“I’m fine, Missy,” she says, with an emphasis onfine.
“Mama,” I say sternly.
Mama sighs, likely remembering that I got my stubbornness from her. This phone call isn’t going to end until I get the truth. “Shawn’s found himself another woman. He’s just going through a little crisis. I haven’t been keeping up my physique is all, but he’ll be back soon as I get myself together … Well, good luck on your show.”
I flinch, having a sudden flashback to all the times she’d speak like this about herself when I was growing up. How she’d tie her worth to meaningless ideas and opinions and men.
“Mama,” I say in my most firmly loving tone. “If he doesn’t like you for who you are now, then he doesn’t deserve you. You are my mama. You are brave, smart, funny, and beautiful. One day, you’ll find someone who loves you for who you are.”
She laughs sardonically. “Oh, Missy, if only we could all be as optimistic as you.”
The words are meant as a compliment, but the tone is an insult.
Mama sighs again. “Don’t you worry about me.”
“I’ve just been called out, Josie.” I hear Deputy Rollins’s distant voice as he addresses Mama. “Fire on Peach Street. If you wait here, I can drive you back home in the next hour or two. There’s water and snacks in the break room if you want them.”
“Thanks, Deputy,” Mama says.
An hour or two?I put Mama on speaker and open the Uber app. Mama has no car and likely has less money in her bank account than I do, which is saying something. For a moment, I wonder how she got all the way across town from the trailer park to the park by the station, but it was likely one of her “friends”from the Corner Mart where she worked that took her there, only to leave her drunk as a skunk on a bench. Her friends aren’t exactly what I’d call saintlike.
“Mama, I’m sending you an Uber.”
“No, Missy. Don’t do that. I’m fine here,” she protests.
“It could be hours.”
“I’m capable of waiting.”
“Too late. It’s on its way.”
Mama lets out a frustrated breath. “Fine. Goodbye, Missy.” And just like that, the phone disconnects, leaving me as speechless as the day she’d told me that I’d be leaving to live with my aunt and uncle in Colorado, and I wouldn’t be returning to live with her.
I don’t know why, after eleven years of her abrupt dismissal of me, I am still surprised when she does that—hanging up the phone or refusing to let me inside her mobile home when I visit. Maybe because it still stings.
I close my eyes and try to push away the nausea roiling inside me, the way it always does after being so thoroughly rejected by her. Then, to save myself the emotional pain, I swiftly force my thoughts down a different path and find myself looking at my phone, opening the app to my checking account. I immediately note that the number of dollars before the decimal is down to double digits. The Uber was more costly than I expected. No wonder the bank wouldn’t give me a loan.
I think of The Red Curtain, Izzy, Mama, and the dream that could be. I sigh and rest my head against the cool cement wall. “Missy Jones, what are you going to do if this doesn’t work out?”
“Missy, it’s group-picture time,” Mrs. Delgado says, surprising me in the alcove. Her tiny frame strides toward me as pure delight dances in her eyes. “I’ve got everyone set up for the picture already. All you have to do is squeeze on in the center right next to Colton.”
Gee.
“How wonderful.”
Chapter 4
COLTON
After a rather uncomfortable photo session with Mrs. Delgado—where Mrs. Delgado spent most of the time instructing me and Missy to get closer and closer until we were practically wrapped around each other’s torsos—we finally break apart.
Soon after, our friends and family send us off with a raucous round of cheers. Despite the fact that I’m used to being in the spotlight, I fidget under this display of heartfelt love. Not just because our little community of Pine Lakes is drawing a lot of attention to us, but it’s made infinitely worse by the fact that Missy and I are hardcore twinning in our matchingSunsets and Sabotagegetup.
I’m reminded of the countless family photos my mom made me and my brother take while we were dressed to the nines in matching slacks and ties. The feeling still haunts me, triggering my skin to crawl with how matchy-matchy Missy and I are.
I briefly glance around at the attendants at the ticket counter, the people descending the escalators, the line at security. Everyone’s watching us as if Missy and I are moments away from busting out some tap shoes and giving them a song and dance performance that they won’t soon forget.
Jordan and Miles give extra loud catcalls, being purposefully obnoxious. I take that as a sign and turn toward Missy. “It’s go time.”
