“I’m trying to forget. Rhodes is a much nicer name. Sounds like royalty. Lord Rhodes of Magnolia Row.”
I shake my head. “You’ve been watching too muchBridgerton.”
I pull into the driveway. Our house is small, modest, and smells like my grandmother’s perfume. I moved in with Nana after my mom skipped town when I was ten years old, so this has always been home to me. It may be dated and feel like a time capsule from the seventies, but I love it. It even has the original brown and orange shag carpet and puke-green enamel stove in the kitchen. Most people probably think it’s tacky, but I would never change a thing.
Once we get inside, Nana assures me she has enough leftovers for dinner and waves me off so I can get ready for my not-really-a-date thing. I don’t think it’s a date, anyway. I’m hanging out with Garrett at his place after he gets off work. Nothing crazy.
I shower, washing the sticky sweat from my body after being in the hot store all day. Rhodes didn’t help matters. I know I turned twenty shades of red every time he looked at me. It should be a crime to look that good. Nana’s at least right about that.
I decide to wear my hair up tonight, even though it makes my face look extra round. August in Alabama is way too hot to have long, thick hair on your neck. I know I’ll sweat most of it off, but I still wear a full face of makeup with my signature red lipstick and fake—but tasteful—lashes. I wear a pink floral maxi dress to cover my legs with a white shrug to hide my arms. The dress is low, so at least my ample cleavage is showing.
Garrett always says he likes chesty women, so I might as well flaunt it.
Once I’m ready, I check Nana’s pill organizer and realize she hasn’t taken her afternoon meds, so I fish them out and take them to her in the living room.
“I thought I took those.”
“Apparently not.”
“I guess I was thinking about yesterday.” She shakes her head, then downs them with some (hopefully) unsweet iced tea.
“I love you, Nana.”
“Love you too, sugar bug. Be careful on them roads.”
“I will.”
I get in my little blue hatchback, text Garrett to let him know I’m on my way, then put on a playlist of Kacey Musgraves and drive to Montgomery in the dark. The entire journey is on poorly lit backroads, and even though it’s grossly hot outside, the deer are unseasonably active, so I have to be careful.
It’s a little over an hour before I finally start seeing streetlights on the outskirts of town. My phone dings, and I see it’s Garrett. I pull over at a gas station to read it since I’ll need to fill up for the drive home anyway.
Hey babe—I’m sorry, but something came up at work. Raincheck?
I stare at the screen. He couldn’t have texted me before I left Magnolia Row? He knew I was on the way, and that I was likely close.
I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am disappointed—not to mention frustrated. I know he has a lot on his plate with running his own company and all, but still.
Perfectly fine! I’ll see you another night. No worries.
I tell myself not to be mad and that it’s not about me, but it’s hard. This isn’t the first time he’s done this.
You’re the best. Don’t know what I’d do without you. We’ll try again next week.
I pump gas, then follow the path back to Magnolia Row in the dark. This time I don’t listen to any music. I stare blankly at the empty road and passing trees in perfect silence.
* * *
Idon’t want Nana to know what happened, so once I get back to my hometown, I head straight to Cattywampus Brewing. The gravel lot is packed, so I park on Main and walk down to the river.
The brewery is in an old cotton mill. It’s a huge, open space with exposed brick and high-top tables dotting the floor. There’s a stage opposite the bar, and tonight a country band is playing. They must be from out of town, as I don’t recognize any of them.
I spot my friends at a table in the middle of the room. Sistine waves at me and whispers something to Kendall, which I’m sure is a snide remark about Garrett.
Sistine has wavy blonde hair she keeps shoulder-length and is wearing a loose Magnolia Row High School homecoming shirt from twelve years ago with cut-off jean shorts. She’s the opposite of me: short, flat as a fritter in front and back, and doesn’t wear a stitch of makeup. Kendall is just as petite, but has a little more of a figure with long, dark hair and minimal, natural make-up. I know it’s all in my head, but they both make me feel like a giant clown sometimes.
“Fancy seeing you here,” Sistine says as I approach and toss my purse onto the rough wooden table. “What happened to your hot date?”
“He had something come up.”
