Why don’t we add some ab exercises in at the end?
I flop down onto the mat, pressing my cheek against it and trying to get her words out of my head. I’ve finally escaped my parents, but they’re still here with me, questioning every damn thing I do.
I don’t think I’ll ever be free. Not until I can get them out of my head. Suddenly, the yellow sports bra feels like it’s strangling me, compressing my ribs and keeping me from breathing as deeply as I need. I sit up and wrestle with it, struggling to peel it off. I finally get it over my head, and then I lay back on the mat, half naked and panting. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m in the middle of Candice’s living room like this. I’m the only person home and everyone else is in the barn or out, but my cheeks heat from embarrassment anyway.
Then the doorbell blares, and I jump up.
“Fuck!” I scramble around, looking for something to cover myself with. “One second!” I scream, hoping they’ll hear me.
I run into my bedroom and grab the first thing I see, which is a fleece. I pull it over my head, and then rush to the door and fling it open. A dour looking man dressed in black and holding a manilla envelope is standing in front of me.
My heart dive bombs in my chest and settles into the pit of my stomach. This can’t be good. I get ready to close the door as soon as possible if I need to.
“Are you Winsome Grant?” the man asks, without even saying hello. I feel his eyes crawling over me, and I hug my arms around my waist. I wish I was wearing longer shorts.
“Yes.” My voice shakes.
“You’ve been served.” He thrusts the manila envelope into my face.
I just stare at it, unable to face the reality that I feared was coming, unable to make my hand move to take it from him. After a moment, the man drops the envelope and it thuds down in front of my feet. Whatever lawsuit is in there must be long. The man shakes his head, like he can’t believe the state of me, and then turns on his heel and leaves.
Not only have my parents found me, they’re suing me.
After I musterup the courage to skim the lawsuit, I decide to go into town for a treat. I could run to Candice and tell her all about it, but I need to make a plan before I tell anyone else. I need to feel like there’s some way to tackle this—some way that I can save myself.
I walk around the village, taking in the smattering of independent shops and the weathered front of the Neon Horseshoe bar. It’s flying a queer pride flag outside because there’s a drag show this weekend. Star Mountain is a cute, quirky town. It’s smaller than I’m used to, yes, but I could see myself making a home here. I could open a clothing boutique and bespoke dress shop. I could start designing wedding dresses and prom dresses for the local women. I could sing at the Horseshoe’s open mic nights. Candice, Jenny, and I could wrangle Beau into babysitting Lila and do monthly girls nights out in Bozeman. I could adopt Rosie and learn to ride.
And when I’m thirty and I get my trust fund, I could use the money to build my own house, somewhere close to town but still remote enough to give me privacy.
It’s a beautiful future, and as I walk past Aimee’s Bakery, I can see it unfurling in front of me. But of course, it’s more complicated than that. If I stay, my parents will eventually come here. If I run, they’ll find me wherever I go. And either way, they’re suing me for more money than I or anyone else I know has access to.
I walk into Aimee’s bakery, still determined to get my treat. I stare at the glass display packed with pastries with wide eyes. I have no clue where to start.
“Can I help you?” a woman chirps from behind the counter.
“Um,” I say. It’s been a long time since I had a pastry. My mom never let me, and when my dad went out for donuts, he never brought any back for either one of us. “What do you recommend?”
“I baked some cinnamon apple swirls this morning that are just divine. And you can’t go wrong with a chocolate croissant.”
“I’ll take them both,” I say, feeling adventurous.
While the woman bags up my pastries she says, “I’m Aimee, by the way. And you must be Winnie.”
“How’d you know?” I say, handing over some cash.
“We don’t get many new faces around here and my husband Holden is friends with Beau.”
“Gotcha,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you.”
We chat for a few more minutes about how I’m enjoying Star Mountain, and our conversation just further cements for me that I’d love to live here. People are genuinely kind, and no one seems to give a rat’s ass about who I am or who I used to be. I’m sure pageants aren’t even on the radar here.
I take a bite of the cinnamon apple swirl and melt into my seat. I switch over to the chocolate croissant and practically moan. Both pastries are incredible, and also probably a thousand calories each.
The food in my mouth seems to turn to ash as I think about how fattening they are. It’s not like my mom is here to yell at me for eating them. It’s not like I need to do a swimsuit competition anytime soon. I force myself to take another bite, even as anxiety swirls in my stomach about my situation.
The life I want to have in Star Mountain won’t happen if I can’t defend myself against my parents’ legal attacks. It turns out that my parents set up an LLC for my social media business, and they’re suing me for a number of things, including failure to give notice, negligence, misuse of funds, and breach of contract. That last one almost makes me laugh, because I don’t rememberever signing a damn thing for them. I read a lot about Alabama employment law before I left and I don’t really think they have a case.
But that won’t stop them from burying me in legal fees. That won’t stop them from pursuing this to the bitter end. And even if I win this lawsuit, what’s to say they won’t mount another one?
