Page 74 of Flying

“Okay, it’s a Gator-odka, but it was only half of a shot for some hair of the dog. I’ll grab water and the ibuprofen for you when you finish this. Looks like you had a fun weekend.” She pats the cushion beside her beckoning me to sit and continue drinking this orange-and-gasoline concoction. I have no choice now but to pay the piper, first by chugging this disgusting thing and then confessing everything to Mom.

In true Elizabeth Hendrix fashion, she quietly listens to me as Irecount the good parts of the weekend. “Uh huh,” she draws out waving a hand in a motion to suggest I need to go on, before saying, “River, since I just knew that my stomach was bloated and I was exhausted, I’ve known you, so spit it out. This is not the face of someone who just had a lot of fun with their friends. Did you lose a lot of money gambling?”

My eyebrows knit together because we both know how little I enjoy the casinos, so cautiously I answer, “No. You know I’m not a big spender when we go to AC. Gambling is mostly just handing your cash to the casino anyway.”

Nodding, she prods me further. “No argument here, so what happened? Did you shoot a man just to watch him die?” she teases.

“Yes, how did you know,” I dryly reply before she lightly taps me upside the back of the head making sure her ring made firm contact with the crown of my head. Rubbing the spot I exhale and give her the play by play starting with Grant’s bachelor party all the way up to last night.

With a mix of amusement and exhaustion, Mom shakes her head and says, “I thought you were my smart son, George River Hendrix.” She puts her arm around me and I lean my head on her shoulder. I exhale again and let the heaviness take over.

“I thought Robert was the smart one,” I try to snark back, but it just falls flat.

“Sweetheart, there are lots of kinds of smart. He’s doing well with being serious in ways your dad would have gone after if he was allowed to. You always had Grandpa’s passion for the bar, the town. You’re your own kind of smart.”

“That sounds like an insult you know,” I chide.

“Stop it, listen to me.”

The defeat has wound itself into every cell in my body, my head is foggy, and my limbs feel awkward and cumbersome to move. So instead of trying, I give in. I sink into the hug she’s offering. After a few minutes, Mom rubs my arm with a few quick firm strokes that warm the area before removing her hand from around me.

She claps her hands and says, “Well, we can wallow here or you can do something about it. What’ll it be, kid? Do you plan to let her walk away again or are you going to fight for what matters to you?”

I openthe door to Curl Up & Dye again and brace myself for one of the icy Salvatore women. The high school aged daughters of Anna Lucia—Chiara and Tina—are arguing loudly over something, before turning to me and demanding I settle the dispute. I’ve been so lost in my rehearsed speech recitation that I missed what exactly the argument is.

“Huh? I just, I need to talk to your mom or Nonna. One of them here?”

Laughing, Tina yells for her ma who replies with a dismissive and irritated, “Basta! Enough! Figure out your own drama girls. You,” Ava Marie chastises her granddaughters and beckons me in the same breath. She motions for me to follow her back into the shop.

I find myself sitting at the wood and gold cafe table with navy ceramic cups and engraved gold spoons on each saucer again. I can smell the coffee and ammonia, the perfumed shampoo and bleach, all mixing together to make a heady and clean antiseptic scent. It’s all overwhelming and easy to become a bit light headed.

“Cin cin, drink up. From what we hear you have had quite the weekend,” Ava Marie coos as she and Anna Lucia smirk.

On a deep breath, I open my phone’s notes app, hoping I won’t miss a single word. I can’t mess up. This is my one shot, and as much as my palms are sweating, I know this is my only chance at redemption.

I need to grovel and sweep her off her feet, like I am Lloyd Dobler with his giant boombox. So I adjust the brightness and catch their growing scowls. I’m getting mad at myself. In fact, the angrier I am about my inability to spit it out, the worse it gets. My brain is about to take off in a million circles, but before I can find another way to procrastinate, Sofia walks by and plucks my phone from my hands.

Clicking the lock button then placing the phone lock screen down on the table in front of her mom and grandma, she goads me, “Spit it out, Hendrix. We all know this is about your love for the pyromaniac, so just get it over with. Talk.”

“Wow, okay, Sof. That makes me regret all the times I babysat and didn't rat you out for trying to extend your time with the TV, or theextra scoops of ice cream, or the hundreds of questions you asked about boys before you were allowed to date.” I’m trying to mirror her smug but charming smile, faking a larger than life self assured stance for a minute helping me. “Do you want me to go on, Sofia Paulette?”

She looks over at her mother and grandmother and says, “He’s lyin’ Ma, don’t worry.”

To Anna Lucia’s credit, she waves a hand at her youngest daughter in dismissal, “We’ll discuss later. Go upstairs to start the salon laundry and let us handle this.”

She says the word ‘this’ like our conversation will be about a pile of radioactive waste I dropped on the floor.

When Sofia is out of earshot, Ava Maria says to her daughter, “Really? You’re going to hold a nineteen year old to something stupid she did at nine?”

Anna Lucia has pursed her lips and is stewing in thought, while Ava Marie smirks coyly waiting patiently for the reply she knows will come. “Ma, come on. You know I can’t teach her a lesson if I just coddle her feelin’s. She ain’t just waltz’n’ in here to be fine as if she didn’t do something wrong. Wrong is wrong.”

A smiling Ava locks eyes with me, and I silently pray she’s suggesting she’s not interested in something a nineteen year old did years ago either.

“You know, I think that you’re both right. I’d like to explain, if you don’t mind?” I know from my years of tending the bar that some folks need to be given the false sense that they run the show. The Salvatore women are used to calling the shots, deference to their position will give the best chances of succeeding. I wait for her permission before I begin to plead my case. Thankfully, she gives a curt nod while snapping a sugar dusted pizzelle in half before dipping it into her cappuccino.

“Ten years ago, I helped cause the problems we all had to deal with between Lily, Grant, and Landan. I was too scared to say something so I withheld important information from the Long family and didn’t stop the wedding. It isn’t fair to punish her when she’s been hiding in embarrassment. I know, my crush on Lily and our recent relationship makes me seem like a biased,”—I scratch the back of my neck—“uh, representative for her, or something, but I mean… if we are honest…” I sigh, knowing this is the one thing that could piss folks off the most. “Lily was completely made into the townwide scapegoat, when if you look deep down in your heart, Lily was being hit from every direction. If we are being honest with ourselves and our maker, it’s all our fault. We abandoned her during a time when she needed us most.”

Ava Marie’s usual imperceptible mask of indifference almost falls before she steels herself again while Anna Lucia raises a hand to swipe her hair out of her eyes. She’s continuing to fuss with hair that isn’t there on her cheeks.

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