I braced myself for the catty quips and jabs about High School Roxie and the backward mess that I was.
“Hi, Roxie!” Maureen chirped. She was always the friendliest of the bunch.
Loren pulled me into a hug. “It’s so great to see you!” she cheered, kissing me on the cheek before passing me on to Paula, who repeated the embrace before passing me on to Lece.
They oohed and aahed over my dress and my hair and my “sun-kissed” glow, which I’m pretty sure they all knew came from making out with Leo, not the sun. None of them had left Bailey Falls, choosing to raise their 2.5 kids here, and my head swam as they told me about their families, husbands, and kiddos.
Then they riddled me with questions about California. Did I go to the beach every day? Did the Kardashians go to my gym? Did I cook for any famous people?
I never ever cook and tell, but these were the girls who made life miserable for me back then. So I might have showed them the picture of me and Jack Hamilton, his arms around me in his kitchen, his hands full of my pound cakes. They all squealed, staring at my phone.
“And Leo . . .” Krissy let his name float out there for me to catch it.
“Yes, Leo,” I replied, sipping my drink and avoiding eye contact.
“You’re so lucky,” Lece said. “Women have been trying to snag him for years!”
I nodded, taking it all in. How invested he was in the community, how cute he was with Polly.
“Nothing is sexier than a doting father,” Maureen said, throwing back a shot.
“You’re the talk of the town, being Leo’s girl,” Paula said.
Smiling politely, I chewed on Leo’s Girl while they moved on to Oscar the Dairy Hunk.
For as long as I could remember, everyone saw me as Trudy’s Girl.
Now I was Leo’s Girl.
What did it take for me to just be Roxie?
California.
I kibitzed with the girls for a few more minutes, sucking on olives with Lece, doing a shot with Maureen, then another shot with Maureen, then finally a third shot with Maureen. I confessed to Krissy that I’d been the one to sabotage her strawberry shortcake in home ec class by switching her sugar for salt—as you do. And then there was one more shot with Maureen.
When I finally excused myself and headed back into the swing of things, I was a bit in my cups and wondering how long it would take for Leo to get into my cups when he got me home. My cups being my bra. Hiccup. Oh boy, I was even cupping in my braaaaiiinnn . . .
In the time it took me to walk from the drink station to the living room, I’d moved from “a bit in my cups” to “holy shit in my cups.” I spied Leo in the kitchen, sitting on the granite countertop and sipping on a bottled water, talking to Oscar the Giant. Who was dressed in a clean white T-shirt that was nearly popping at the seams to contain his enormous tattooed biceps. His shiny black hair was tied back again with a leather tie, and I tipsily wondered what had to happen to make him take his hair down. I bet someone really gorgeous. And speaking of gorgeous . . .
Leo met my gaze and oh, the burn, that sweet fire that’d been kindled by that kiss on the porch reared its beautiful face again. I made my way across the bumpy tile floor (it was smooth and straight), stumbling only slightly on my mile-high shoes, and ended up standing between Leo’s legs, grinning stupidly up at him.
“Almanzo, you wanna go for a buggy ride?” I purred (slurred), reaching around to put my hand in the small of his back, making sure everyone saw my claim. Which would have been more effective if his blazer wasn’t covering it up, but who cares? I was going to get laaaaaid tonight!
“I’ll talk to you later, Leo,” Oscar grouched (see how funny I am?), and made for the back door, dipping down to get through.
“I saw you doing shots over there with the girls,” he said, laughing as I tipped my head forward onto his chest, breathing in his earthy scent.
“They hated me in high school,” I informed him. “But now they love me. Because I’m with you? Because I’m California Cool now? Hard to say. And whyyyyy aren’t you riding me in a buggy right now?”
“Sounds like you’re ready to go home, Sugar Snap.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my head while I played with his shirt buttons.
“Oh, God, do you know what it does to me when you call me that?” I sighed. “It makes me want to do the splits.”
“The splits?” he asked, that corner of his mouth lifting.
“On your face.” I patted his cheek as his jaw dropped open. “Okay, time to go.”
Calling a quick good-bye to Chad and Logan, he hurried me out the back door, down the sidewalk, and into his car before I had a chance to say, “Hey, nice house, hope it’s thoroughly warmed now!”
I yelled this particular gem under Leo’s arm while he fumbled with my seat belt.
“Leo, Leo, Leo—God, I love saying your name,” I said, under his arm and up to the sky. He knelt by my seat, sweeping my hair back from my face and looking deeply into my eyes. Because he was searching for answers there? Or because he was checking to see how drunk I really was? “I thought about you all week, you know.”
“You did?” he asked, his pleasure evident even through the concern.
“Stop looking at me that way. I’m drunk, but I’m not too drunk to know some things.”
“What things do you know, pretty girl?” His palm swept across my cheek, cradling my face, his fingers resting lightly on the back of my neck.
“I know what you were up to in there, with your big sexy hand on my back all night, marking your territory.” I tugged at his shirt, bringing him in closer, then kissed his nose, his eyelids, his forehead, and finally his chin.
“What if I was?” He inhaled quickly as I nibbled his jaw. A muffled groan escaped him as I wound my hands into his hair, then kissed a path straight toward his mouth.
“I know a much better way to mark your territory,” I breathed, then covered his mouth with a hot, wild kiss, thrusting my tongue into his mouth as his hands became rough and unsteady.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice full of need and want, and I luxuriated in the knowledge that I could make him this way. “Tell me what you want.”
I pulled him close to whisper in his ear. “I want you to fuck me raw, then come all over me. I want to be covered in you, slippery and wet and filthy dirty.”
Leo froze. Then pulled back to look at me. And sucked in air like he didn’t have nearly enough.
I’d love to tell you we made it back to my house. The most I can say is we made it just barely of town, and defiled a country road in the most glorious way.
Chapter 21
“Order up! I’ve got scrambled with dry rye, two Reubens, one with pickle, and a black cow. Let’s get a move on, shall we, ladies?”
I laughed as dish towels from all four corners of the diner came flying in my direction. Maxine and the others trooped over to retrieve their orders from the window, and I earned a wink from her. I’d spent the morning in the weeds when Carl called out sick. I’d handled the grill, prepped for tomorrow, and started on the cleanup, staying ahead as best I could.
“How’s it going, Mrs. Oleson?” I called out as the bell tinkled, alerting me to a new customer.
Mrs. Oleson waved and called out, “Roxie, will you be here tomorrow morning? I need to order something for the mayor’s luncheon next week. Can you do a pineapple upside-down something?”
“How about pineapple and orange, with a brandy glaze?”
The entire diner oohed and aahed, and she gave me the thumbs-up. Giving a little curtsey, I turned back to marrying the ketchup bottles behind the counter, whistling along with the jukebox as I combined the half-bottles. Hearing the bell tinkle once more, I called over my shoulder, “Welcome to Callahan’s! Grab any open seat; a waitress will be right over with . . .”
My voice trailed off as the scent of patchouli reached me. No way. I turned to see my mother standing just inside the door, Aunt Cheryl right behind her. She was tan, healthy looking,
and positively beaming.
“You’re not supposed to be— What are you— I mean, you’re home!” I blurted. Oops.
“Well, welcome home to you too,” she replied, her voice warm and happy. Her arms and hands were covered in henna tattoos, she had a new piercing in her nose, and her wild hair was in two frizzy braids.
Overcome with the need to hug her, I rushed out from behind the counter. A wave of patchouli washed over me, strong and earthy, and for the first time in a long time, I was very glad to see her.
But how odd that my first thought was, damn, was it time for her to come home already?
“A little help here?” Aunt Cheryl was struggling with what appeared to be both sets of their luggage.
“Oh, Aunt Cheryl, I’m so sorry, let me help you with that,” I exclaimed, snatching up duffel bags and tote bags filled to the brim with Spanish flamenco fans, Chinese New Year masks, a bamboo—
“Ma! You can’t just carry a bong around like a purse!” I threw a dish towel over the bamboo pipe.
She was waving to everyone like a celebrity. Oh boy. She’ll be milking this for the next ten years.
“It’s a ceremonial bong, Roxie. I got it from Laos. Your uptight is showing,” she said, walking further into the diner and taking a good long look.
Something tightened in my stomach as she sized up the changes I’d made, no doubt weighing how quickly she could change them back.
Shaking my head, I sprang into action. Maxine and I set all the bags off to the side by the door, while my mother was greeting everyone as if she’d been gone for years.
Someone at the counter asked the million-dollar question. “So, did you guys win?”
Mom and Aunt Cheryl passed a look between themselves before shaking their heads. “Sorry, can’t say anything. Contractually bound to be silent,” Mom explained.
“Aunt Cheryl, are you okay? You look exhausted,” I said, pushing a stool behind her.
“I’ve never been so tired in my entire life.” She sank onto the stool gratefully, resting her head on the countertop.
She was half asleep by the time I looked around for my mother, who was making the rounds, greeting her regulars, making conversation. She grew up in this town, she knew everyone, and she was well liked by all. Her return provided some excitement for this sleepy town, and she was getting her moment’s worth. As she walked around she continued to check out the changes I’d made, but there were no comments or questions so far. If she was irked by the changes, she didn’t say anything. Maybe because we had an audience. Or, maybe because she was happy with it. Unlikely, but stranger things had happened.
As I continued with my side work, the restaurant started to clear out from the lunch rush. And as I cleaned, I kept waiting for the feeling of relief to wash over me. That she was back, that I’d done my time, and I could return to my life in California. And I kept on waiting for that feeling.
But it never came. Funny.
When the last of the lunch crowd left, Mom locked the door. Making her way over to me, she sat on the stool next to her snoring sister, laughing. “Should we let her sleep?”
“She seems pretty tired.” I chuckled. “I say let her sleep.”
“Speaking of sleep—”
I jumped. Who’d told her about Leo already?
“How have you been sleeping, with all this fresh country air?”
I breathed in relief. “Oh, um, I’ve been sleeping pretty good, actually.”
“And you look really good,” she said, examining me carefully. “You look rested. You skin is good, your eyes are bright, and your hair looks nice and strong.”
“Thanks, I eat a raw egg every day for a shiny coat. You want to check my teeth?”
“Don’t sass your mother, Roxie,” she said absently, still looking me over too carefully. Could she tell? Did she know? “Mmm-hmm,” she finally said.
I felt the same way I had when I was a kid and I tried to lie about whether or not I’d done my homework. She always knew.
“You’re free to go, Rox,” she said.
“Um, thanks, but I’ve still got ordering to finish up before I can leave today. I’ll see you back at the house. I’m sure Aunt Cheryl would prefer to nap on the couch rather than on the counter.” I smiled, and patted her on the hand. “Good to have you home, Mom.”
“I meant, you’re free to go back to California.”
I was halfway through the swinging door when I heard her words. I swooped back out to the diner.
“I’m home! You’re released!” she cried, making a grand gesture toward the front door. “I’m surprised you didn’t run for the hills the second we walked in.”
I sat down beside her, toying with a loose thread on my apron. The setting was much as it was when I was a little girl. Sitting side by side, not looking at each other, but at the yellow order tickets that flapped against the steel strip.
“I was thinking,” I finally said, spinning my phone on the counter as a distraction, “I sort of have to stay a bit longer. You see, you’re home sooner than I planned. I’m glad you’re home, but I’m not prepared yet. I um . . . still have cake orders to fill. I need to tell you about the cake orders I’ve been taking. And I’ve got these zombie classes I’m teaching. We’ve still got canning to learn, and I was hoping to get to pureeing and freezing before the last of the tomatoes go.”
Then my phone lit up with an incoming text. And on the screen was Leo’s name, and a picture that I’d taken the day he showed me his walnut . . . trees. He was grinning lazily, looking every inch the poster boy for Hot Farmer—it was my favorite picture of him. And though I quickly turned it over, I wasn’t quick enough.
My mother saw the picture. And she might have even seen the text. Oh man.
Her lips rolled in as she tried to hold back a grin. “I see.”
“You see nothing. This isn’t what it looks like.”
“I’d love to know what you think it looks like, when the most eligible bachelor in the state of New York is texting my daughter things like, ‘Hey Sugar Snap, last night was incredible and—’ ”
“Stop talking! Oh my God, make it stop!” I wailed, dropping my head onto the counter just like Aunt Cheryl.
“You’ve been making more than cakes this summer, Roxie Callahan!” My mother leaped up from her stool and ran behind the counter, grabbing two mugs and the coffee. Pouring us each a cup, she propped her chin up on her hands and arched her eyebrows. “Spill it.”
I spilled it after dinner, after Aunt Cheryl was sawing logs in the guest room, and my mother and I sat on the front porch. That front porch was seeing some action this summer, between the floor sex and the storytelling. My mother partook of a bowl of Colorado’s finest leaf, while I stuck with an iced coffee.
I kept the spill light and disclosed no real substance, admitting only to seeing Leo occasionally, casually. A few juicy nuggets easily distracted her, and with only the slightest nudging, I was able to turn her focus away from me and my love life, and on to how her trip had been.
Officially she couldn’t tell me whether they had won, but based on the fact that she was home early, and an artfully timed wink when I said, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, just tell me, you lost, right?” I put two and two together.
And as easy as it was to distract her with something shiny (talking about herself), she could be distracted even more by something shiny and rose petal filled (her love life).
My mother had met no less than three men on her trip. First there was Hank, an auto parts salesman from Akron, Ohio, traveling with his son for the show. An early favorite, he and Mom had shared one night of drunken kissing in San Francisco’s Chinatown after the Welcome to Amazing Race cast party. His son and Aunt Cheryl had intervened, explaining to each in turn that getting involved with the competition was a recipe for disaster. When my mother caught Hank with his hands down the pants of another competitor (Sabrina, a yoga instructor from Tallahassee), she agreed, and off Hank went into the discard pile.
&nb
sp; Next up was Pierre, a French expat who’d been the instructor on a South Seas pearl diving expedition. After trying to free dive after only ten minutes of training and zero breath support, my mother had been hauled up out of the water and onto Pierre’s lap, whereupon she was resuscitated by the smitten Frenchman. She actually came around several moments before she publicly came around, so as to enjoy a little more mouth-to-mouth. My mother and Pierre enjoyed a night of oceanic skinny dipping, where she urged him to try to set a new world record for holding his breath underwater while otherwise occupied . . .
I nearly had to get the scotch to listen to that story.
And finally, there was Wayne Tuesday. Yep, his actual name.
Wayne was a cameraman for the production company that owned The Amazing Race, and his unit had been assigned to my mother and Aunt Cheryl. Late one night on the island of Tahiti, after a limbo contest that my mother won, the two of them sneaked away from the rest of the crew and shared a frozen pineapple daiquiri. Was it the pineapple? Was it the limbo? Was it the bendy? (Pretty sure it was the bendy.) Who knows, but she was quite taken with Wayne.
Now, typically when a reality show contestant gets involved with a member of the crew (they frown on that), one of two things happens. The contestant is removed, or the crew member hits the bricks. Wayne and my mother were able to hide their budding romance from everyone until the final location in Rome, where they were caught playing a spirited game of hide the salami. He was fired, and a few weeks later, my mother and Aunt Cheryl had been eliminated.
For the record, this was how hard it was for my mother to keep a secret. Did she ever tell me, “Hey, I didn’t win the Amazing Race”? No, but she circumvented the rules, quite handily in her mind, by using words like eliminated. No one, and I mean no one, who knew Trudy Callahan longer than an hour told her a secret.
But as she recounted story after story of her adventures, I was caught up in the excitement, the silliness, her carefree come-what-may attitude. I was enjoying her company, I laughed at her tales, and I sympathetically patted her shoulder when she told me of the perils of getting sunburned down there after a stint at a nude beach.