Page 28 of Just This Once

“Did you need me for something?” my mother asked.

I smoothed my hands down the front of my slacks before jerking my head. I looked out into the small group of onlookers. “I’m here to speak with all of you, actually. I had heard that the Bluebirds were who you turned to when you were desperate and in need of help.”

“Told you word was getting out.” Another older woman looked annoyed as she topped off her coffee.

“Oh, stop fussing, Bug,” the first woman tutted before turning back to me. “That’s exactly what we do. I’m Tootie Sullivan.” She jerked her head toward the woman at the coffee maker. “That old grouch is Bug King. Don’t mind her surly attitude. There’s a kind heart in there somewhere.” She looked at me and winked. “We think.”

Bug King.

Thoughts of Whip flooded my mind as his resemblance to the woman started to take shape.

My mother’s hand rubbed up my spine, snapping me back to the present moment. “Let’s get you settled, and then you can tell us about the kind of help you’re looking for.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, still reeling from the embarrassment of my entrance.

Mom ushered me toward a console table that was made up as a makeshift bar. Coffees and teas were littered among a host of alcohol.

“Coffee, or do you need something stronger?”

I looked over my options. “I think that entrance calls for tequila.”

A laugh erupted over my shoulder as my mom poured me a margarita into a glass cup that appeared handmade. “That’s my kind of girl!” I turned to see a woman who looked to be around my age smiling at me. She stuck out her hand. “Hi, I’m Julep, but everyone calls me MJ.”

I took her hand in mine and shook. “Emily.”

MJ turned her body, opening herself up to the room. “You’ve met Tootie Sullivan and Bug. Over there is Mabel, Big Barb, and Martha.” As she pointed, women waved or saluted with their drinks. “Then there’s my sister Sylvie sitting by Lark, Kate, and Annie.”

“Hi.” I offered a wave, and my mom handed me the drink, topped with a hot-pink paper umbrella.

“Go sit with your new friends,” Mom whispered, and I suddenly felt like the new girl in middle school, hoping someone would let me sit at the lunch table. I followed MJ to the group of women around my age and hoped none of them were like Amy Winters, who in seventh grade pretended to be my friend but then spread a rumor that I wore boys’ underpants when the kid she had a crush on asked me to the eighth-grade dance.

As I approached, the women smiled up at me and shuffled around to make room for me on the plush velvet couch.

The woman I was seated next to—Lark, I think?—leaned in. “At the Bluebirds, Kings and Sullivans don’treallymatter, but we still have to ask. Are you a Sullivan or a King?”

My mouth went dry. “Um . . .”

Five pairs of eyes waited for my answer.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m both.” Sylvie smiled.

Sylvie.

Recalling Whip’s mention of his sister and how she’d fallen for a Sullivan came rushing back. He’d claimed she’d come the closest to ending the feud with her relationship and the baby she shared with her husband.

Heat flooded my cheeks. “I... I think I might be a King?”

MJ whooped and laughed. “Yes!” She playfully stuck her tongue out at the other women. “Now we’re even, three–three.”

“Sylvie’s one of us. Four–two,” Annie teased.

“Nope,” Sylvie playfully laughed. “I’mbothso I count on both sides. Four–three. Sorry, MJ.”

“Whatever. Close enough.” MJ pulled my hand so I would sit next to her.

“What is happening?” I asked.

MJ waved her hand. “Just a little friendly competition. Like I said, at the Bluebirds, we’re just friends.”

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