“And what did your son think about all of this?”
I took a deep breath, feeling like a spider trapped under a glass. “He was embarrassed—and rightly so—but he made the GIF of me saying ‘whatever’ and made one of the early chicken salad memes. I’m so proud of the young man he’s become. I’m really sorry about that early embarrassment, but if my video helps anyone else going through the same thing to feel better, then that’s okay.”
“Any more tipsy videos in your future?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said. It was hard to catch my breath, because I hadn’t anticipated feeling like an ant under a microscope. “I do want to make sure people know that I don’t encourage that level of drinking on a regular basis. I really don’t.”
Alavita chuckled. “I’d guess not. But isn’t your credo, ‘Sometimes you deserve a glass of wine. Or a badge. Or a badge and a glass of wine’?”
Well, when she put it that way. “Uh, yes, but it’soneglass.”
“All things in moderation, am I right?” Alavita said with a wink. “Now, let’s take a brief look at your husband’s response.”
My eyes went wide, and I looked at Abi, who appeared to be frozen. Alavita hadn’t warned me about this ... but there was Mitch on the studio monitor, sloppy drunk and shirtless with a farmer’s tan. There he was telling the world he’d started a GoFundMe to raise money for his divorce attorney. At least Alavita cut off the video before anyone could get the information to donate to his account.
I couldn’t school the shock from my features before the camera came back to me.
“Vivian, is there anything you’d like to say to your husband right now?” asked Alavita.
Think of Dylan, think of Dylan, think of Dylan.
I forced my lips into a smile. “He’s certainly made his point about not airing our dirty laundry in public. You’ll notice that I haven’t mentioned him once after my first video, and I would appreciate it if he would extend me the same courtesy.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Alavita said. But I had the feeling she’d been hoping for something more inflammatory.
She continued, “Well, that’s all the time we have for today. I’m hoping that women everywhere will step out of their comfort zones and teach themselves some of these things that we either don’t know how to do or are afraid to do. Any last words of wisdom for your fellow Mom Scouts?”
“Ah, sure. I guess, I’d like to say you deserve rewards for the little things you do. Help one another, and don’t be so rough on yourselves.”
“And could we get the recipe for your chicken salad? I hear it’s ah-mazing.”
I smiled broadly this time. “I’ll absolutely send it to you.”
I could tell the camera was trained on her and only her as she said, “You heard it here first! We’ll have Vivian Quackenbush’s ah-mazing chicken salad recipe later this afternoon on the blog. Thanks for joining us onRise and Shine Atlanta, and I hope your day is just as great as your morning!”
I could tell the minute the show was no longer live, because the smile on Alavita’s face melted right off. I wanted to ask what those questions were all about, but I didn’t dare.
Alavita made all the right comments about thanking us and inviting us back and thanking Abi for being a fan, but I could tell she was done with us. We hadn’t given her quite the show she wanted. The last thing she said was, “Remember to send me that chicken salad recipe.”
As she walked away, a person with a headset congratulated her for thinking to ask for it. I was kinda surprised that she had been the first. Of course, much as I had when Sal hung around looking for a tip, I couldn’t help but feel as though I’d been taken advantage of.
To make matters worse, Abi still looked like a deer in the headlights.
I waited until we were safely inside the car with the windows rolled up. “Abi, what is your deal?”
“Nothing. I have no deal.”
Oh, Abi had a deal. Her pancake makeup looked ridiculous, and she’d quit tapping her foot. But she had a deal. Several people had stopped me on their way out of the studio to tell me I was a broadcasting natural. Those same people studiously avoided making eye contact with Abi.
“Abi—”
“Just please take me home.” She clutched her autograph book to her chest.
We drove the distance from the station to Heritage Park in silence. The sun rose as we drove, but neither of us said anything. The minute I turned onto Oregon Trail, Abi sagged with relief. I didn’t even bother parking in my driveway; I went straight to Abi’s.
She bolted from the car and almost ran into the house.
I followed her at some distance, watching as she walked around checking windows and doors, stopping to scratch the spot between the floppy ears of her beagle Barney. She ran upstairs, where I could hear doors opening and closing. Finally, she came downstairs and brushed past me as if nothing weird in the least had happened. “Tea?”
