Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Sayla
“I’ll take one more of your delicious wines, please.”
My request comes out a little slushy, but the haze from the Chardonnay is just what I need right now.
And besides, I’ve only had two wines so far.
I think. I’m not usually a drinker, but it isn’t every night you have your dreams ripped out from under you.
Dreams the man you were starting to care about promised would come true.
“This one tastes so buttery,” I say, pointing to the empty glass in front of me. “Is it supposed to be buttery?”
The woman behind the bar stops wiping the sticky rings along the counter. She’s got her red hair wrangled in a bun and a diamond stud in her nose. “I’m not sure a third glass is a good idea.”
See? Three. I knew I could count.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “How many until I forget?”
“Forget what?” the bartender asks.
I splay my hands, triumphant. “Exactly.”
Too bad I still remember everything.
I remember sitting in Mr. Wilford’s office, thinking this can’t be happening.
I remember the look of shock on Dexter’s face.
I remember Mr. Wilford explaining himself before I fled his office.
He said both Dex and I had made strong arguments, which is why he’d been on the fence for so long.
That is until the activities director, Polly Warner, met with him to plead the case for the athletics department.
Apparently, Polly pushed hard for the gym renovation based on the fact that her department also uses that space.
For assemblies and pep rallies, plus fundraising events and other stuff like that. I guess she was convincing.
But I can be convincing, too.
So I pointed out that Polly could host all those same things in the theater once the building was redone. Which is when Mr. Wilford stopped me. He told me how impressed he was by all my hard work. Not just over the past month, but ever since I came to Stony Peak.
Yeah, right.
I sat there blinking back tears, hearing all about how the performing arts department is so deserving. But then he summarized everything with this little nugget: Dexter and his department “just need the funding more.”
According to Wilford, a school like Stony Peak can’t survive without its sports.
Their booster clubs and fundraisers and tickets and concession stands flat-out bring in more money than all our concerts and plays.
And to keep that influx of money going, the athletic department needs—wait for it—more money.
Pfft.
I kept waiting for Dexter to tell Mr. Wilford he’s transferring to Harvest High.
When he didn’t, I almost blurted the news out myself.
Now I’ll never know if Dex’s leaving would’ve swayed Mr. Wilford.
But I don’t want to win like that. And doing whatever it takes does not include betraying Dex’s confidence.
Instead, I let my entire department down.
Dexter chased me all the way to the parking lot, begging me to slow down so we could talk.
But I knew he couldn’t actually follow me.
He was already late to the JV football game.
And anyway, I wasn’t up to discussing my heartbreak with him.
Not after all my goals for the new theater just went up in smoke.
Poof.
He tried calling and texting to track me down, but even I had no idea where I was going.
So I drove around a while before I ended up here.
Tequila Mockingbird. It’s this bar downtown I’ve heard people talking about for years.
Until tonight, I’d never been inside. For a Friday evening, the room isn’t very crowded.
Then again, it’s still early. I’ll bet a lot of the town is at one of the football stadiums right now. Either Stony Peak or Harvest High.
Maybe they’ll end up here later.
For now, I like having the bartender all to myself. The lighting is moody. The music is … loud. When I got here, they were just starting up a trivia game at the other end of the room. After my first wine, I put my name down as a solo player for the next round. They should be ready for me soon.
Still, thinking about trivia makes me think of the retreat. And Dex. And how jealous he got over Hogan. Ugh. I press a palm to my temple. My head is starting to hurt.
But not nearly as much as my heart.
“I can hold my liquor,” I tell the bartender. “I mean, I think I can. I don’t really drink liquor. But don’t worry. I’ll get a ride share later. So go ahead. Hit me. Again.”
“This isn’t blackjack.” The bartender narrows her eyes, but she grabs the bottle from the rows behind her. She fills my wine glass barely halfway. Then she fills another very tall glass with water all the way to the top. “Drink this first.”
“You’re so pretty,” I say.
“Thank you.”
“What’s your name?”
“Madelyn.”
I suck in air, my cheeks puffing up like a blowfish. “I wish I was a Madelyn. But my mom named me Sayla. So dumb.”
“Sayla’s a great name. Really original.”
“Yeah, it’s so original, Bob thought my name was Sailor. Which it’s not.”
“Is Bob your boyfriend?”
“Ewww. No. Bob has a wife named Hildy, but they don’t want anyone else to find out they’re married. So don’t say anything. Please.”
“Deal.” Madelyn crosses her heart with a finger, and I study her features through my slightly blurred vision.
“You look like my best friend.”
“Really?”
“No,” I snicker. “But she has red hair like yours. Her name is Loren. But it’s spelled weird. We’re both a little weird. Which is one of the many, many reasons why I love her. And I don’t even need a list.”
“Right.” Madelyn pulls two beers from a fridge behind the bar and hands them over to a cocktail server. “So, where’s weird Loren tonight?” she asks. “How come she’s not with you?”
I blow a raspberry. “She’s at our house cooking a romantic dinner for her fiancé, Foster. Today’s the anniversary of their first date, and I don’t want to ruin their special night. Just because Dexter ruined mine.”
“Dexter Michaels?”
I cough out a laugh. “How did you guess that? You must be good at trivia.”
“Aren’t many guys in this town named Dexter.”
“There aren’t many guys in town like Dexter, period.” I press my lips together and fight the bile rising in my throat.
“Does weird Loren know you’re here, at least?”
“Nobody knows I’m here. Dexter’s at the football game. Loren’s having linguini. She says linguini is the most romantic of all the pastas. That made me laugh.” I let out a giggle. “Linguini,” I repeat.
“Have some water,” Madelyn says.
“Okay.” I take a long drink, and I only spill a little down the front of me. I’m just wiping my chin on the sleeve of my cardigan—my lucky cardigan, yeah right—when my phone starts ringing in my bag.
“Maybe it’s Dex again,” I blurt, my heart leaping in my chest. “I’ll bet he’s checking in to be sure I’m all right.
I wasn’t ready to talk to him before, but I’ve had a couple of wines now.
So maybe I will. Anyway, we need to have another ‘adult conversation,’ as they say.
” I put that last part in air quotes, then dig in my purse for my phone.
“He’s probably worried about me. You know, he got so worried about me at Camp Reboot, and I only went to the bathroom. ”
“What’s Camp Reboot?” Madelyn asks.
“Noooo,” I groan, when I see the contact.
“Not Dex?” Madelyn says.
“Nope.” I brace myself against the bar top. “Hey, Mom,” I say. “Sorry, but I can’t really talk to you right now. I’m busy with Madelyn. She’s my new friend at Tequila Mockingbird. Loren’s with Foster. And Bob is with Hildy, but don’t tell anyone they’re married, okay?”
“Sayla?” My mom sounds confused. She should know who she called.
“You don’t sound like yourself. Is something wrong?
” For once in her life, my mother isn’t launching into a story about herself.
Or crying about some problem in her life.
Or gushing happy news that’s just for her. “Baby. Have you been drinking?”
“Yes.” I sigh. “Just some wine. But like I told Madelyn, I can hold my liquor.” I hiccup. “At least I think I’m holding them. It’s kind of hard to tell.”
“How much have you had?” My mother is either feeling shy or she doesn’t want to change the subject from my wines. Either way, I’m done talking about me.
“Let’s talk about you, Mom. What’s going on? You must’ve called for a reason.”
“Well … Oh … I … Well.”
Getting her to talk about herself usually isn’t such a chore. “Spill it!”
“I just thought you should know that Eugene and I are back on.”
“Umm.” I blink. Blink. Blink. “Back on what?”
“Our wedding is back on.”
“Ahhhh. The wedding.” I shoot Madelyn a look and nod at her, even though she’s a new friend, so she doesn’t know my mom. Or Eugene. Or anything about their engagement that was called off but is back on again. I guess. “Why the change of heart?”
My mom stays quiet for a bit. Then she says, “Well, you see, after many long talks and lots of begging on his part, Eugene and I decided on a compromise that works for both of us.”
“Right. Compromise.” My throat goes dry, and there’s a twinge in my stomach.
Compromise is one of those words that’s making me queasy right now.
Along with collaborate. And cooperate. Sure, they sound good, until you’re the one doing all the compromising.
But at least my mom’s not calling to say she quit and she’s moving.
Again.
“Teamwork makes the dream work,” I say, but I’m not sure why. “Sometimes.”
“I couldn’t agree more, baby.” My mom’s tone is brightening, and despite everything else, this makes me glad. That’s always been my role with us. I’m the cheerer-upper. My mom’s the … down-in-the-dumper.
“Anyway, Eugene and I were hoping you’ll still be my maid of honor,” she says.
“Sure,” I say. Or maybe I slur it. “When’s the wedding now?”
“December 25th,” she says.
“Wait. Christmas?” I squint down at my Chardonnay to be sure I haven’t already finished my third drink. “How is keeping the original date a compromise?”
“Eugene is the one who compromised.”
“I’m not sure that’s how compromise works, Mom. If you got your whole way, that’s not really meeting in the middle.”
“Well.” She’s quiet for another stretch. “I thought you’d be happy for me, Sayla.”
“I am happy for you.” I arrange my face into a grim smile, even though she can’t see me. “I’m just sad for myself.”
“Sayla.” She clucks. “What happened, baby?”
“You don’t really care.”
“Of course I care,” she says. “You’re my daughter.”
An ache spreads through my body, and I can’t help wishing she were here with me. As messed up as we were, as much as her choices hurt, she’s still my mother. “Dexter happened.”
My eyes well up.
“I don’t know what that means. Did this Dexter person do something to you?”
“Yes.” I sniffle. “He gave me forehead kisses. And a scalp massage. And he put Band-Aids on my blisters. And he made me have … hope.” I end on a gulping sob.
“Aww. What were you hoping for, baby?”
I swallow against the lump in my throat.
“Everything,” I wail, and Madelyn drops a napkin dispenser in front of me.
Setting down my phone, I snatch some to swipe at my runny nose.
As I try to gather myself, Madelyn pushes the water glass over to me.
“You’re allowed to cry, you know,” she offers gently.
“Dex’s family chooses happiness,” I choke out. “They even have a sign.”
“I’m sure that works for some people, sometimes. Other times, the sad just chooses you. And you just have to go with it.” Madelyn eyes me patiently as I mop at my tear-soaked face.
“You’re so nice.”
“I’ve been working here a long time.” She hitches her shoulders. “I’ve pretty much heard it all. Seen a lot of tears.”
This is probably true, but blubbering is the exact opposite of what I came to Tequila Mockingbird to do. I came here to forget.
First things first—or fourth things fourth—I need to get rid of my mom.
The fact that she’s found her happily ever after only makes my heart hurt worse.
Not that I want her to be miserable. I just don’t want to be the only one who is.
I tried so hard to be different from her.
To make better choices. And I still ended up alone.
“Sayla? Baby?” she calls out.
I look down at my phone, still on the bar. “Yeah.”
“Are you there? I can't hear you.”
I pick the phone back up. “I’m here, but I’d better go now.
I’ve got my glass of wine to finish. And the next trivia game will start soon.
So I’ll be all right. Good old Sayla is back in the game.
Competing to win. Coming in second place, but that’s okay.
I’m used to being second. To everyone. All the time. ”
“Sayla.”
“Good luck with all the compromise, Mom,” I chirp. “I’m sure you and Eugene have a lot more cooperating and collaborating to get to.” I take a beat. “Wait. That sounded kind of dirty. Did that sound dirty? I didn’t mean it dirty.”
“Sayla.” She sounds stern now. “Hand the phone to the bartender now.”
I squint. “You want me to give my phone to Madelyn?”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“Because I’m your mother and I said so.”
“Fine.” I hold my phone out to Madelyn, scrunching up my nose in apology. “My mom wants to talk to you.”
Madelyn shakes her head, but she takes the phone anyway, then she turns away from me. So I lean forward over the bar trying to listen in on her conversation, and end up knocking over what’s left of my water.
“Sorry!”
Madelyn spins around and flashes me a look while I fumble for more napkins. I try to mop up the puddle, but water dribbles down both sides of the bar onto the floor.
“At least my Chardonnay survived.” I arrange the wet napkins in a pile and pick up my wine. I take a gulp. Then another. And another.
Madelyn frowns, and with her free hand, she takes my glass.
“Hey! That’s my wine!” I protest, then I almost slip off my stool.
“You’ll thank me later.” She steps away, scrolls through my contacts, and makes a call.