"Girls," Grandma hollers. "Get your asses over here. The driver is out there waiting, and you're standing there talking about bread."
CHAPTER 40
Cecily
I grewup in small-town Arizona, but this? It's night and day different. With an olive grove and a thoroughbred farm, Olive Township is a charming town with a decidedly Spanish flair. Sierra Grande is as cowboy as it gets, especially this bar we're in. The Chute has neon bar signs, a wooden dance floor, and an outdoor bull riding arena. A full band plays on a stage, with a crooning country singer. It smells of beer and barbecue, leather and cologne. I love it here.
We've finished dinner, and now we're on our third round of margaritas. Except for Rainbow. She's sipping soda water with an orange slice. She frowned when my grandma accepted a margarita, but said nothing. Secretly, I was hoping Rainbow would attempt to tell my grandma not to have a drink. Listening to Savage Grandma tell Rainbow what to do with her disapproval would've been superb entertainment.
"What do you think, Grandma?" I yell over the lively song. Bodies crowd the dance floor, everybody in cowboy boots, a cowboy hat atop every man's head.
"This place is fucking fabulous," she yells back. Her eyes are twinkling, and she shimmies her shoulders. Tonight she'swearing her signature caftan, but this one is turquoise and fringed. She wears three strands of silver bead necklaces, and chandelier earrings that catch the light.
How can she be so sick? Look at her. Vibrant, smiling. Sipping a margarita. She turns to chat with my mom, and Kerrigan pulls me up to dance.
"I know your toes were tapping," Kerrigan says as we weave closer to the dance floor. "You love to dance."
"Busted," I trill.
Kerrigan and I find a little corner of the dance floor and plant a flag in it. It's not the same music, or even close to the same venue, but it reminds me of that night in Vegas with Dom. My hands holding onto his shoulders, the way he gripped me as we danced.
Kerrigan's questions from earlier come back to me.What does life look like for you and Dom once this is over?
I don't know what's possible for us. Dom lives across the country. A different life awaits him, a career, a clock that will never read the same time as mine.
"Hey, pretty lady," a deep voice says, too close to my ear.
I stop dancing, and so does Kerrigan. Cowboys stand on either side of us. The man beside Kerrigan offers her a hand, asking if she wants to dance. I nod at her, telling her to go for it if she wants to. She places her hand in his waiting palm, and he pulls her deeper onto the dance floor.
"I think I'll sit this one out," I say to the cowboy still standing there, eyes on me.
"Come on, sugar. It's just a dance."
"I'm married."
"An empty ring finger on your left hand says otherwise."
I glance down at my hand. "I forgot to wear it tonight."
"Forgot," the cowboy says, making air quotes.
I'm out of what little patience I had for this guy. "Bye," I say, pivoting on my heel. I'm brought up short by a sound at the bar. A yell, but more of a screech. The protest of barstools scraping the floor. More yelling. Pushing, now. Adrenaline slips through me. Will I get to watch my first bar fight tonight? I take a step toward our table, ready to pick up my margarita and pull up a chair, but I'm frozen in place when I see the blonde bob in the middle of the fray.
My mother.
Her forearms lift to protect her face, and she tries to shoulder her way out of the bodies. There are too many, the crowd is too thick, outliers being pulled into the scuffle by wayward arms and elbows.
I hurry that direction, prepared to extract my mom. But then a woman pushes her, two-handed while she does nothing but try to protect herself.
Is someone seriously trying to rough up my sixty-year-old mom?
Looks like tonight will be the first bar fight I've ever witnessed, and joined.
I charge in, head ducked, flattened palms held above my eyes like the bill of a hat. Someone knocks into me, and I stumble but remain upright. In the middle of it all, my mother shakes like a leaf.
And that bitch who pushed her once? She does it again.
I wind up and throw my first punch. Closed fist, follow through. It catches her in the jaw. My aim could use some work, but it gets the job done. The woman stumbles back against the bar, laid out but looking at me. I'm on her again, pressing my finger into her chest.
