Tequila Rose

by Willow Winters

  “We talked about this.” My mother, she’s … she’s lonely. She’s been lonely since my dad left her and even lonelier since my grandfather died a few years back. “I told you I wanted to come down here with Griffin and start this business.”

  “And I told you it was time to settle down.”

  If it wasn’t my mother on the other end of the phone, I’d simply hang up. I’m not in the habit of taking orders from people. I don’t like for my intent to be ignored either. My mother’s good at both of those. She knows best and all that. But really, she’s lonely and she doesn’t want me to move away. I hear it in her voice, with her faint upper East Coast accent. She’s from New York and never lost the cadence of her hometown.

  “You can always come down here,” I say to get right to the point, nodding at a template Griffin’s holding up. There were five mock-ups a graphic designer pitched for our logo. “That one,” I mouth to him, with my mother still on the phone going on about how she can’t leave and neither can I. Or at least that’s what I hear through it all.

  “Mom, you know I love you. I’m still deciding if I’m going to move down here, though.”

  “And it’s not about a girl?” Magnolia’s pouty lips and wide gaze flash across my eyes, but I shake it off. I haven’t heard from her since yesterday and as far as I’m concerned, we’re starting fresh. She’s just a girl I’d like to take out and get to know. She’s just a girl. Even to my own ears, the statement sounds false.

  Breathing in deeply, I joke, “You want me to get married so soon?”

  “You aren’t a spring chicken, Brody.”

  Ignoring my mother’s comment, I focus on the topic at hand. “I mean it when I say you’d like it down here. You know how Gramps liked to go sailing … It reminded me of him when I came to see Griffin.”

  And he believed in me. I wish he were alive to see it all coming together. He’d be proud. Although he’d be on my ass about that license.

  My mother’s silence strikes a chord in me.

  “Just promise you’ll come to visit before you decide to be up in arms about me moving down here. I’ll even unpack and stop living out of my luggage bags for you.” The humorous huff is as good as I’m going to get. I know it.

  The sound of Griffin opening up a window in the far right corner comes with an immediate gust of saltwater air. I fucking love it. I take deep breaths in and out as my mother lists all the reasons she can’t come down to visit me and how I need to really think about what I’m doing.

  It’s a damn good thing she can’t come down right now, I think, as she keeps talking and I take in the state of this apartment. I figured a three-month lease would work and then once we’re settled, if things go well, I might look for something more permanent. It’s a simple beige space with no furniture other than the foldout chairs and table Griffin brought down from his parents’ basement.

  My mother would be livid. Of the list of shit I have to do, though, furniture shopping is low on it. I have a bed in the bedroom at least. A bed and a hot shower are all I need right now.

  It takes another ten minutes before my mother sighs and tells me she loves me. Which I knew she would. I’m ever the disappointment to her because I won’t settle down.

  The second the phone is lowered, Griffin finishes tapping on his phone, probably writing an email to the graphic designer.

  “So I asked Sam, the guy with the sailing boat, and he said we could take it out this Sunday.”

  Griffin’s a damn good friend. Whenever I get off these phone calls, he’s right there with a distraction I need.

  “I’m down.” It’s easy to say yes to that. It’s one thing I had with my grandfather. Sailing feels like home and Beaufort is one of the coastal sea islands. There’s a ton of sport fishing out here. My grandpa would have loved it.

  “He said we can bring dates or whomever if we want. Just to make sure to clean up after.” Griffin’s tone is leading and the beautiful face I pictured only minutes ago at the thought of settling down flashes again in front of me.

  Giving him an asymmetric smile, I answer, “I don’t know yet. Let me get through the date this Friday first? Or did you want me to ask my girl if her friend wanted to come along and hang out with you?”

  “Your girl now?” he asks with a raised brow.

  I shrug and say, “You know what I mean.” Leaning back in the flimsy chair, I pick up the pile of papers Griffin tossed aside, making sure the option I picked is really the one. I’m relying on a gut feeling, an instinct to go with it. I’ve followed that instinct all my life and it hasn’t screwed me over yet.

  “I mean … if all is well, I’m just thinking it might be a nice second date, is all. And yeah, I think you should invite her friend too.”

  “If it goes well and she’s interested, yeah, I’ll ask her,” I tell Griffin as he scratches the back of his neck. With his black plastic-framed glasses and slight build, he’s always had a little bit of the nerd side to him. He’s a good guy, though, and good looking just the same. He should have the confidence to ask Renee to go out with him. Maybe it’s just weird for him since I’m seeing her friend. That’s uncharted territory for us.

  Slapping the final design, the one I’m dead set on, upon the top of the pile, I hand it back to Griffin, who’s already nodding. “Yeah. This is the one.”

  “Damn right it is,” I say and get up to grab a Coke from the fridge. “You want one?” I ask Griffin.

  “Nah,” he says and shakes his head, but he looks uneasy.

  “You ready to go?” I ask, shutting the fridge door before I can grab a can. With the blinds rolled up, the sun’s given this place enough illumination that I hadn’t flipped a light switch on yet today, but now that evening is coming, I turn on the single light in the kitchen and living room.

  “I have something else to tell you … Sam had a little intel on your girl.”

  “I told you I don’t want to know. I’m not looking into her or asking anything other than if she’s single.” I meant it when I told her we were starting fresh.

  “You might want to know this.” His fingers tap anxiously on the edge of the computer, folded shut in his lap.

  “Go ahead, spit it out,” I say casually, grabbing the beverage so my back is to him when he says, “She’s got a daughter.”

  I pause in the middle of opening the can, letting the news sink in and then ask the necessary question, “But she’s single?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the dad? Is he in the picture or still have feelings or something?”

  “Nope,” he says and shakes his head, “she’s a single parent.”

  I never thought I’d feel an easiness come over me at that statement. The can fizzes in my hand and I take a drink, really thinking about it. A miniature Magnolia. She’s probably a cute kid. That’s when it hits me.

  “I bet that’s why she freaked. She’s a mom now, she can’t be running around and having flings.”

  Damn. I rub the back of my neck but a smile creeps on my face. “That makes so much sense now. And her friend’s all protective because of the kid.” I’m practically muttering and thinking out loud at this point, but Griffin still hears me and nods.

  “Okay so, date this Friday. Sailing on Sunday.” Done and done.

  “Yeah and you need to get dressed because we have a meeting in an hour for the permits.”

  “Who’s the meeting with?” I ask.

  “Some guy close to your age, so I’m thinking he’ll be able to pull some strings to get this bar open. Sam said he’s a friend of Magnolia’s too.”

  Magnolia

  Two and a half years ago

  “There’s money on the counter,” I tell Robert with tears in my eyes, leaving the front door wide open as I cover my face and turn my back to him. Bridget won’t stop crying. Every moment she wails, my heart breaks more and more. She cries almost every night around eight and I don’t understand why. There are no teeth coming in, she already had a full bottle, and all her n
aps have been right on schedule. She cuddles when I hold her but still she doesn’t stop.

  The baby app tells me it’s the witching hour. I just want it to stop. My hands tremble when I reach down for her, picking her up out of the pack and play and shushing her even though the white noise machine is on full blast.

  “It’s okay, little one,” I whisper but my poor baby can’t hear it anyway over her cries.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” I say and breathe out in frustration with tears streaming down my face. I don’t know that Robert’s heard me until his hand comes down on my shoulder. It honestly startles me. Maybe because I’m exhausted, maybe because I’ve been alone in this apartment for three days straight, maybe because I feel like I’m going to pass out after lying next to the pack and play for the last half an hour crying right along with Bridget.

  “You all right?” he asks and I burst into a laugh that’s not a laugh, right before letting out the ugliest sob imaginable.

  “This is not your problem,” is all I can tell him. “The rent is on the counter,” I point out again. That’s what he came for. The settlement money I was counting on receiving from my father’s estate is being held up and I don’t know how I’m going to pay next month’s bills if that last property doesn’t sell, or if they have to take that money to pay off more debts my father lied about.

  “I’m still your friend, Mags. I’m still here for you,” he says and his tone is kind, the same as it has been for the last year. Through the pregnancy, through the first weeks after I became the town pariah. He may have left my heart broken, but I’ll be darned if he hasn’t tried to help me pick up the pieces.

  Part of me is grateful for that; part is still angry. And a big part of me wants him to put the pieces back together and hold on to everything. Oh, Lord, the tears are coming back.

  “My world is a mess and I don’t know what to do.” My inhale is staggered and I have to sit down to try to calm myself, but Bridget’s screams get louder so I shoot back up.

  “Okay, you’re doing good, Mags,” he says, but his encouragement doesn’t help.

  “I’m a bad mom,” I say, whispering the painful words aloud and then heave in a breath. “I can’t help her and I don’t know why she’s crying. I have no idea.”

  “You’re a good mom.” Robert makes the statement as if it’s fact. “The bad moms don’t even wonder if they’re doing a good job.” No one’s ever told me that. No one’s told me I’m a good mom and I nearly burst into tears again, matching my little girl who’s still screaming in my ear.

  “She won’t stop and I don’t know what’s wrong.” My words come out like a plea. I would give anything if she’d just stop crying.

  “Sometimes they cry. I’m pretty sure it’s like a baby’s checklist,” he tries to joke and I would roll my eyes but something magical happens.

  Bridget seems to take an interest in Robert when he talks. Her cry is hesitant and he picks up a piece of paper, waving it in front of her face. Mimicking a child’s voice, he says, “I heard that wittle babies like a wittle wind in their wittle faces.”

  I let out a laugh, but more than that, a breath of relief. Bridget’s head falls back and she shuts her eyes, letting the breeze blow against her face.

  Breathlessly, I beg Robert, “Don’t stop.”

  He laughs and continues to wave the paper just above her little three-month-old noggin. “Never thought I’d hear you say that again,” he says with a handsome smile.

  I let out a small laugh, continuing to bounce my baby girl and I’m grateful for the quiet. Is it that simple? Just a little wind in her face. Probably not, I think. Tomorrow’s another day, but it’ll pass. It won’t be like this for long.

  “It’s just a phase,” I say, reminding myself of what the doctor said.

  “And you’re a good mom,” Robert adds. With a small smile, I meet his kind gaze. “I mean it, Mags. You’re doing such a wonderful job.”

  I wish we could go back. I wish I could change so much. But more than that, I wish I could have him tell me that every time I feel like I’m failing her. I just want to be a good mom to my Bridget. And I wish Robert would stay, but he doesn’t.

  Present day

  “I don’t want to influence you.” As she speaks, Renee has both of her hands up, doing her best impression of a bank teller during a robbery.

  I could huff and puff and roll my eyes but instead I’m deflated, and my energy levels are nowhere close to being where they should be. It’s not every day you have to break news to someone like I have to. Hey, it’s been a few years since we spent fewer than twenty-four hours together … By the way, my little girl may be biologically related to you. Surprise!

  “Can’t I just leave him a note?” I half joke, lifting my gaze to the computer screen which should be showing ticket sales for the gallery exhibit but instead it shows social media sites for Brody Paine. A picture of him seated in a foldout chair on the sand of some beach on the East Coast three years ago stares back at me. His tanned skin and cocky smirk light a fire inside me I’ve been doing my best to smother. “Dear Brody,” I say to begin my best impression of reading a nonexistent letter aloud, even holding up the imaginary piece of paper as if I can see it. “You’re a father. I should have told you sooner but I couldn’t find you after I bailed college to come home to a scandal that ruined my name and made my life hell. I’ve only just now found my place in this life, but congratulations, you’re a dad. At least I’m pretty sure, since her eyes look just like yours.”

  Renee stifles a laugh with the cuffs of the sleeves to her favorite navy blue zip-up hoodie that boasts a heart in the upper right corner along with the words, “How about no?” With her leggings and gray tank underneath, I know she’s wanting to go on her run. She does that, all the working out and physical things. I, however, have a three-year-old. If I’m running, it’s because I’m chasing my little girl who probably stole a Sharpie off my desk.

  “If you want to tell him, tell him.” Renee shrugs and a more serious tone takes over. “If you want to give him a note, do that.”

  “What if I don’t want to do either?”

  “You don’t want to tell him at all?” Renee’s expression doesn’t display confusion or judgment. She doesn’t even ask the question as if it’s a question. It’s just a matter-of-fact statement.

  “You can get to know him first. If you want. You don’t have to tell him the second you see him. These are … unprecedented occasions.”

  “You make it sound so easy. Don’t tell him, take your time, when you do tell him he won’t be resentful or in denial at all.” My sarcasm drenches the sentence.

  “Resentful?” Renee says and scoffs, tossing her head back and taking a seat against the window to the gallery. It’s empty, as per usual. But in twenty minutes a man will be walking through those doors to pick me up and I haven’t got a clue how to have this conversation with him.

  “He has no right to be resentful.”

  “He does too. He had a child for years and didn’t know,” I say, defending the sentiment. I’d have a hard time not feeling a certain kind of way about that if our situations were reversed. “I’d want to know—”

  “You tried,” Renee says, cutting me off. “Maybe you forget, but you tried like hell when you were already going through hell.”

  My fingers wrap around the thin wristwatch that used to be my mother’s. I check the mother-of-pearl face of it only to find another whole minute has passed. Minute by minute, I keep checking and I don’t stop.

  “You did your best, Mags,” Renee says, her voice full of emotion when I don’t respond.

  With a long inhale, I nod. “I did my best.” Why does it never feel like it’s good enough?

  “And you’ve done a damn good job.” Renee nods as if agreeing with herself.

  “I’m going to blow this, you know? I’m going to sit down and blurt it out and he’s not going to believe me.” That’s my biggest fear. That Brody won’t believe me.
Or that he won’t want anything to do with Bridget.

  “Then that’s on him,” Renee says and she sounds so sure. She’s so very certain of everything.

  The only thing I’m certain of is that it’s going to hurt. Regardless of what happens, this is going to hurt.

  Shaking out my hands and then rubbing my clammy palms on my floral high-waisted skirt, I calm myself down. Until the bell dings and I lift my gaze to see Robert standing there. I look him over from head to toe to find he’s in a tailored gray suit without a tie, his crisp white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

  He’s freshly shaven and when he walks up to the counter, leaning against the top of it with his forearms, I catch a whiff of his scent. He smells like sea breeze and old memories.

  Oh nooooo. He needs to go right now. It’s hard enough having to face Brody. Having to face Brody in front of Robert? Nope. He needs to go back right through that door he just came from.

  “Busy as usual,” he jokes with a grin and then waves at Renee as I force myself to huff a laugh.

  “And what brings you to this humble establishment?” I joke back, keeping the smile on my face. It comes naturally, but the turmoil roiling inside of me from head to the bottoms of my tippy-toes begs me to spit out the secret. To cut off whatever it is he has to say and spill my guts and tell him to hightail it out of here. I’ve told him everything all my life. I’ve told Robert things I’ve never even told Renee. Although that truth is the same reversed. Renee knows things no one else does either. The two of them are my rocks and I try to be theirs. It’s as simple as that.

  “I was supposed to have a meeting with a guy yesterday. I think you know him?” Robert’s sharp blue eyes are curious as he says the name I dread to hear, “Brody Paine.”

  “Uh-huh,” I answer him, pulling away from the counter and returning to the computer. “What about him?” I ask as if it’s casual. As if there isn’t a month’s worth of dirty laundry ready to be dumped out over his head just from the mere mention of that particular name. Brody.