Page 15 of The Bourbon Bet
She hums, then continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “I’ve decided to leave the school. I told them on Monday. The last few years haven’t been great, and, with no need for free tuition, I figured it’s time for a change. I’ve applied to places closer to your grandmother.”
“That’s exciting,” I tell her, meaning it. She needs a change.
“I thought you’d be upset.”
“Why?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Mom thinks I loved that school.
The Hayek sisters and our volleyball team were amazing, but the rest of my classmates could suck it. I straighten a stack of books on the counter, the familiar movement grounding me.
“I’m happy if you’re happy,” I say. “Where have you applied to?”
“All the public schools in Ann Arbor. Two have called me for an interview.”
I love the joyous lilt in my mother’s voice. “I bet grandma is thrilled. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, honey, and she is, but I feel awful. I’m not sure any bank would give me a mortgage loan, knowing I’ll soon be temporarily unemployed.”
The familiar edge of financial worry in her voice takes me back. Some things never change. Money was always tight in our household, every dollar stretched thin. Even now, the phrase stings the same way it did when I was the charity case kid at Michigan’s most exclusive private school. While my classmates casually discussed their European vacations, I’d felt the burden of every dollar my parents struggled to provide. The stark economic divide had been a constant, painful reminder that I didn’t belong.
“That’s okay. And I hope you get the job. A2 is such a great school system.” I say cheerfully, not wanting her to hear the old hurt. She’d worked so hard and had been so proud to have me in that school, never knowing about the jerks who made fun of my second-hand uniforms.
“You know…” There is a world of suffocating hope in her pause. “They have a posting for a librarian at one of the high schools too. You should apply for it.”
“I live here.” I inhale deeply, letting the familiar scent of old paper and binding glue fill my lungs with a sense of reassurance.
“Come home. I’ll take care of you.”
A tightness squeezes my chest. “Kentucky is my home now.”
“Your dad can’t take care of you like I can.”
“I’m thirty-two, Mom,” I tell her, unable to hide the subtle undertone of exasperation. Inhaling deeply, the air fills my nostrils with the musty fragrance of fresh pages. “Don’t you think it’s time I take care of myself?”
“Nonsense. We’ve always taken care of each other. Even before your dad and I divorced.”
That wasn’t true. She, not I, had managed and handled everything in our lives. That needs to end.
The bell on the door chimes and I glance in that direction. The knot in my chest loosens at the sight of Paige, her arrival a welcome interruption to my spiralingthoughts. Her blonde pixie cut is a little flat from the long morning and afternoon hours in her bakery’s kitchen. In contrast, the smile on her generous mouth is as vibrant as the rest of her.
My lips form their first genuine smile since before Thorne’s visit. “Mom, I have a customer.”
“Okay, sweetie. Call me later. Let’s talk more about you coming home.”
I make a non-committal sound before hanging up. Paige places a wrapped sandwich between us, and I shake my head. Moving around the counter and hugging my friend, I pull back and wag a finger. “Like I’ve told you a million times, you don’t need to feed me.”
Though there’s no denying my mouth is watering. I might have eaten a few hours ago, but Paige’s food is paradise for the taste buds.
“And, like I’ve said, I enjoy feeding people. It’s my job,” Paige replies.
And she’s very good at it. Customers from all over Kentucky flock to her bakery that’s just three doors down from my store. She leans on the counter while I unwrap the sandwich. “When does your next book club arrive?” she asks.
“Cozy Mysteries will be here in an hour.” I look around at the empty table, the expensive reading chairs—all the pieces of my dream that might soon need new homes. An ache spreads through my chest.“What’s wrong?” Paige asks.
“It’s been a rollercoaster of a day.”
“Do you love or hate the ride?”
My stomach turns. “I despise them.”
