” I look around, only half kidding.
Mom pushes her black-framed glasses up her nose so she can glare at me properly. “It’s not even noon, Rix.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulder, squeezing her tightly. “I know, Mom. I’ll take it home for later. Promise.”
She lifts one arm, patting my cheek softly. “You’ll have to help me pick out a bottle or two for Keith too. But none of that high alcohol content stuff like you got him for Christmas. Good Lord, he was drunker than a sailor on shore leave! I had to put him to bed before he passed out in his recliner.” Her pat turns more slap with that informational tidbit, even though it wasn’t my fault . . . mostly.
Still makes me laugh. “Well, I didn’t mean for Dad to drink it like he does Budweiser. That was Bourbon County Coffee Stout, his two favorite things in one . . . beer and coffee. And fifteen dollars a bottle. It was supposed to be for something special, not to crack open while he watched a rerun of his favorite game.”
“Game five, 1956 World Series. Don Larsen pitched a perfect game. Never seen nothing like it.” We say it together, Mom and me, having heard Dad say the exact thing more times than can be counted.
“Well, he enjoyed it all right. Maybe a bit too much. I think I’ll skip getting him any more beer this time,” she says thoughtfully. “Maybe just find him some beef jerky instead.”
“I’m gonna grab a coffee. Anybody want one?” I offer, spying an Airstream that’s been rehabilitated into a food truck of sorts.
“Please,” Emily breathes, and the candle vendor looks on the verge of doing anything Emily asks. I predict that she gets a discount on the candle, so she’ll buy two. I’ve seen it happen time and time again. She doesn’t take advantage of people. They just like to be in her orbit, soaking up her radiant positivity and genuine smiles.
Mom shakes her head, pressing a hand to her chest that lets me know her morning pot of coffe
e is already talking back to her. It gives her heartburn every time, but she never lets that stop her from pouring another cup.
The barista makes quick work of my order, handing me two large cups. One black, one almost the color of milk. Guess whose is whose? I drop a dollar in the pickle jar-turned-tip jar and turn back around to find Emily.
“One for you, one for me,” I say, handing her the pale coffee.
“Back atcha. One for you, one for me.” She wiggles her bag, and I chuckle that I was right. She bought two candles.
“Thanks.” I tell her, meaning it. She smiles back, and while I’d been expecting some weirdness from our conversation yesterday, it’s never materialized.
We’re just us. Emily and Erica. Sisters, as always.
“All right, let’s find some jerky for my jerky,” Mom says with a clap of her hands.
Emily and I groan in tandem. “Mom, don’t start with the Dad jokes. We’re begging you.”
“Pretty sure they’re Mom jokes if I’m the one telling them.” She smiles like that was funny too. “Ooh, let me look at these melons too. I’ve already got decent ones, but you can’t have too many.”
Mom shimmies her shoulders in a move I really wish her Zumba teacher hadn’t taught her and then scurries off, her sensible sneakers squeaking as she heads toward a fruit stand.
“Did Mom just make a tit joke?” I ask out of the side of my mouth, like saying it full out will make it so.
Emily nods, her face twisted in horror. “She did. She absolutely did.”
We meet eyes and simultaneously shudder. “Mom tits. Old lady tits. I can’t.”
“Promise me we’ll get boob jobs before ours go saggy.” Emily holds out her pinkie finger for me to shake on the idea, but I recoil.
“Absolutely not. Em, we barely even have any. We’re never gonna sag like . . .” I sigh before I say it. “Mom.”
“Right. No tits are better than old lady tits.” She’s trying to convince herself.
“Em? Stop saying tits, ’kay?”
She mimes locking her mouth and throwing away the key, and hesitantly, we follow Mom, scared of what puns and Dad jokes she’ll come up with next. God help us if eggplants are in season.
* * *
“Girls, come here! I found some jelly I want to get,” Mom calls out a few hours later. But now, Emily and I are giggling like pre-teen boys about everything Mom says, finding some degree of sexual innuendo in it, even when there’s absolutely none. But jelly is a pretty easy leap to something sordid.
“Sure, be right there.”
We come up behind Mom to see her holding a clear cut-glass jar of red jelly and chatting with the vendor. She’s a little younger than Em and me, with thick light brown hair that’s highlighted all around her face in that way salons always try to duplicate. Hers looks natural, though, like she got the lighter bits the same way she got the tan . . . being outside. She’s wearing cutoff shorts and a Kentucky Downs sweatshirt, and I’m pretty sure those boots have some shit mixed in with the dirt on them. She’s what a farmer’s market is all about, farm to market to table.
“We grow all the fruits and veggies ourselves. My brothers do most of the work there, though.” She makes a whipping noise, winking one eye and smiling widely. I instantly decide I like her. “After we harvest, I take over, making seasonal specialties throughout the year. Spring is mostly cherry jubilee jam and lemon curd. Though you can get my carrot cakes by special order or by the slice at the resort.”
Mom is enamored, and I predict that we’ll be taking home one of everything. “I’ve had cherries jubilee before, but how do you make it into a jam?”
The vendor smiles like she’s got a secret. “After you soak the cherries in the brandy, you light it on fire. Just a little bit, you know. I gotta keep it safe with the kids around these days. Set a good example, Shay.” She’s imitating someone, but I don’t know who. Honestly, she sounds wistful and sad about some bare-boned safety measures. “And then I smash it up and add the pectin. It’s a lotta fun, one of my favorites all year.” She laughs, her smile growing even wider.
I can’t help but smile back. Her excitement over jelly is contagious enough that I think I’ll buy one too.
“Couldn’t stay away from me, could you, Lil Bit?”
Out of nowhere, Brody’s voice rumbles right in my ear, making me jump like one of those cats that just spotted a cucumber.
I know I’m blushing from the surprise of his being here, but I calm my features before I turn around, not letting him see how good he got me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cowboy. I’m just here doing a little shopping.” I hold up a jar of lemon curd as proof. “Seems like you’re the one stalking me. Should I be worried? I’ve got a Taser in my purse and my fists are registered weapons.”
He runs his hand down from his chest to his abs. “You could hit me if you want to. I’d do just about anything to have your hands on me.” The words are low, meant just for me, but Emily, Mom, and the vendor all hear too.
“Brody Michael Tannen! I will wash your mouth out with soap and not let you have any carrot cake tonight if you don’t apologize to my customer right the hell now!” I’ve never actually met someone full of piss and vinegar before, but I can’t say that now because the woman is riled up something fierce as she comes to my aid with an actual stomp of her booted foot.
It’s sweet. Unnecessary, but sweet.
If Brody wasn’t damn near trying to crawl inside my skin right here in front of God and the whole town, it might occur to me to be jealous of this unknown woman who knows his middle name when I didn’t even know his last one until just now. Still, I have to smirk. “Brody Michael Tannen?”
He chuckles, not at all embarrassed and also not apologizing in the least. “You only have to scream out Brody. If you can get my whole name out, I’m not doing my job.” Still talking like it’s just me and him, he lifts his chin toward the vendor. “So that’s my sister, Shayanne.”
“Hi, Shayanne. Nice to meet you.” I throw the words over my shoulder, still eye-fucking Brody. “Think I’m gonna need a jar of this lemon curd and a cherry one too.”
I notice he doesn’t introduce me to her, but that’s okay. We’re not walking down the aisle or anything, and meeting family is a big deal for most folks.
“Ahem.” Mom has no such rule about not needing to meet people, especially not ones who are obviously split seconds away from fucking me against the nearest surface. “Rix, would you like to introduce me to your friend?”
It sounds like I have a choice. I do not.
“Mom, this is Brody. Brody, this is Janice Cole, my mom.”
I see his jaw clench like it’s hard for him to look away from me, but he does it anyway to offer Mom his hand. He looks a little embarrassed too, like maybe he didn’t realize it wasn’t only Emily and his sister bearing witness to his heated come-ons. “Good to meet you, Mrs. Cole.”
She shakes his hand and smiles, but it’s that threatening flash of teeth that Mama Bears do when they try to look perfectly pleasant but are really ready to go to battle for their cubs. Never mind that I don’t need Mom’s protection.
“Hey, Brod, I sent the family group text a picture just now. Katelyn seems to think you met this one at the resort bar, says she saw you drinking with her. Sophie says she’s from the garage. And so help me if you’ve already been on two dates with this woman and I haven’t heard about it, I will gut you and serve you to the goats. Except for Baarbara. She’s got a sensitive tummy, you know?”
I try to take in everything she just said, including the clear picture of Brody and me on her phone’s screen as she waves it around. A text bubble pops up, then another.
“Oh, the resort was me!” Emily raises her hand like she’s telling the teacher she’s present for attendance check. “And the garage was Rix, of course. So they’re both right.”
Emily doesn’t realize how that sounds until it’s too late.
Shayanne’s eyes go skinny and
hot as she looks from Emily to me and then focuses sharply on Brody. “Forget the goats. I’m gonna serve you up to Mama Louise on a damn platter like a fat, brown Thanksgiving turkey. What the actual fuck, Brody?”
He holds his hands up, in any man’s worst nightmare . . . surrounded by four women.
Mom and Shayanne look ready to tag-team a murder, one of those random ‘we don’t know each other, so we can’t be in on it together’ type deals I’ve seen on late-night crime shows, Strangers On A Train style. Emily looks confused at the fuss. And I’m on the verge of busting a gut from holding back laughter.
“Wait, wait, wait a second. I can explain. I met Erica, then saw Emily at the resort and thought they were the same person. Obviously, they’re not.” He shrugs like none of this is his fault. To be fair, it’s not. Just one of those things that happen when there’s someone else walking around with your face.
I jump in to save him . . . after I’ve had a little more fun at Shay texting on her phone and Brody trying to look over her shoulder. “Why aren’t I getting those messages?”
“Because I removed you from the group so we could talk about you behind your back. I’ll add you again when we’re done . . . maybe.”
“We’re all good here, guys. The important thing is that Emily and I know who we are, and more importantly, Brody knows who we are. And who we’re not.” I pinch his nipple through his shirt, twisting it hard in teasing punishment for the confusion.
He flinches away. “Shit, Erica. Stop. I said I want your hands on me, but I didn’t mean for you to rip my nipples off.”
I realize a moment too late that touching him like that implies a level of intimacy I maybe wasn’t ready to shout from the rooftops yet because Mom is looking between us as though she’s mentally picking out wedding venues. At least she’s on board with my never marrying Reed. She understood back in high school why I didn’t want that then, even if she hadn’t wanted me to enlist to get out of it. But her interest in my future is perking right back up like she got a caffeine injection right to her sentimental heart.
Rough Edge Page 9
