by Lilly Wilde
I run into Christina in the hallway that leads to Mama’s bedroom. When I tell her Dad’s here, she volunteers to let Mama know, so I do an about-face—all the while, second-guessing this ill-advised rendezvous and mentally preparing myself for just about anything.
“This is nice, Branch. Real nice,” Dad says, marveling at his surroundings when I reenter the room. “This is a good thing you did for your mama.”
“It’s what she’s always wanted,” I say when he turns to look at me. “I remember the day I brought her here and told her it was hers. She cried for hours.” Now I wonder if those tears were only about the house. Could they have been for the hopes and dreams of the life she’d lost?
“Yep, it’s exactly as she described years and years ago… when we were just starting out,” he says, avoiding my eyes.
I sense that he, too, is emotional over the dreams that never came to be. Thankfully, I don’t have much time to deliberate on his reaction because Mama steps into the room, and my eyes nearly pop out of my head.
“Hello, Curtis,” she says.
Dad turns to face Mama. He doesn’t speak. He merely looks at her. And she, in turn, moves her eyes slowly over him. And then, as if on cue, they step closer, and before I know it, their bodies are pressed together in an embrace. What the hell?
They cling to one another for way longer than any hug should ever be. When I clear my throat not once, but twice, they finally release each other and place a fairly decent amount of space between themselves.
My eyes dart back to Mama who looks nothing like my mama. I’ve always thought of her as pretty, but today she looks like one of those hot cougar bombshells who throw themselves at me during the postgame parties. She’s beautiful. Her dress is a little tighter than it should be. She’ll hear my opinion on that later. Her long brown hair, which is typically pulled back, cascades around her face, and she’s wearing that necklace. The one I was damn near torched and burned for even asking about when I was a child and still now as an adult. What the hell?
“Why don’t we have a seat,” I suggest, trying to diffuse the chemistry between them. “Mama, you can sit in the chair and I’ll take the couch with Dad.”
“Branch, weren’t you and Jace heading out to that ice cream parlor you two like so much?” Mama asks as she sits on the couch beside Dad—a total disregard for my seating plan.
“Uh… yeah, but you were going, too, remember?” It’s not like her to pass up spending time with me.
“I must have forgotten to tell you that I changed my mind,” she says, eyeing me with an expression I don’t quite understand.
Is she trying to get rid of me?
“You can bring back my usual two scoops of chocolate,” she adds, confirming that she is trying to get rid of me. Well, tough shit because I ain’t leaving.
“I’ll wait,” I reply, my eyes pasted to Dad, who’s gaping at Mama the same way those cougars eye me. “In case you need something.”
“What can I possibly need, Branch?” Mama asks. “Besides, Christina’s here. Go on now. Give your daddy and me some time alone. We have years of catching up to do.”
The sit-down has only started and it’s already going off the rails. “Mama, leaving you here alone is not what I had in mind when I arranged this.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t I look fine to you?”
Hell, she looks unrecognizable.
My eyes flick back to Dad’s and then to the small space on the couch between Mama and him. He’s holding her hand. What the hell? I have so many questions that I can’t manage to get even one of them out.
“I’ll take good care of Mary,” he says. “You have my word.”
Jace comes bounding down the stairs yelling for me.
“In here, Jace!” I shout back, my eyes never leaving Curtis and Mary McGuire.
“Dad!” my brother exclaims, upon entering the room. He runs past me to our father and inserts himself between my parents on the couch. Dad tousles his hair as Mama looks on with a smile.
I’m looking at the picture-perfect family. But everyone here knows we’re not a normal family, so what the actual fuck?
My gaze moves over my dad, my mama, and finally my brother.
Everyone is alive with excitement. Everyone except me.
Because I know where this can lead.
To a dark hole that will consume us all.
Dad’s car is still in the driveway when Jace and I return from the parlor. I kick myself for letting Mama convince me to go without her. I should have insisted they meet someplace else. Maybe at the shrink’s. He could have managed any possible meltdowns. But now, as it stands, if Dad says or does anything to set Mama off, it’s all on my shoulders.
Jace heads to the game room—per my instructions—and I go to the kitchen to place Mama’s ice cream in the freezer. Having decided it’s time for Dad’s visit to come to an end, I walk to the living room, but aside from two coffee cups on the table, there’s no sign of them. I go to the patio—Mama likes to sit out there and listen to the wind chimes. But Dad and Mama aren’t there either. I remember how Dad was looking around the house—maybe Mama’s giving him a tour. I go back inside and check the rooms we normally show. Still no sign of my parents.
The warning I’ve carried all afternoon screeches in my head. I practically run down the hallway and when I go to knock on Mama’s door, it opens before I have a chance. And one look at Dad and I know all I need to.
“Where’s Mama?” I demand, my anger already in tow.
“Branch, I thought you’d be gone longer,” I hear her say, her voice floating across the room.
I shove the door open wider and rake my eyes over her disheveled appearance. A sense of betrayal seeps through every part of me. “Yeah, well I can see that. Mama, what the hell are you doing?”
Sliding from the bed, she grabs her robe and rushes to my side. I can already see the explanation on her lips. And I know there isn’t one that she can give me that I’ll accept. She astutely gauges my demeanor and then rests a calming hand on my forearm.
“Don’t.” That’s all I say and she jerks her hand away as if she’s been burned.
“Branch. Son, I know how this must look,” Dad says, his voice uneasy.
I turn on a heel to face him, disbelief and anger fueling my insides. “It looks like you came over here to lay down some bullshit and then fuck my mama.”
Mama pushes between us, her hand connecting hard and fast with my cheek, the clap of it echoing across the room.
I flinch and jerk my head back.
“Don’t you dare speak that way about your father or me! Do you hear me, Branch McGuire?”
I meet her eyes, knowing she sees the rage in mine. I don’t know what the fuck to think or who to blame. Fuck. Maybe it’s my fault—I’m the one who allowed this to happen.
Same as earlier, they move as if on cue, turning away from me and losing themselves in each other’s gaze like two star-crossed lovers. Part of me wants to tell them both to go to hell and the other part is confused as shit.
I have to put an end to this before it goes any further. I won’t let Dad destroy what little sanity Mama has left. “What the hell, Dad?”
“This isn’t why I wanted to see Mary.” He holds out his hands, palms up. “I love your mother. I’ve never stopped. And I know I never will.” He stares at me, torment flashing in his eyes before he recovers.
“So, you love my mother, but you’re going home to another woman’s bed? To Mama’s best friend’s bed?” My hands fist at my sides, shaking with barely contained anger. “You think that’s okay?”
“That whore is no friend of mine,” Mama says.
“But this guy is?” I ask, pointing at Dad.
“Branch,” she says, taking a careful step toward me. “He’s my husband.”
Those words tear the last of my restraint, and anger overtakes me. “Your husband? So now you finally tell me? Well, where was your husband when we were sitting in the dark eating fucking p
eanut butter sandwiches?”
“Branch, please. That was my fault. Let me get myself together and we can all sit down and talk.” Mama closes her robe and smoothes a hand over her hair.
“Whatever sick shit you two have going on”—I wave my hands, indicating I’m out—“I don’t even want to know.”
Dad snatches my arm as I walk past, but I jerk from his grasp. “And when she goes batshit crazy on you, don’t come looking for me.”
“Branch! Wait! Please!” Mama yells after me, her voice breaking as she starts to cry.
I tune her out and head for Jace, making sure he doesn’t walk into the same shit I did.
IT’S LUNCH HOUR—THE TIME I usually have a run-in with Branch. And of all the days I don’t want to see him, this one tops the list. I’m uneasy about everything—looking at him, greeting him, taking his order—you name it and I don’t want to do it. My stomach churns and I literally feel ill. And when I do look at him, it’ll only be worse because all I’ll see is that disaster of an evening at Jimmy’s. And if it was a date… epic fail. Those last moments with him were an endless stretch of awkward silence. The kind that makes you want to disappear into thin air.
I’d been out sick the last couple of days, but upon arriving at work this morning, Carrie was quick to tell me that Branch had come in the last two days, arriving exactly at noon. She says it was obvious he was coming in for me. I told her I doubted it, and that I didn’t care either way. But here I am—looking, waiting, and caring.
I step from behind the counter, expecting Branch to stroll in and sit at his usual table. And like clockwork, the door opens, and in he walks. The Man on Fire, full of swagger, confidence, and just hellafied hot, but this time he’s not alone. He’s with that crowd of friends again—the Quad. He doesn’t head for his usual table either.
Branch looks up, grinning broadly until his eyes catch mine. It’s only for a second and he turns away, pointing toward a table on the opposite side of the diner—in Carrie’s station. Oh, joy! She’s going to love that! Pretending it’s no big deal, I busy myself with my other tables. My heart sinks a little though, which comes as a shock. I should be relieved, but something inside me indicates otherwise. I exhale a sigh. If I were a hashtag, it would definitely be confused.
I try not to, but I find myself sneaking a glance across the diner. And as expected, Carrie is in full flirt mode. She’s unbuttoned her shirt to reveal even more cleavage if that were at all possible. She was bursting out of her top as it was. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—it’s hard to believe she’s married. The way she carries on, you’d swear she’s a hooker. She’s even let her hair down, one of Jim Bob’s big no-no’s. Her shoulder-length ashen-blond curls spring to life as much as she does. She tosses her head back and laughs, leaning over to pass one of the guys a menu, her bosoms practically touching his head. Boy, is she proud of those tits. She saved tips for three years to cover half the cost of the boob job, her husband paid the other half, and is she ever getting her money’s worth.
“Ragan.”
I blink from my daze and turn to my boss’s frowning disapproval. “Are you going to daydream or work?” He gestures toward the group sitting at one of my tables.
“Sorry.” Shit. This man must think I’m a total fucktard.
Nearly an hour and several customers later, I step from the kitchen and see Branch talking to Jim Bob, undoubtedly complaining about me. That would explain why he didn’t sit at his regular table.
I stare until Branch looks up and catches me focused on him. He has the nerve to smile. Is he kidding me? Of course I don’t return the gesture. I go about my business—giving the couple in the Little Richard booth their check and wondering if the end of the day will find me jobless.
Grabbing my tip from the adjacent booth, I stuff the bills into my apron and start prepping the area for the next customer. But almost as if they have no choice, my eyes find their way back to Branch. His buddies are gone now, and he’s still talking to my boss.
I’m certain Jim Bob’s getting a rundown of every unflattering remark I’ve sounded off at Branch. Not to mention the mistakes I’ve made. Why else would Branch talk to Jim Bob for any length of time? There can only be one reason—Branch is trying to get me fired. Is this how he handles things with women when he doesn’t get his way? But I would imagine that never happens. I’m probably the only crazy exception. And even now, in these fucked circumstances, I look at him and damn if kitty doesn’t purr. The Kitty Whisperer strikes again. I hate it and crave it all at the same time. I’m one big ball of confusion with a fucked-up past that has a choke hold on my life. And Branch only adds to that confusion. I mean, why would he help me on one end and then hurt me on the other? He knows I need this job. Fucking asshat. Yeah, he’s definitely a confusion I don’t need. If losing this job means getting rid of him, I’m all for it.
I have the good mind to walk over and tell him to kiss where the sun doesn’t shine. As a matter of fact, I will. I take a few misguided steps in their direction—my shoulders squared, my temper rising and my mind set on telling them both to kiss off. But then, good sense kicks in and I make a beeline to the counter. Although I don’t act like it, I can’t afford to lose this job and I can’t risk blowing my top in front of Jim Bob, even with a customer like Branch who deserves every bit of attitude he’s gotten from me.
My customer Mel beckons for another cup of the hot muddy Georgia water that Jim Bob passes off as coffee. I reach for the coffee pot and notice that although Carrie has somehow managed to abandon Branch’s immediate vicinity, she’s still eyeing him like a piece of meat. And unlike her previous ogling sessions, this time it pulls at an emotion that I have no right to—an emotion I wish I didn’t have.
Pushing past my irritation with Carrie, I give attention to Mel who’s awaiting his coffee refill.
“Can I get this to go?” he asks, looking up from his near-empty plate.
“Sure,” I reply and move toward the carry-out cups. I step past Carrie, who’s yet to move. “If you stare any harder, you’ll go blind.”
She lets out a sigh and shakes her head. “That is one fine-looking man. And that body, it’s enough to give a woman the kind of orgasm that will land her in the hospital. And he’s rich! Why would you go and mess that up? For girls like us, he’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Girls like us? Does she not realize how old she is?
I ignore her comment. “You asked for his autograph again, didn’t you? Who did you tell him it was for this time? Your unborn nephew?”
She laughs. “I don’t know what you have against the guy, Ragan.”
“Here you go, Mel.” I pass him the coffee and his check as I reply to Carrie. “I don’t have anything against him. But I hate that he walks in here like he’s the best thing happening.”
“Well in this town, he is. And just because you refuse to acknowledge it, that doesn’t mean the rest of us have to,” she says. “And good idea about getting an autograph for little Levi. He’s due next month.” She tears a piece of paper from her pad and hurries over to Branch and Jim Bob.
I place a lid on Ronnie’s cup of lemonade and set it on the counter. After altering his check, I head back to his table. Ronnie says he’ll see me tomorrow, makes some joke that I don’t quite understand, and scarfs down the last of his sandwich.
I follow the sound of the door chime, catching a glimpse of Branch as he exits the diner. An uneasy breath escapes my lungs and I chastise myself for letting this get so deeply under my skin. But it has… and for so many different reasons. And Carrie’s right. A guy like Branch—showing the least bit of interest, even if it was only to get a rise out of me—is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And I blew it.
“Ragan.”
I look up from preparing the napkins and silverware. “Yes?”
“Can you come to my office?” Jim Bob asks.
Oh shit. “Yeah, sure. Let me get this check to the Elvis Booth and I’ll be right there
.” This is it. I’m about to be raked over the coals or possibly fired altogether. Fucking Branch.
I pass the check and napkins to my customer and head back to Jim Bob’s office. He’s sitting at his desk, typing away. Probably jacking up the prices on the slop he passes off as food. Maybe I should come back later. At least try to get some more tips before he throws me out on my ass. He looks up right as I decide to leave.
“Ragan, don’t just stand there. Come in.”
“You looked busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“I asked to see you, remember? Have a seat.”
Oh hell. Yep, I’m getting fired. But why sit me down? Say it and get it over with. I can hear Aunt Sophie now. I practically threw that job in your lap and you lose it already. A five-year-old can take orders and wait tables. What is wrong with you, Ragan? Are you determined to be a loser all your life?
“This is for you,” Jim Bob says and passes an envelope to me.
A letter of termination? Why so formal all of a sudden? With trembling fingers, I open the envelope, surprised by the contents nestled inside. Three crisp hundred-dollar bills.
“What’s this for?” I ask, thinking it’s the last of my wages.
“It’s a tip from a customer. He said he’d been skimping you and wanted to set things right and—”
“And what?” I ask, looking up from the envelope.
“That you were a great waitress and I was lucky to have you.”
“Really?” I wasn’t a great waitress to anyone. That much I know. And judging from Jim Bob’s doubtful expression, he knows it’s bullshit, too.
Noting my confusion, he adds, “It’s from our resident football star.”
I glance back at the three bills in my hand.
Branch did this?
#confused
“WHEN YOU SAID YOU WERE taking the boat out, you didn’t mention the two of them,” I scowl at Dad and Mama sitting at the rear of the pontoon boat. “What the hell are they doing here?”
