Chapter Twenty-Four
Mila
Saturday morning, I wake up to a killer headache, two texts from Everett, and the sinking feeling I’ve done something regrettable. Groaning, I fall back onto my pillow, which feels like a cinder block beneath my pounding skull.
My brain slowly pries open the lid on consciousness, like a zombie pushing aside the cement slab on her burial vault. But the realizations that come with the light make me want to crawl right back inside the dark safety of slumber.
Did I really call Everett snuggle bear? Ask him to plow my fields? Mansplain friends with benefits to him?
I’m afraid the answer is check, check, check.
Beatrix hops up on the bed and meows.
“It’s bad, Bea. It’s real bad.” Discovering that I’ve slept in my jeans and blouse from last night, I undress, throw on some sweats, and follow the heavenly scent of coffee downstairs. In the living room, my mother and aunt are sitting on the couch sipping from steaming mugs.
My mother’s eyes widen when she sees me. “Good Lord, Mila. You look like something the cat dragged in.”
My aunt gives me a sympathetic smile. “Did you have fun?”
I nod. My brains rattle like marbles. “Yes. Too much fun.”
“How did you get home?” my mother demands. “I hope you didn’t drive.”
“I didn’t. Everett drove me.”
My mother purses her lips. “So where’s my car?”
“It’s here. He drove me home and walked back downtown.”
“That was nice of him,” Aunt Jackie says with a smile.
“I thought it was a girls’ night.” My mother’s tone is slightly accusatory.
“It was. But later, we went over to the pub, and some guys we knew were there.”
“Well, I’d say I hope you didn’t make a fool of yourself, but there’s a picture on The Landing Pad that makes it clear I’m too late.”
“Photo?” My God, could this actually get worse?
“Show her, Jackie.”
My aunt scrolls on her phone and hands it to me. “I think it’s cute.”
Bracing myself, I look at the picture with one eye open, holding the phone slightly away from myself, as if a little extra distance might help.
Community photo: [Alt text: Mila Ferguson wraps her arms around Mayor McKean’s waist from behind. She wears a goofy smile and her eyes are squeezed shut. The mayor looks back at Mila with a puzzled expression.]
Caption: Talk about sizzle! Mila and the mayor left together. Neither returned.
My hangover goes full nuclear as I examine Everett’s face in the photo. Whoever described his expression as “puzzled” was being generous. I would say he’s giving big FML vibes.
In short, it is not cute.
I hand the phone back to my aunt. “Well. That’s embarrassing.”
“Oh, what’s the point of being young if you don’t have a foolish night out every once in a while?” Aunt Jackie grins. “Coffee’s on, if you’d like some.”
“Thanks. I’m just going to take a quick shower first.” I leave the living room and head for the bathroom, but the scent of dark roast lures me into the kitchen. As I’m pouring myself a cup, I hear my mother’s voice.
“My God, she looks awful.”
“Oh, leave her be. She had a good time.”
I pause with the pot in the air. Clearly, they don’t realize I can still hear them.
“She’s been acting so strangely since her divorce.”
“Poor thing.” My aunt clucks her tongue. “Is she heartbroken?”
“Who knows? It’s not like she tells me anything.”
Because you’ll use it against me, Mom.
“And after all that money spent on a wedding,” my mother tuts.
My skin prickles with anger, tension stiffening my limbs.
“Didn’t they pay for it themselves?”
“Well, yes, but I planned the whole thing. And do you think either one of them ever thanked me?”
At this point, my skeleton feels like it’s been forged by Hart Iron Works.
Of course I thanked her. Countless times, even though she took over when I would have liked to make my own decisions. Even though she complained all night that everything was wrong. Even though she made my wedding about her from start to finish.
For fuck’s sake, she wore white.
Don’t be ridiculous, darling. It’s eggshell.
She’s still talking. “I mean, I didn’t expect it from him—what can you expect from a man?—but you’d think my own daughter, my flesh and blood, would be more grateful.”
“I’m sure she was.”
“I don’t know, Jackie. Something is wrong with that girl.
I try and try with her, but she doesn’t listen to me.
I could have told her not to marry that playboy.
You could see it in his eyes that he was a cheater.
But my daughter has a weakness when it comes to men.
She only goes for the ones who mistreat her—it’s as if she enjoys it!
And once she falls, she’s done for. I don’t know if she’ll ever get it right. ”
Five minutes later, with the water running so hot it scalds my skin, I let the tears come.