“Jo, really, we’re in our thirties; do I really need to educate you on BDE? And stop derailing the focus of this discussion.”
Yeah, she’s on fire today.
“You’re unhinged, you realize that, right?” Jo says as she rounds the pile of clothes and shoes.
“I’m very self-aware,” Stevie answers, turning her attention to me and rolling off the bed to get closer to where I’m standing and enjoying my cake. “Wynnie, I will take you off the schedule if you tell me. I need to know what the hell went on with you and Julian.”
The reality is, I’m going to talk to my sisters about all of it, regardless.
Jo sucks in an audible breath that has Stevie and me turning to look at what she’s pulled out of the bag. Holding up a vintagepair of Jimmy Choos that I thought had been lost, she says, “YOU had them this whole time! You sneaky slutbag.”
Stevie cackles, and then sticks out her tongue. “I’m older than you, which means I get dibs on the good ones.” She glances at me. “I want the Manolos and Tecovas.”
Jo buckles the straps of the black pumps and kicks her legs up high before she stands. Walking over to the full-length mirror in my bedroom space, she admires them. They really are the sexiest heels I’ve ever seen. In the reflection, Jo looks at me.
“I don’t know who you are.” She points my way. “The whole professor vibe is a flex. I mean, you’re a badass for basically telling Mom to shove it after she called you stupid your senior year in high school. But having an obvious fling with a semi-famous artist feels like a whole new level of badassery I don’t think we’ve accounted for.” She winks at me in the reflection of the mirror and adds, “You, more than anyone, deserve blips of good and happiness, Wyn. And maybe that’s with a sexy jeweler...”
I cross my arms over my chest, shoving down the emotion that surfaces at hearing her say that. I want that too. And there’s a part of me that wants to be behind that bar with them—it’s not who I was, but maybe that doesn’t matter.
“Oh, I’m almost certain that Wyn has an entirely different side that we’ve never had the pleasure of seeing before,” Stevie says, moving over toward my wardrobe. When I look over at Stevie again, she’s pulling out a pair of jean cutoffs and chucks them on my bed, followed by a pair of Louboutin booties I thought I’d never see again.
My jaw drops. “You had the booties too?!” I shout at her.
She shrugs her shoulders, then gets back to it. “Where do you think they met?” she asks Jo.
I send her an exasperated look, eyebrows raising. “Remember when you wanted me to call you out for being a dick?”
Stevie throws up her middle finger and pretends to uncap it as if it’s a lipstick container, drawing her middle finger around her lips, and then pretending to put the cap back on when she’s done.
When Jo barks out a laugh, I point at her. “You too.”
Her mouth snaps shut, just as Stevie whines, “I’ll tell you what I’ve been hiding if you give us even the tiniest detail.”
“What else have you been hiding?” I ask point-blank.
“You first,” she says.
I cut her off right there. “Fine. Julian and I fooled around in a bar bathroom in Montana, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.”
They both stop what they’re doing and look at each other, speechless. The truth is, this isn’t the life I left. My sisters and I weren’t close. Not like this. We had our childhood together, growing up in the same house, and living with our mom and Birdie was something we shared. It shaped us differently. Three and a half years ago, I barely made it to family dinners, never mind late-afternoon schmoozing and shoe swaps. It’s been seven months since I wandered back here, and I promised myself long before that, if I ever saw them again, I would make our time together count. Maybe that means leaning into the things I want instead of trying to fit a mold that I’ve long since outgrown.
They both haven’t said anything. “You’ve seen him,” I say, blowing out an exaggerated breath. “How am I not supposed to have fantasies about him? I mean, have you seen his hands?!”
Both slack-jawed, they instantly start laughing in agreement.
“I fucking knew it.” Stevie carries on cackling. Her demeanor changes seconds later, though, from sheer excitement tosomething far more dangerous, like one of her brilliant ideas is brewing.
I flap my fingers forward at Jo. “You two can fight over the Choos. Give me the boots. I'll pour drinks tonight, but from behind the bar, not on top of it.”
They both look at each other again like I’ve just shared the world’s most incredible news. This time, I’m the one chuckling. To be fair, they’ve been trying to get me back behind the bar since I quit very aggressively the week before I submitted for graduate school.
“Now, start talking, Stevie. What have you been hiding?” I prod.
“Okay, maybe hiding was overselling it, but I did see your guy when I dropped off Nash at The Rackhouse. It’s like a boys’ club over there with Jameson staying too.” She opens the refrigerator, looking for something. Pulling out a jar of olives, she opens it and plops one in her mouth. “He totally slipped about another missing person case.”
My stomach sinks at hearing it, and it has me wondering if it’s connected to what I stumbled into at the bar the other night.
Stevie adds, “There are so many, and not a single lead. I could dedicate an entire podcast season just to missing persons in our county alone. Like, what the hell is in the water here?”
