33-REAGAN
“You look quite delightful, my dearest,” Vincent says in his thickest cowboy accent. He removes his brown cowboy hat and steals one last kiss on my mom’s doorstep before we enter the chaos of friends and family.
He balances a plate of cookies in a hand, and I do the same, almost dropping them from his surprise kiss.
I tug at the hem of my short dress, and the ruffles bounce back up with ease.
“I can’t believe you got me to wear this.
” The corset to my saloon girl costume was cinched a smidgen too tight.
My toes were trying to weave through the fishnets in my boots.
But the outfit wouldn’t be complete without a choker and leg garter.
I even glued some playing cards to the inside of the garter to really get the Wild West look.
“You pull it off too well.” He responds, “If I get lucky, maybe I can pull it off later.” Vincent’s outfit isn’t far from what men normally wear.
A long button-up shirt with the sleeves bunched up, dark jeans, boots, and a hat.
He did add a brown vest, a kerchief around his neck, and a gun belt holding two cap guns.
“Possibly.” I step closer to the door. “Let’s get inside. Miles has already texted me twice, asking where I was. Although I’d believe he is more concerned about the food or Vincent than my arrival.”
Music is already slipping through the front door before I even open it. When I do, the lights are lowered, and he has a fog machine hissing in the corner of the living room. The tacky Halloween decorations we hung for past parties were in full attendance.
“Ugh, thank god you’re here.” Miles barely looks up as he is situating the food on the counter island, ensuring there’s enough room for me to add my treats.
His shirt is brown with words pinned to it.
I can make out family group chat, coming out, divorce, haircut at thirteen, daddy issues, and unsolicited dick pics.
“Miles. What are you supposed to be exactly?”
He paused to strike a pose, “Trauma dump!” He responded and continued back to work just as quickly.
With Vincent in tow, I weave around Miles to place the food on the counter. I noticed my mom was already outside with a few guests. The small fire on the patio gave them all a glow.
Relaxed just a little, Miles stops and faces us, really taking in our attire. “You two look stunning. Cute little Wild West theme going.”
“You think so?” I give a knowing look and remove the plastic wrap over the plates.
“There’s no questioning who belongs to who.” He smirks at Vincent. “Mom’s outside. She’s ready to meet her son-in-law’s replacement.”
His laugh is cut short as I throw an elbow into his side. “Shut up.” I wasn’t trying to replace Tate; I just didn’t think that Vincent deserved to be compared to who Tate turned into. He was an upgrade.
I tucked my phone and small purse onto the counter next to the fridge. “Are you ready to meet my mom? Then we can come back and mingle?”
Vincent grinned and continued his accent, “Whatever you’d like to do, miss.” He finished with a wink.
My lip pulled to the side, and I found his committed role play cute. “Let’s go.”
Trailing through the dining room and out to the back patio, my mother’s eyes glistened against the flames as they focused on me.
“Reagan.” She smiled and rose to her feet with an almost empty wine glass in her hand.
Mom was in a heather gray sweatsuit and white house slippers.
Her eyes darted from mine to Vincent, trying not to be obvious, but the alcohol wasn’t helping.
Her arms wrapped tightly around my back, and as she pulled away, she asked, “What are you guys supposed to be?”
“Uhm,” I glanced down at my outfit because it was obvious, “A saloon girl.”
The silver glitter on Mom’s eyelids flashed as her eyes were on my costume. “Oh, I see it now.” She tossed back the rest of her wine.
“What are you supposed to be?”
Arms stretched wide, she beamed, “I am the moon.”
It all clicked together. Her friends dressed as a traditional pointy-hat witch and another as a cat. “How fitting,” I wasn’t going to get into the details and smiled, “Mom, this is Vincent.” My shoulders shifted to him, turning him into the focus.
“Vincent,” She goes for a hug, “It’s very nice to meet you.” I hear my mother kiss his cheek and brush it off.
“It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am.” He turns the charm on as they break apart.
“Oh, no.” Mom waves her hand. “Call me Flora.”
“Flora,” He stretches out a hand, “Can I top off your drink?”
My mother blushes up at him, and I can hardly believe what I am seeing as she releases her glass to him. “I can’t say no. The night is just getting started.”
His eyes are fixed on mine. “Do you want anything?”
“Sure. I’ll have a small glass.”
He drops a nod and steps back towards the house. The witch’s and cat’s gaze follows Vincent back inside, and the small fire between us lets out a pop.
“Reagan,” Mom’s voice is hushed, “I approve. My God.” Her hand finds her necklace, the charm of a crescent moon, and she doesn’t give me a moment to speak. “The way he looks at you and moves next to you, it’s like he’s gliding.”
“He’s not gliding.” I feel my face tense up.
“Come,” She grabs my forearm. “Meet some of the girls.” Mom drags me back to where I found her. “Josie, Sheila—this is my daughter, Reagan. Her boyfriend is Vincent. He went to get us drinks.”
I ignore the comment because we are not official yet, but it does sound nice. Peering through the dining room window, I see Vincent helping Miles fix some decoration that had enjoyed its last party and was well past retirement.
“Oh, I thought that was Tate.” The cat hides behind her cup. “I’m glad I didn’t say anything until you told me who he was.”
My mother had told her friends far too much about me.
I search for Vincent again, and he’s not hard to find with his hat on.
I roll my eyes as I see Bailey, a girl Miles’ age, who grew up down the street from us, smiling up at him.
She is in some cheap last-minute bee costume, and Vincent looks like he’s desperate to get away. Miles is nowhere to be found.
“Excuse me.” I step back and head his way.
I’m not doing this because I’m annoyed by this or jealous.
I rush to Vincent because I can see he is looking for an out but is being too kind to say anything.
I don’t blame him. For all he knows, she could be my cousin or a good friend and doesn’t want to be rude.
The house was filling out, and Vincent was washed over with relief that I was moving straight for him. Bailey took a moment longer to recognize me.
“Hey babe, did you get lost?” I tease him like I don’t notice her trying to move in on my date. I let out a quick laugh and continue, knowing he doesn’t need to answer. “Bailey, how are you?”
“Good. I didn’t know you would be here. You’re looking good.” Her tone makes me think there is some jab mixed in there, and I can’t find it. Maybe it’s the tone itself.
“Thank you. Pilates.” I look up at Vincent and ask, “Care to join me outside?”
He pointed with a glass. “After you.”
Mom was still distanced from her friends but talking to them over the fire pit. “Hey.” I caught her attention, “Got you a top off.”
“Thank you.” The rim pushes against her lips for a moment. “So I heard you ran off this last weekend.”
My arm drops across my chest as I take a small sip. “Yeah. Tate was making me uncomfortable, and I didn’t feel safe at home. So Vincent took me to his family’s ranch.”
“That was very nice of you.” Her gaze lasts longer than normal, and he smirks at her.
“It was the least I could do. I really just want her to feel safe. Reagan’s been through a lot and deserves it.”
“She does. Tate’s being a little shit. I wish he would just sign the papers and move on.”
“Yeah, I get that. If I could help, I would. But that’s out of my hands.”
“From the look of his mugshot, it looks like you could do something about it, but I don’t want you to have to get in trouble again.”
“Eh, nothing that can’t get expunged from my record.”
“Well, from what I’ve heard and what I see, I like you for Reagan.” She continued like I wasn’t right here.
“Oh, I think she is far too good for me. I’d be lucky to end up with her.”
“Reagan, you need to get that divorce finalized.”
“I’m going to step inside for a minute, Mom. Keep your hands to yourself.”
The chatter of Miles’ friends and a couple of cousins was fighting the volume of the music.
I tossed up my hand, giving them a wave, and made my way to my phone without thinking about it.
The base of my goblet dropped to the counter, and I pushed my thumb to the screen.
A text notification burned into the top of my phone screen.
Before the notification bar hit the bottom, I rolled my eyes. Tate. He gives me just enough time to relax and then shows up again. Always at an inconvenient time.
Tate: Happy Halloween. Are you at home passing candy out? Can I stop by? I’m sober.
Reagan: No. I’m not home.
I left my phone lit up next to the fridge and grabbed a plate.
Tate was going to respond, and I wanted to defuse the conversation as quickly as possible.
Looking over the food, I added a few veggies, a couple of grapes, and a cookie to my plate.
I propped myself against the counter and pushed a carrot into my mouth.
Tate: Oh. Are you at your Mom’s then?
I knew he was going to push the boundaries of the restraining order.
He doesn’t care and is going to try to sweet-talk me like before.
What do I say to this? Yes, but I’m about to leave?
Leave where? No, I’m at a friend’s? He knows my friends.
I could leave him on read. Maybe leaving him on read for the hundredth time, he would get the hint because getting a restraining order against him hasn’t.
I adjusted my sleeves that hung down my shoulders and finished the grapes. Without closing the screen, another text came through.