“I’m happy for you, Mom.” It pains me to say it, but after years of observing this cycle, I know that’s what she wants to hear.
“Well, I have to go, but you let me know when you can come visit, okay?”
“Okay, Mom. Good night.”
“Night, babe!”
Then she’s gone, off to whatever else has her attention lately. Sadly, it’s never been me. I swore to myself I’d never be like her, which is why I was so mad my ex kicked me out so easily. That whole situation felt entirely too much like Mom’s behavior.
Am I doing the same thing with Silas? I mean, I moved to Heaven with the intent on helping Nana and making a living, but here I am, already interested in a guy. We’re not dating, I’ve made that clear, but it sure looks like dating. Wasn’t I just thinking earlier today about how much I care for Silas?
Am I just like Mom, repeating the cycle over and over again, completely oblivious?
I throw my phone across the bed and squeeze my eyes shut.
For the first time since I got to Heaven, I feel alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Silas
“I’m fixin’to pick you up around seven,” I call to Betsy as she sweeps up her purse from behind the register and heads for the door.
“Sounds good.” She doesn’t even wave goodbye or give me a backward glance. The sound of the bell over the door ringing out as she leaves sounds like a death knell.
I stare after her, my gut churning. She’s been different all week. Quiet. Withdrawn. More like the pessimistic, perpetually grumpy woman I met when she first moved to Heaven. Sure, she’s gone through the motions, smiled at customers, given me lukewarm hugs and joked with me, but something under the surface is wrong. I can feel it. Like an iciness has taken root even with the summer temps soaring outside.
We’ve been busier than ever, working our tails off from the success of the Battle of the Boutiques. Women from out of town have flooded the boutique as their daughters and sons have arrived for the fall semester, buying game day outfits and things to wear for the Greek life events. Someone posted a video of ourchampagne-and-strawberries event that went viral. That helped drive traffic to Harp and Hemline too. If sales keep this same volume for the next few weeks, I’ll be able to pay Betsy the bonus I promised her and keep up with the mortgage long term.
It’s all going perfectly to plan.
So why do I feel like shit?
I close up the shop, lock the door, and head for home. The whole time I shower and get dressed in a navy-blue suit I bought two years ago from Deuce’s shop, my brain is swirling and my gut is forming knots. On Monday, I asked Betsy if she’d go to dinner with me this Friday. She said yes, but in a tone so somber I almost regretted asking. Add in her dark mood all week and I’m not sure this date is going to go well. I planned to tell her I love her and want to date her for real, but I’m nervous now that’ll send her running back to the West Coast.
Could her silence this week be due to all the hard work we’re putting in at the boutique? As her boss, I should give her a day off. Maybe only schedule her a few days a week. Or maybe I said something at Jasper Lake that pissed her off? Shit, maybe the sunburn she got made her body freak out. That would be on brand for Betsy to have an adverse reaction to sunshine.
I wish she’d just talk to me about whatever’s bothering her.
“Women are hard, Mama,” I say to our last family picture framed on the fireplace mantel as I scoop up my keys and head back out to my truck. I wish to high heaven she was still here to offer me some advice.
When I pull up to Nana’s house, I slide out of the truck with two bouquets. I knock on the front door and adjust my tie while I wait. God, I don’t know that I’ve ever been this nervous before on a date. Then again, I don’t think I cared as much about a woman as I do for Betsy Mae.
Nana answers, her sweet smile easing just a little bit of the nerves. “Hello, handsome! Come on in. Betsy’s almost ready.”
She opens the door further to let me in. I hand her the spring mix bouquet and watch her mouth open in surprise. Her eyes go misty behind her glasses before she buries her nose in the blooms. When she lifts her head, she holds her arm out for a hug. I sink into the embrace, wishing my grandma or mama were still around to give hugs too.
“Lawdamercy! Thank you, Silas.” She lets go and heads for the kitchen. I follow, still holding a bouquet of red roses. Nana finds a vase in a cabinet and gets the flowers arranged in it, still eyeing me with that sweet smile. “You look finer than a frog hair split four ways, Silas Winthrop.”
Well, that’s high praise indeed. I smooth a hand over my yellow tie. “Thank you. Figured Betsy was tired of seeing me in a polo every day.”
Nana winks. “She’ll take you any which way she can get you, let me tell ya.’”
That makes me feel better. I hear the click-clack of heels behind me. I spin around to see Betsy dressed in a pale yellow dress that cinches in at the waist. The top of the dress has a scalloped neckline and the hem falls just an inch above her knee. Her skin has a hint of color from the lake and her legs look longer in a pair of black high heels. She’s kept in all her piercings but her highlighted hair has been curled just like my sister wears her hair. A hint of spicy-sweet perfume adds a touch of femininity that looks damn good on her. She looks like an archangel and the devil had a baby, half sinner, half saint.
“You look…” I have to swallow hard to get the words out. “Breathtaking.” I hand her the flowers and lean in to kiss her cheek. She stiffens under my touch, but her hand reaches for me, gripping my bicep through the suit jacket.
“Thank you,” she whispers, pulling back to stare at the roses like she’s not sure what they are.
