Chapter 7 Birdie
Birdie
I threw on a pair of my favorite worn in jeans.
The ones with holes in the knees, and paired it with a yellow baby tee that has the words, “Hot girls read fiction” in red text.
I threw on my favorite leopard coat, pulled on my red cowgirl boots and headed to a less pathetic existence—taking over my phone bill.
Just as I was grabbing the handle on the door, I hear my dad holler from the living room, “Go get ‘em, tiger!” I can hear my mom snicker, and with that, I just groan and leave.
That’s when I see a rock just sitting on my door handle. I roll my eyes, and fight off the butterflies that are erupting in the pit of my stomach, because he remembered.
It’s been an unspoken running joke between Dawsen and I—well, I don’t know if it’s a joke, or rather just something he does? I don’t know. It makes my brain fuzzy if I think about it for too long.
In high school, when I finally got my driver’s license, I was so excited to finally get to park in the student’s lot.
I felt so unbelievably grown up and cool for actually being very uncool.
Dawsen passed my car on the way to his truck everyday and he would leave random things on my door handle.
Rocks, leaves, gum wrappers, whatever he could find on the ground nearby I presume.
At first I didn’t know who was the culprit, until one day I saw him across the lot bend down and pick something up, jog over to my car and then move on like nothing ever happened.
I don’t know why he did it, but I liked it. Because whatever his reasoning was, I knew I passed through his mind for that split second, and that did something to my body that was hard to put into words.
I am a psycho and kept a shoe box under my bed for the rest of my teenage years that was home to a collection of tiny door handle things.
* * *
The Verizon store experience was a total fiasco.
It didn’t take me long to remember why I avoided this for so long.
They helped me pick out a phone plan, a new phone, and when they tried to up-sell me on the fancy screen protector, I turned them down.
It was then that they also let me know that I couldn’t keep my existing phone number.
Something about it being locked into my parents account and it wouldn’t be able to be transferred to my new, single, adult woman phone plan.
And to top off the whole experience, I didn’t back up my phone, so I lost all my photos and contacts.
Boo Hiss.
That was so much fun. I plan to never do that again.
* * *
There are few numbers I remember by heart, and one of those belongs to my very best friend. To which I’ve been meaning to text since I arrived back home, 24 hours ago. Oops.
Me: New phone number. Guess who!?
Casey: When were you going to tell me you were back home?
Me: Right now. But how did you know?!
Casey: Mhmmmm, okay. Your dumb brother told me. Are you going to the Fest tonight?
Me: Yes I am! Dawsen said there would be musicians. Gonna take the hottest one back home with me.
Casey: Your parents are gonna love that.
Casey: We both know who you really want to take home ;)
Me: OMG NO STOP.
Casey: HAH! You know I’m right. Whatever, I’m gonna pick you up. Be there at 6!
Me: Hate you. Love you. Bye.
Casey is my best friend, and she happens to also be the only person who knows about my hopeless crush on he-who-shall-not-be-named.
The only reason she even knows is because she once found his junior varsity football photo taped in my nightstand drawer, and she held me down on my bed in until I spilled my guts about “Why on earth I would have a photo of Dawsen Jones taped into my night stand.” She demanded.
I tried making up a story that involved River and a dare and she called my bluff immediately. She so lovingly put it, “You’re a shit liar.” And she happened to be right. I couldn’t lie to save my life. Which I choose to look at as one of my greatest qualities.
* * *
I hear a light knock on my bedroom door and my mom’s voice on the other side, “I’ve got something for you!”
“Is it a shot of tequila and a new job? Cause I could use both.” I quip.
She nudges the door open with her foot and shrugs while holding two glasses of white wine, “How about a glass of Sauvy B, and some girl talk?”
“That’ll do, that’ll do just fine.” As I excitedly grab one of the glasses.
My mom always does a heavy pour. God love her for it.
I bring the glass up to my nose, swirl it around and give it a good sniff like I would imagine a distinguished sommelier would do. But I don’t know anything about wine other than I like it very much. This one particularly smells like good times and sunshine. And It tastes even better.
“Damn. This is incredible.” I basically moan as I take another sip.
“It’s one of the cult wines from Southbound, it’s my favorite one that I’ve tried so far!” My mom says as she takes another sip.
Our town is small enough that a new winery in town would be a massive deal, and I’ve never heard of this one.
“What’s Southbound?”
She looks at me with a questioning expression, “Honey, it’s Saddlebrooke—Dawsen did a whole re-brand of the winery when he bought them out. Did you not hear about that?”
I knew he had bought out the winery but I didn’t realize he was going to rename the whole damn thing. That’s a little risky considering it’s Saddlebrooke and the people here aren’t real keen on changing things up.
“I knew that, I guess I just forgot about it.” I say defensively, lying. I definitely did not know.
“What are you wearing tonight?” She changes the subject, Thank God.
“I’m not sure. I have this plaid skirt that I was trying to find something to go with.”
I hold up the brown tweed plaid skirt to my hips to give her the full picture. She smiles and nods as she’s sipping from her glass, “So cute! Okay honey, I’ll let you finish up. Your dad and I are going to head out early to do a little shopping beforehand. We’ll see you at Southbound.”
She winks at me with her drawn out annunciation of “Southbound.”
“Sounds good mama, love you.”
She makes a little kiss face at me and shuts the door behind her.