Chapter Ten
J essa ate like she’d never had pimiento cheese before and just discovered that she liked it better than chocolate cake. She followed it up with an enormous salad and two refills of sweet tea. Brooke had barely eaten half of a fried green tomato with bacon jam.
“I hate Libby Trotter,” Brooke said. “I’ll never understand why people can’t just mind their own business. You do you, and I’ll do me. I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me. Simple.”
“I used to think she was like a vampire, that she smelled her victims,” Jessa said. “But she’s older now. She’s not so bad.”
“Hold up. You think she sniffed me out?” Brooke sat straight up, offended. “Why? Why me?”
“It’s just that she knew you would never sink to her level, so she could get away with it.”
“Well, you wouldn’t sink to her level either. So, why didn’t she bully you?” Brooke put down her fork with a thunk . “Don’t say that you smell better. I know the real answer.” Gates’s words were still very much at the top of her mind. “I’m nice and you’re sweet.”
“Aren’t those the same thing?” Jessa took a large swig of tea.
“Not according to Gates, so I looked it up. Nice is on purpose. It’s a choice. But you never know what’s hiding underneath it—the meanest person in the world can pretend to be nice. Sweet is just the way a person is. Like, they were born that way. What do people call it?” She felt a surge of envy as the words came out of her mouth. “A sweet disposition.” Jessa had to know that Brooke was talking about her. Or, more importantly, that Gates had been talking about her.
“Isn’t it the other way around?” Jessa asked. “Nice has an edge, so bullies stay away. Sweet is like a punching bag just hanging out and minding its own business until someone comes along and jabs it.” Jessa even argued sweetly.
“No, nice gets punched. Sweet gets left alone because the bully would actually feel like a bully if they hurt her.”
“So, you’re saying bullies don’t want to feel like bullies?” Jessa looked calm and serene even though she clearly disagreed. “I think they absolutely do.”
“Some might. But I don’t think Libby does. I don’t think she has any idea how terrible she is.”
“You might be right.”
Brooke felt irritable and grouchy, but she had to keep it from her face in case Nate looked over. So, she forced the corners of her mouth to stay tilted up and tried to relax her shoulders as she put a forkful of bleu-cheese-covered lettuce in her mouth. She could be sweeter than molasses if she wanted to. Heck, she could freaking kill Gates Lancaster or Libby Trotter or Nate’s beautiful brunette date with sweetness if she chose to.
“Brooke, stop thinking about it,” Jessa said.
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
“Because your face looks weird.”
“I hate Libby Trotter,” Brooke repeated, doing her best to keep a smile. “I mean, I know I shouldn’t hate anyone, so whatever is bigger than the strongest dislike, that’s how I feel.”
Jessa whispered, “Because you think you would be with Nathan right now if Libby hadn’t done what she did?”
Brooke cut her eyes toward the couple in the corner, then leaned in and nodded. “Yes.” Then, “Can we go now?”
“You are in no state of mind to go home right now,” Jessa said, waving to their server for the bill. “Let’s do some shopping.”
It only took five minutes for the bill to arrive, but it might as well have been five years with the way Brooke was thrown back into every feeling she’d ever had for Nate Daugherty. She’d always known that he would be the best kind of boyfriend, or husband if that was the case. He was smart, he was a protector, and apparently, he was a provider too. “Do you see a ring on his hand?” She mouthed the words, barely making a sound.
“I can only see his right hand.”
Brooke’s legs were shaky when they stood and waved goodbye to Nate and his date. When his date waved at them, too, Brooke couldn’t help but feel deflated. The woman had that smile on her face—the one that declared they weren’t competition at all and never would be.
Brooke was quiet as she walked down the bustling Charleston street with Jessa. It was going to take some effort, but if she was going to use this transition period to become who she always wanted to be, that meant genuinely wishing other women well. Even the pretty ones. Whoever that girl was, she wasn’t out to get Brooke—she had simply walked into a restaurant with a guy Brooke happened to have complicated feelings toward. No one had the power to take away from her what she once had at camp with Nate. They had shared innocence together and firsts. That could never be stolen.
“The older I get, the more I understand clichés,” Brooke said to Jessa. “Don’t dwell on the past. Leave the past in the past. Look to the future.” There were more, she just couldn’t think of them. “I was Nate’s past, and that girl in there is his future.” She forced herself to add, “I’m happy for them.”
“Me too.” Jessa said it easily. She truly was happy for them, and Brooke was just saying the words, hoping that the feeling would follow. That seriously irked her. “Can you ever be mean, Jess? Can you ever just not like someone?”
“You’ve seen me with Tulip,” she said, chuckling.
“Little sisters don’t count.”
“I should’ve warned you about this sooner, but don’t let her hear you call her Tulip.” They took a left onto King Street and kept walking. “It’s Tootie now, and if you try to call her Tulip, you will have to suffer through a very long speech about how she is old enough to choose a nickname.” They took stock of nearby shopping options. “Clothes, jewelry? What are we looking for?”
“Something cute and cheap,” Brooke said. “I’m thinking earrings.”
“That one?” Jessa pointed to a boutique across the street, and they simultaneously looked both ways before crossing. “So anyway, Tootie believes that if her father knew that she existed, he never would have allowed his daughter to be named after a flower that hangs its head when it wilts. She’s no head hanger.” They walked into the air-conditioned store, and Jessa whispered, “Why she’d choose a fart over a flower, I have no idea. But I like it.”
“She’s still obsessing over her dad?” Brooke swiped through a nearby rack of blouses.
Jessa nodded.
“That’s sad.”
“Just another epic bad choice by dear old Dottie Boone.” Jessa held up a pair of gold hoops from a round table in the center of the store.
“Those are cute.” Brooke wondered if Jessa was open to tracking down her own father. Depending on how Jessa was feeling, it could be a touchy subject.
“I love shopping therapy,” Jessa said. “Let me buy these for you as a breakup gift.”
“Jess. I do not want a breakup gift. This is not worth celebrating.”
Jessa frowned. “You don’t want them?”
“Thanks, but I already have some gold hoops.”
“Then I’ll buy them for me.”
“They can be your new-house celebration earrings.”
Jessa nodded and smiled. “Then that’s what they’ll be.”
Three hours, an oversized beach bag, white shorts, a box of benne wafers, and several miles later, Brooke’s feet needed a break. They popped into a little corner Irish pub and ordered two beers. “What a day,” she said, putting her feet up on the chair opposite her.
Brooke was happy that she’d taken the seat facing the front window. All day, she’d had one eye on the lookout for Nate. He was in that city somewhere. He lived here. They could run into him again at any time. Every male who walked by and was anywhere near his height or with hair the color of brown sugar gave her a start. It was strange to think of Nate as a professional, as a man . She wondered what he did for a living. Maybe, despite his horrible childhood, his adulthood was happy and fulfilled.
That’s what he would want for her. And that’s what she wanted for him too.
The beer was cold and had a nice wheaty flavor. They ordered loaded potato skins as an appetizer, and soon decided that they should count as dinner too. Brooke ordered another beer, grateful for a full belly and time to relax.
Three beers in, and Brooke and Jessa were roaring about Duke Bradley and his daily disappearing act. “Disappearing Duke,” they called him. “Leavin’ Leroy. Bye-Bye, Big Guy. Gone Don. Mr. Brad-flee.” Brooke hiccupped loudly and laughed even harder. Then something outside caught her eye. She slammed both feet to the floor.
“What is my mother doing in Charleston, and who is that man?”
Jessa practically gave herself whiplash turning around so quickly. “What?” She turned back just as fast. “There has to be an explanation.”
A tall man of similar age had his hand on the small of Mrs. Cornelia Warter’s back, leading her gracefully into a fancy restaurant.
“Do you think it’s their tax man? Maybe your dad is waiting inside.”
“Maybe,” Brooke said, her eyes glued to the door of the restaurant after it closed behind them. “Let’s order something else. I don’t want to leave this spot until they come back out.”
“Works for me,” Jessa said. Then she reached across the table for Brooke’s hand. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“It’s fine,” Brooke said. “I’m sure it’s fine.”