36. Invitations
CELESTE
“Oh my god,”I grumbled, stirring a packet of Splenda into my fifth cup of coffee. “Why didn’t I think about the morning after?”
Maggie grinned over the rim of her own mug. “Because you don’t have enough experience going out.”
We were at The Comfy Cushion, and for once I was grateful for the lack of customers. I could barely make my legs function let alone serve a dining room full of people. Desiree had pursed her lips with a fierce glare when she arrived to pick Iris up for all her dance stuff in Savannah, but then glanced at Maggie in a way that let me know we would speak about everything later when we didn’t have an audience.
Marla came around from the kitchen carrying three plates of eggs, toast, and bacon. On an ordinary day it would smell divine, but right now, the very thought of food was enough to turn my stomach.
“So tell me about this party,” Marla began. “Was it hopping?”
Maggie snorted out a laugh. It had been nearly three in the morning by the time we made it back to River’s Run, crashing in Marla’s spare bedroom like girls at a sleepover. Had Iris not woken me up a couple hours later, the restaurant wouldn’t even be open right now.
“It was…fun,” I hedged. It had been fun, and thrilling, and wild…all things that were long gone from my vocabulary. Yet it felt strange conveying any of it to the two of them. Maggie had already peppered me with questions on the way back to River’s Run, but I managed to dodge them all. It was hard to believe last night had really happened. That was the part of the story everyone missed out on; how did Cinderella really feel when she woke up the next morning and realized it had all been the equivalent of a fever dream?
“Celeste had way more than just regular fun, wouldn’t you say, Cee?” Maggie prompted me. The twinkle in her eye promised mischief that I couldn’t escape. “You were just about to tell me about your mystery man, after all.”
Busted.
Marla blinked at me in surprise. “Mystery man? Did you meet a fella?”
I rolled my eyes at her old fashioned expression, then pushed the food around on my plate to buy myself some time. “Not exactly,” I finally replied.
Now Maggie was laughing in earnest. “Disappearing with a guy for a couple hours doesn’t count as meeting someone?”
With the right force, even an old butter knife could break the skin. Why was Maggie outing me like this?!
“I never asked his name,” I admitted.
Both of the women hollered, though Maggie’s was more with glee while Marla was clearly in shock. Her mouth hung open as she gaped at me.
“Celeste Renee Hendricks, did you have a one night stand?” Marla gasped.
Sighing, I turned back to the coffee pot to refill my mug. Nothing could have prepared me for this conversation, and I didn’t know how to continue because I remembered so little of it. For being such a lightweight, I sure pounded back drinks last night like I had the liver of a Marine.
The stranger in the white mask, though, stood out to me clear as day. What I couldn’t understand was why he reminded me so much of Wesley when the elevator doors closed. Maybe it was just triggering memories because Wes was the only other person I had ever slept with. Maybe I was simply wishing it had been him, because let’s face it, if I had to choose a partner, he was the only one I would have wanted. And yet, I did want someone else last night. Someone with dark hair and a gravelly voice who whispered sweet nothings in my ear.
I involuntarily shuddered.
“What’s done is done, so there’s no use harping on it,” I decreed.
Maggie shook her head. “No, ma’am, that is not how this is gonna work. I need details. What happened? You disappeared into the VIP area with him and then scampered back in different clothes later.”
This time Marla definitely gasped as she gaped at me.
Yeah, there was no version of this story that wasn’t gonna make me out to be the harlot Desiree used to accuse me of being. “We agreed not to exchange names. We were both pretty wasted and things just…happened.” It was a lame excuse, certainly not a story I would have ever accepted from Iris if the roles were reversed, but I didn’t know what to say.
Marla smiled softly. “You know, your mama and I used to go down to the docks in Savannah and get wild.” Her eyes were lost in another time and place. “She was so much fun. Never feared anybody. You couldn’t have scared her off with a shotgun pointed at her chest! Rachel used to think the stories were what made it worth it. ‘I’m too young for regrets,’ is what she’d tell me.”
I smiled. That definitely sounded like something Mama would say.
“So you don’t know anything about him?” pressed Maggie. “You can’t find him or see him again?”
Shrugging, I replied, “It’s not like I want to, Mags. He isn’t—” I cut myself off, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek until I tasted the bitter tang of blood.
“He isn’t Wesley,” she finished for me. “Honey, you don’t have to cut him out of your life. You chose to do that without giving him a chance to explain.”
We had been over this so many times that I felt like a broken record. “He’s had ten years’ worth of chances that he didn’t take. He left me, Maggie, right when I needed him most. It’s as simple as that.”
Marla’s eyes darted between the two of us, and she hesitated before saying her piece. “Celeste, I love you as if you were my own flesh and blood. But I was also here to see how that boy loved you. I’m willing to bet there’s a darn good reason why he didn’t come back for you.”
Tears sprung up unwittingly, making me briskly swipe my cheeks. “Guess we’ll never know, will we?” I countered.
Thankfully one of the guys from the mechanic’s shop stepped inside, the bell twinkling through the restaurant. He greeted me with a request for coffee before settling into his favorite booth.
Work was the distraction I always needed. Neither one of them was going to let me off the hook any time soon, and none of the answers I had to give them would satisfy them anyway. The truth was I had no idea why I acted so recklessly last night, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. All I wanted was the time and space to figure out why that man reminded me so much of Wes. Memories were hazy at best, and it wasn’t like the lights were on or anything that could have made his features stand out. He had dark hair while I was fairly certain Wesley still sported light blonde locks, although it had been a while since I scoured the internet for his modeling shots. It was too painful seeing all the tall, thin models and celebrities he was rumored to be dating.
And yet, for the rest of the day, Wesley was all I could think about. I saw him in the face of everyone who walked by The Comfy Cushion. His megawatt smile beamed up at me from every table I greeted. Even picking up orders from Jesse in the window reminded me of the food Wesley used to make as he poured over my mama’s recipe book like a fiend.
He was definitely present in my daughter’s face when she burst inside late in the evening and triumphantly waved a flyer over her head.
“Mama, I was invited! I was invited!”
I smiled at her eagerness, despite being clueless to what she celebrated. “Invited to what, honey?”
Desiree and Hillary swept in behind her. My stepmother cast a long, calculating look around the empty dining room. It instantly sent me on high alert because nothing good had ever followed a look like that.
“Iris was invited to audition for the Boston Ballet School,” Hillary explained. She gripped my daughter’s shoulders in a possessive way that made me grit my teeth.
Desiree smiled. “And she’s going to get it because she is the very best!” Both of them smiled down at Iris, who grinned at their praise.
My heart sank, however.
“That sounds expensive…” I hesitated. It was a war between wanting to encourage Iris’ dreams while also being realistic about our financial situation.
My stepmother snorted in derision. “Yes, I can see why that would be concerning since you still haven’t managed to get more business. This place is turning into a dump!” She waved her arms around, gesturing to the empty tables. Every worn surface, every torn cushion, all the cracks and divots stood out like sore thumbs. She was right. It was turning into a dump.
Hillary let out a dramatic sigh. “What would poor Doug say if he were still alive?” She shook her head sadly. “He worked so hard to make this place a success and it’s gone downhill so fast.”
Shame burned a hole straight through my chest. Daddy must have been rolling in his grave to see how I let things go. No matter what I did, I never worked hard enough to make a difference. It was all my fault.
“He certainly never took a night off to go drinking in Savannah,” commented Desiree with a seething look in my direction.
Iris watched their commentary volleyed to me with wide eyes. Her good news was shadowed by my failure, and I was crushed to ruin this moment for her. I needed to redirect the focus back on her.
“So tell me about this audition!” I gushed.
That was all the prompting she needed to launch into an excited tale of the Boston Ballet School’s prestigious history, how her dance instructor had filled out the nomination form, and how she wanted to attend more than anything in the world. It was quite an honor, I gathered, for Iris to be invited to audition at such a young age. The school had direct ties to the Boston Ballet Company, which was considered one of the top ballet companies in the United States. Iris would be given opportunities to participate in the Company’s shows by attending Boston Ballet School.
Keeping a mental accountant’s ledger running, the zeroes just grew and grew the more she talked. There was no way I could afford something like that even if the restaurant had been steady. We were already too far behind on all the bills as it was.
Hillary procured a pink bag that I recognized from one of the ballet boutiques in downtown Savannah. All of their merchandise tended to be on the costly end of the spectrum. It was nothing any of us should have been able to afford.
“And because we want to wish you luck, Gigi and I got you this!” chorused Hillary, holding out the bag with a flourish.
Iris squealed. Inside were two new leotards, one a soft sage green and the other a pale shade of lavender, a floral chiffon skirt to match, and two sets of knitted leg warmers of the same colors. As she withdrew the final item from the bag, the receipt fluttered out onto the floor. I picked it up only to grip the counter for support. The total read $468.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” I whispered hastily to my stepmother.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but she stepped far enough away that I could continue to whisper without Iris overhearing.
“Desiree, how did you get the money to pay for this?” I held the receipt up to her face as proof. “This is too much!”
One fake eyebrow arched and served as my only warning. “Excuse me,” she hissed, “but how I spend my money on my daughter is none of your business!” The emphasis on Iris being hers was intentional—my second warning. She could take my daughter away in the blink of an eye because Iris belonged to her.
Like always, I deflated. Iris was the ultimate weapon and Desiree could rule me with an iron fist if she so chose. Nothing was worth putting her in jeopardy.
My stepmother sneered at me. “Don’t you ever question me like that again. I could have you out on the street with the snap of my fingers.” Her face leered at me in disgust before returning to Iris to preen over her new dance attire.
Hyperventilating wasn’t going to get me anywhere, but it was hard to keep the panic at bay. While we never got along, Desiree had never outright threatened me like that before. She had to be furious with me over going out last night. Any time I exercised any kind of freedom or independence, she tended to lash out. Though it was never this severe.
Instead of freaking out, I did what any other mother would do. I plastered a smile on my face, blinked away the tears, and returned to my kid. Iris only needed to see how proud I was of her accomplishment.