Page 10 of Whiskey Lullaby
“Look, I”– she thumbed at her chest—“can call youthat.”
“Uh-huh.”
“As the person who punched Billy Coker in the face for pulling your pigtails while singing ‘Hannah Banana is a sissy, prissy girl,’ I inherited rights to thenickname.”
“I swear, you have the maturity of a twelve-year-old.”
“Life’s more fun that way.” She grinned and grabbed the dishtowel from me, tossing it in the sink. “Come on. It’ll be good for you to getout.”
“I’mfine.”
“I’ve been your best friend since second grade, I know when you’re fine and when you’re pretending you’refine.”
I exhaled. She was right, but I’d be damned if I’d let her know she was. “You know I hate going tobars.”
“Tipsy’s isn’t a bar, it’s a… gatheringplace.”
I picked up the dishtowel and went back to scrubbing the baked-on cheese from the stovetop. “You’re right, it’s a full-blown honky-tonk.”
“Tomato, tomoto. Whatever. You need something normal. Outside of this house and outside ofwork.”
“Fine,” I huffed. “We can go to an artclass.”
“This is Rockford, Alabama. There are no art classes. Plus, you suck atpainting.”
She was right.Again.I kept scouring the cheese, picking at it with my nail. Meg rested her hand over mine. “Hannah.” Her voice was soft, soothing. “Staying here won’t changeanything.”
“I know that, Meg!” I wanted to cry, but instead, I sucked in a breath and walked to the sink. How the hell was I supposed to go to a bar when my mother had cancer? I felt bad anytime I laughed at work, anytime I allowed myself to forget for a moment that she was sick. Her world was ending—so why shouldn’tmine?
“Going on with your life doesn’t make you a bad person,Hannah.”
Iswallowed.
“You have to take care of yourself to take care ofthem.”
My chin dropped to mychest.
“It’s just a band. Just an hour out of this house for freshair.”
“You should go.” My daddy’s voice came from the doorway leading into the hall. When I turned around, he was staring at me with his lips flat across his face. “Go do something for you, babygirl.”
I nodded even though I didn’t really want to go. I guess I just want to seem strong even though I’m fallingapart.
______
The cliché neon sign flickered: Tipsy’s. Next to the name of the bar, the outline of a yellow beer mug tipping forward and backward flashed. That bar had been around since the prohibition ended, and that sign had stood proudly since 1983 like a beacon in the night calling to all the locals. Half of the tiny brick building had been painted white years ago, but the rest had been left red. Meg was right, it wasn’t a bar. It was one-hundred and ten percent the epitome of a honkytonk.
I slapped a mosquito away from my arm as we made our way across the gravel lot toward the back entrance. There was a short line of people huddled around the door, waiting to getin.
Meg rummaged around in her purse, digging out a tube of lipstick and applying a fresh coat of shiny pink gloss. She wobbled on her heels. “Thank you for coming.” She smiled, batting her longlashes.
“Yep.”
The bouncer by the door leaned over a wooden stool, flirting with a group of giggling girls. They looked young enough to still be in high school, but he ushered them in without checking their IDs. When he turned to look at us, Meggroaned.
“It would behim, wouldn’tit?”
Brian Jones, one of her exes… or ex-sex partners— I’m not sure what actually qualified as an ex withher.
