Page 1 of It All Began at Dixieland

Efa (ee-fa) Josefina Blevins 1.

“Efa Jo? Is everything alright?” The sound of concern in my mom’s voice is not surprising. It’s 8:30 in the morning on a weekday. I’m a writer…I don’t normally function at this hour. Let alone, call her, unless it’s an emergency.

“Everything is fabulous. Hey, listen,” I begin, my voice shaky with nerves, “you know your lifelong dream of visiting Kansas City, Missouri? How would you like to make it a reality? You, me, the open road…”

“Drop the act. Tell me what’s wrong and we’ll work out how to fix it.”

I sigh heavily, dropping my head to rest on the back of my desk chair. “Mallory is suffering from themandemicknown as the common cold and can’t join me as planned for the book signing in Kansas City this weekend because she’s currently planning her own funeral.” I bark a laugh at the dramatism of my best friend. And myself. “She doesn’t trust me to do her extraordinary life justice.”

Mom snorts into the phone, “You’d do a slideshow of her blowing her nose while driving and stuffing her face full of food.”

Rolling my eyes, I tell her, “Of course, I would. How else do you celebrate a life well lived?”

“Daughter of mine…” She’s running out of patience; I am overly familiar with the tone. So is my dad.

“It’s like a twelve-hour car ride and though I do enjoy the sound of my own voice, I’d like some company and I know you’re not working—”

“So, I win by default?”

“No…?” That wasn’t convincing. She’s going to hit me on the back of the head when she sees me tomorrow.Ifshe sees me tomorrow. My mom, God bless her, is sixty-five, medically retired, and not a traveler. It’s a long shot to ask her, but I love her…and I don’t have anyone else to ask.

“Where are you staying in Kansas City?” I tell her the name of the hotel where the event is being held, less than a mile from the airport. “And why aren’t we flying?”

I gasp in shock, “It is prohibitively expensive to fly! It’s far cheaper to drive and I am not limited in what I can bring for my table and adoring fans.”

“You don’t want to have your squeezy pierced udders inspected by the TSA?”

“They have such thankless, tiring, important jobs—”

“Bullshit.” She’s right, that was bullshit. I’m confident in my writing and my ability to arouse and entertain in equal measure through my words, but in person not so much. And I certainly would be mortified if I were detained for cow teats with my business card pierced through the nipples like I’m smuggling dangerous contraband on an aircraft.

“You have two queen beds?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Is there a chair? Refrigerator?”

“Yes, yes.” I already checked before I called her, knowing she can’t sleep laying down and her insulin requires a fridge.

“I’ll inform your father and leave shortly after lunch, so I’ll see you this evening. We’ll leave promptly at 7 tomorrow morning. I expect a personalized playlist for the ride.” She clicks off the phone and I slump back in my seat. Flabbergasted. That’s what I am.

She’s coming with me. My mom and I…for 12 hours in the car! Oh God! What the hell was I thinking?

Efa 2.

“You are such a beautiful girl, Efa Jo, why do you wear those shirts? They do nothing for your figure?”

“Uh…” I glance down at my coral-colored scoop neck t-shirt and shrug. “Because it has my pen name on it and I’m promoting myself?” I drop the visor and inspect myself quickly in the mirror. “This color looks great with my complexion…what are you smoking?”

“Standards.” She replies haughtily, her lips twitching as she fights not to laugh.

“Give it up, woman.”

“The color does look amazing against your bronze skin. But it’s shapeless.”

“I’m not trying to lure my mom into my bed.”

“Obviously, but are you successful in luring anyone else?”

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