Page 11 of Plunge

CHAPTER NINE

Thistle

SATURDAY AFTERNOON, I feel as nervous as I did the first day I moved to New York City. It’s a ridiculous way to feel—anxious about getting drinks with old friends in the town where I grew up. My mother has been chattering through her tablet all morning, the electronic robot voice reminding me how happy she is that I’m getting out and spending time with friends.

“I’m glad you are getting time with friends, too,” I tell her. The two of us have been cleaning all day. She’s been working on sweeping piles into the dust pan. Her physical therapist reminded me yesterday that the goal isn’t a shining clean floor. We’re reminding Mom’s muscles how to do these fine motor tasks.

I know she’d prefer her house to glisten for company. Growing up, our house always smelled of citrus cleanser and the glare from the white countertops made me feel like I needed sunglasses indoors.

Mary Pat insisted she and the old biddies would bring snacks, so I leave Mom with one final dust pile while I head to my room to change. I still haven’t brought more clothing from my apartment, so the pickings are slim. I opt for a pair of jeans and a black turtleneck, figuring I can jazz it up a bit with some of the jewelry I used to wear in high school.

A lot of these trends are coming back, I decide, fingering the chokers and neon hair ties. I grab some silver hoops and tie my hair up in a high ponytail, curling the tail a bit and then feeling sheepish that I’m going to so much trouble.

Do people spend this much time preparing to go out to a small-town bar?

Right on cue, Mary Pat bustles into my parents’ house like she’s never left and shoos me out the door as she shoves a bowl of crab dip in the microwave. I’m still confused about what’s happening as I walk the few blocks out of town to the Nobler Experiment.

I pause in the parking lot, taking a few deep breaths. I’ve actually never been inside. I’d left town already by the time I was old enough to enter legally, and I haven’t been home often enough to have spare time for an outing.

Oak Creek is a dry town, but Tessy opened her pub right outside the town borders, so she’s never hurting for business. Growing up, it was like a rite of passage to try and sneak inside and get served.

But, this is a small town. Tessy knew each one of us and she knew our parents and she knew when someone had their older sibling’s ID. I’m still staring at the door in wonder when Indigo walks up behind me and pulls me in for a hug.

“We’ve got a babysitter,” she coos. “One of our regulars at the Inn insisted we leave Gavin with her for a few hours. Isn’t that amazing? Oh my gosh, you haven’t even met my wife. This is my Sara.”

Indigo spits all that out in one excited breath and beams up at the taller woman at her side. Sara offers me a firm handshake. “Thistle,” I tell her. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.” I’d heard whispers of Indigo’s life. Divorced from a local man and then married to her divorce lawyer. This second match made more sense to me when I thought back on our days in high school, thumbing through magazines.

I hovered over the pictures of exotic locales I vowed to one day visit and Indigo only had eyes for the pages with female models draped over expensive cars.

I share this with Sara, who laughs in a hearty burst and holds the door open for us both. “That sounds like her,” Sara says.

Indigo grabs my hand and drags me into a booth along the wall. “Diana’s coming in a bit. Oh, and Ivy. She owns the circus studio.”

“We have a circus studio now?”

“Girl, you have missed a lot,” Indigo says, waggling five fingers toward Tessy. “We want a round of the house margaritas,” Indigo yells. Tessy nods. Everyone here is so familiar with each other. So at ease. I feel a pang of longing for this kind of intimacy, until I see Diana Crawford come in the door and I remember that with this intimacy comes a total lack of privacy.

“Thistle,” Diana nods at me. “Good to see you. Sorry about your mom.”

“Thanks.” I’m worried there will be awkward silence as I contemplate what to say next, but thankfully Indigo launches right into introductions and rambling stories to catch Sara up on how I fit in.

“So Thistle and Fletcher Crawford were sweethearts,” Indigo says. She grabs two margaritas from Tessy when they arrive. “Abigail can’t have one, so I’m drinking hers. Abigail is Hunter’s wife and she’s mega pregnant. And in the hospital.”

Sara furrows her brow and sips her drink. She says, “I’ve actually only met Fletcher a handful of times.”

Diana growls as she sips her drink. “Jerk didn’t even come home for Thanksgiving. I hope he catches a venereal disease.”

I roll my eyes. “We don’t have to talk about Fletcher. He and I broke up ten years ago.” As soon as I say the words I wince, waiting to see what this group of women will have to say about that phase of my life.

Sara drapes her arm around the back of Indigo’s chair and recaps. “So let me see if I’ve got the run of things.” She starts listing updates about the Crawford siblings. “After high school, Hunter married an asshole, my wife married a man, and Diana fell in love with a criminal…Thistle, what’s your baggage?”

I look around the table, waiting. Everyone else seems to be waiting, too. “Well,” I say, thinking. “I mean…” I feel my cheeks getting hot. Indigo pats my hand, but I decide I don’t want a free pass. Might as well clear the air, right? I cough. “Fletcher got me pregnant and I thought my life was over, but then I lost the baby and moved to New York. Oh, and I’m taking care of my mother full time because she had a stroke.”

Diana snorts and offers me a fist bump. “That about covers it,” she says. She stretches her arm out to snag a bowl of tortilla chips from Tessy as she walks past, earning her a stern look from the barkeep.

The next morning I’m nursing a hangover while I try to get my mom ready for a walk. She and her old friends decided a stroll around Main Street would be a healing experience for my mother, despite the crisp late-November temperatures.

I had too many margaritas the night before to think about it too deeply.

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