Page 41 of Roommate's Guide to Love

The divorce happened when I was in eighth grade, and it’s sad that I wasn’t fazed that she didn’t fight for custody. It didn’t matter, though—I would’ve stayed in Rolling Hills no matter what. Pops was my best friend. We went hunting and fishing together. I used to sit at the end of this bar doing my homework while he served drinks to his buddies. We never had a ton of money, but I never wanted for anything. And most important? It didn’t matter the event, he was there. Football games. School functions. You name it, that man was front and center.

As for Mom? I barely remember her at anything growing up. I do remember her complaining for years about being stuck in this “podunk town.” When I was younger, I remember feeling like it was my fault somehow. So when she picked up and left, I felt nothing but relief. Especially when I found out she was never coming back. I did get a good laugh when I learned that even though she despised small-town living with every fiber of her being, she ended up in a smaller town in Indiana. Pops once got drunk and joked that’s as far as she could get on a bus ticket. He probably wasn’t wrong.

But she wanted a new life and she got it. She remarried and had Missy, who is apparently sitting at my bar. I’m guessing she’s still alive? I haven’t seen her since my last visit when I was seventeen. She didn’t bother coming to my high school graduation. The last time I talked to her on the phone was when Pops died. Other than that, I had no contact with her before it was the cool thing to do.

“What are you doing here?”

I feel like that’s the safest question to start with. And frankly, no other answers are going to make sense until I know the answer to that one.

“Would you believe me if I said that I wanted to come visit the famous Joint?”

“No, because I know for a fact this place isn’t famous. I’m shocked you even knew about it.”

“Of course I knew about it. Mom used to talk about it all the time. That it was your dad’s pride and joy. Next to you, of course.”

“Try again. Mom hated this place. Always accused my dad of loving it more than her.”

Not that I blame him…

She lets out a sigh. “I’m in Nashville on a road trip with some friends.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Though that doesn’t answer why she’s here.

She shrugs. “Felt weird just dropping by.”

That I can understand. “Listen, I know my relationship with Mom isn’t…well, there. But that doesn’t mean I hold you in any ill will. And I don’t know what your relat?—”

She stops me there. “If I never see Bonnie again it’ll be too soon.”

“Oh,” I say, noting she’s using our mother’s government name. “Still mother of the year?”

This makes her laugh. “To say the least.”

I grab a glass from the bar and fill it up with ice water for Missy. She stares at it for a second before taking a drink while I try to study her. Something is off. I’m not sure what, but her short answers are sending warning signals. Then again, I don’t know her at all. The only thing I have going for me is years of bartending experience that’s taught me how to read people.

And I might not know my sister, but I do know something’s not what it seems.

“Okay, so you’re in Nashville. And you thought to take time out of your day to drive down and see your half-brother?”

She doesn’t respond to that. Instead, she stands up off the bar stool and starts walking around the bar. I watch as she looks at every picture. She even goes down the hallway that has the office, restrooms, and supply closet. Does she also moonlight as the health inspector?

“Everything okay?”

She walks back out, eyes still looking around. “This is a nice place. A little empty, though.”

Gee, thanks. “It’s a nice day. Who’d want to be stuck inside when they could be enjoying the sunshine?”

She walks up to a picture hanging on the wall of me and Pops. It’s from my high school graduation. The one my mother didn’t show up for.

“Is this your dad?”

“Yeah,” I say, as we look at the nearly twenty-year old picture. “So you don’t talk to Mom. What about your dad?”

I watch as her shoulders slump, and for the first time since she’s come in here, I think this is a genuine Missy.

“He died. Six months ago.”

“Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

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