Then, without waiting for a reply, she walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the frame. “Think about it, Charlie. Just don’t take too long. People, especially the people worth fighting for, won’t wait forever.”
When she left, the quiet was deafening.
I looked around the room—the broken glass, the deflated decorations, the chaos Magnolia had been trying to clean up alone.
And I thought, not for the first time that day, or the first time in my life:
My sister needs me.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
TALLY
ThehouseIgrewup in had always been too big. Too many rooms, too many formal sitting areas nobody actually sat in, too many framed photos of political handshakes and ribbon cuttings and Christmas cards from state senators we’d never actually met. It echoed, even when it was full, especially now, when it wasn’t.
I’d been holed up in my childhood bedroom for days, staring at my old bulletin board like it might suddenly come alive and offer me advice. The poster above my bed still read “LIVE LAUGH LOVE” in glittery cursive, but even the glitter seemed tired. I was not living, or laughing, or loving. I was rotting in bed, crying andpretending I didn’t care about the guy who was five hours away, probably sitting in his studio, already moved on without me.
Dig’s face filled the screen of my phone, too close and way too sparkly. “Do I look like an appropriate amount of slutty?” he asked, adjusting the collar on a rhinestone-studded jacket that looked like it cost more than my rent back in Brooklyn. “Because it’s a ‘regrets only’ kind of party tonight.”
I managed a half-smile. “You look like the Times Square Ball.”
“I’m hoping it’s flashy enough to get the attention of someone who wants to watchmyballs drop if you catch my drift.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Ew.”
“What’s going on with you? You look like you’re trapped in a horror movie about emotional repression and bad lighting. And you’re not laughing at any of my jokes.”
I flopped back on the bed with a groan. “Welcome to Newnan. Population: me, a very judgmental dog, and the Mayor of Passive-Aggressivetown.”
“Nancy?” he asked, offended.
Nancy whined from her spot by the door, pacing with the urgency of someone who had just remembered where they buried a bone. I sighed. “Speaking of, I think she has to pee. Which means I have to venture into the Wilds of Parental Disappointment. Pray for me.”
Dig leaned closer, his tone softening. “Has Charlie called?”
I shook my head once. “No.”
He didn’t push, only offered that soft, sad smile he’d perfected after years of watching me fall apart in slow motion. “Happy New Year, Tally. Go make some noise.”
But I did quite the opposite as I tiptoed my way down the elongated, winding staircase that led to the front foyer. I tried to be as quiet as possible so that my mother, wherever she was lurking in the halls of this home, didn’t hear me and start accosting me with a million questions.
Coming back to my hometown with my tail between my legs was one thing. Coming home pregnant, single, and jobless was another. And my mother, as she did, was using this as the kerosene she poured on the already outrageous blaze that was her disappointment in me.
Somehow, I had managed to successfully and stealthily waddle my way out of the double front doors and onto the hilly street, taking Nancy on a softly lit stroll through my childhood neighborhood. I also treated her to a montage of all the historical hotspots.
“And under that treeis where Doyle smoked his first cigarette and blamed it on me. And over there, on the Davis’ swing set, is where he told me it was him and me forever. Us against the world. Rat-faced liar…”
Nancy whimpered in agreement, trotting along ahead of me. She seemed spooked, and who could blame her? We left lazy, sleepy Savannah for this cookie-cutter, Stepford cul-de-sac.
As quietly as we could, we stretched open the front doors and tiptoed back through the foyer, but overhead lights flicked on like spotlights in a damn prison yard, and my mother ascended down the stairs like the warden herself.
“Tallulah,” she hissed. “You’ll wake the whole neighborhood up with that yapping dog.”
I rolled my eyes. “Settle down,your honor. You and I both know the dog didn’t make a single noise. You just hate her for no good reason.“ I scooped the poodle up in my arms and stared my mother down. She used to scare me, but not anymore. “You’ll have to turn the gas up a little higher to drag me into your narcissistic, crazy alternate reality.”
A flat smile settled on her lips. But my father appeared from the direction of the kitchen, breaking the staredown contest between us, wielding a plate of peach cobbler loaded with ice cream.
“I didn’t miss this at all,” he said, shaking his head as he made his way up the stairs.
