“What?” I ask. I mean, my little sister, Chevelle, went through that phase when she tried to make her own clothes after she heard how manufactured fabric could be toxic. “Why not?”
“Look at her clothes. Her nails? Her hair? It’s all done to perfection. I’d bet money she’s not a customer, which means it’s something else…” Nikki taps her lips with her own perfectly manicured nails. Takes one to know one, I suppose.
“Try not to make your story too far from the truth,” I say, walking into the brewery.
“Hey,” she says, following me, “I always tell the truth in my segments.”
“Sure you do.” I grab a tray of wings from one of our servers to arrange it on the tables we pushed together along the back wall for a buffet-style pick-and-go.
“I take that as an insult,” she says as she walks away.
As if small town gossip isn’t enough, my stepsister has decided to fill everyone in on the buzz during her morning radio show. You know, just in case someone happened to miss it.
A few more people are in here now, all shedding their coats as they find a table. We’ve set our two most popular beers in the middle of each with glasses to share.
Xavier walks Clara in. She’s holding up surprisingly well. Coming from such a big family, I can’t imagine being the last family member alive. Her dad died in a fishing accident that killed five men six years ago, her grandma died thirteen years ago, and now her mom. Since she’s an only child, she doesn’t have anyone else.
But I’m not too worried about her. As Xavier goes to fix her a plate, my stepmom, Marla, grabs Clara’s hands and squeezes, leading her to a table. The Greenes will pick her up as one of our own.
For some reason, my gaze is pulled back to the park bench. The woman isn’t there anymore. Turning toward the room, I scour the guests, recognizing pretty much everyone. No sign of her.
“It might be good news for Clara. Maybe it’s an aunt or something. Some long-lost relative,” I overhear Nikki talking to her best friend, Molly.
“Molly should be working,” I say. “Not listening to your absurd theories about some woman minding her own business on a park bench.”
Molly fills a pitcher and hands it over to another server to deliver.
Nikki puts up her hand as if we’re thirteen. “I can talk to my best friend. Stay out of it.”
“Yeah, A and B conversation,” Molly jokes. “C your way out of it.”
“Funny. I’m paying your best friend, so for the next two hours, she’s not your accomplice in churning gossip.”
I’m not sure why I have such a dislike for the gossip of a small town. I mean, I chose to come back here after college knowing the score—there’s no privacy. But finding out that my dad was sleeping with his cousin’s ex-wife from someone other than him back when I was seventeen left a mark. Even if it all worked out and he’s now married to her and I gained four stepsiblings and one half-sibling. Talk about having our lives spotlighted in this town. With spotlights come expectations.
“There’s my grandson.” Grandma Ethel hugs me, barely meeting me chest level. “I was just telling Dori that I hope to be dancing at your wedding soon.”
I roll my eyes inwardly because if I did it outright, Grandma Ethel would pinch me like she used to when I was little. It doesn’t matter that I’m thirty now. But these are the kinds of expectations I was talking about.
“Doubtful,” I say. I’m not going to sugarcoat the fact that they might never get their way. I’m not playing into their expectations.
Being the eldest Greene means everyone wants to know when I’m going to settle down. Jed is the same age as I am, but everyone knows Jed is at least five years from being ready to settle down, so I’m somehow being pushed into dating so I can procreate. “Carry on the name,” George from Handyman Haven told me last week. “You don’t want to die alone,” someone else said. And the best one yet, “Your mom would want to see you settled with a family.” That one came from Zoe at The Grind. The kicker is that she was my mom’s business partner, so maybe she actually knows what my mom would’ve wanted for all of us.
“Oh, Ethel, let him be. When he finds the right one, he’ll know. From my experience, it happens when you least expect it. You never know who your forever is until you do,” Dori Bailey says.
I rock back on my heels and nod. Usually she and my grandma are thick as thieves, so I’m surprised she’s telling my grandma to lay off. I’ve heard the rumors about Dori and the way she manipulated all her grandchildren. Not happening on my watch.
“All he needs is to get laid!” Jed claps me on the shoulder.
“Jed Greene!” Grandma Ethel scolds, but he laughs and kisses her cheek.
“Looking good, Bibi.”
Grandma Ethel’s eyes flash with adoration. Since Jed already has two grandmas, he calls Grandma Ethel, Bibi, which is Swahili. Only Jed could get away with something like that. Him and his charismatic personality win over everyone.
He looks at me. “Did you ask Clara yet?”
I open my mouth to answer, but a silence falls over the room.
“And the plot thickens,” Nikki whispers from my other side.
I turn toward the door as the blonde from the park bench steps into the brewery. I swear a stiff breeze follows her, alerting all of us that something big is about to happen.
I step into the brewery where the wake is being hosted and silence descends as if I’m the wicked witch of the east.
Mom warned me this would happen. She was desperate to come with me to Sunrise Bay, but I told her I could handle this myself. “You don’t understand small towns. You’re not going to be welcomed with open arms,” she said.
In some ways, I’m grateful to have an overprotective mother. In other ways, I think it took my dad strapping Mom to a chair for her not to be behind me right now, saying I told you so.
I offer a small smile and my eyes fall to the daughter, Clara. She’s been huddled with people the entire service and continues to be now. I figured maybe people would drink, eat, and retell happy stories about her mother, staying distracted enough that I could seek out Clara and talk to her.
Instead of doing what I intended before all attention was on me, I beeline it over to the refreshments with the hopes they’ll forget I’m here. I grab a small plate. I’m not really hungry, but I can’t very well stand here and not drink or eat, expecting people not to notice.
After I find a spot in the corner, blocked by a group of four having a conversation about some town competition that doesn’t pertain to me, I sit quietly and wait for my opportunity.
A guy comes by, already filling my cup. “Want a drink?”
He’s cute. Short dark hair and a little bit of scruff, but still clean-cut. Arms inked with tattoos, and he flashes me the smile that’s probably gotten him in a lot of women’s panties.
“Oh, no.” I hold up my hand, but he pushes the filled cup my way regardless.
“It’s my specialty, so I’d be offended if you didn’t try it.” He uses his toe to pull out a stool before having a seat.
I look over his shoulder to see half the people in the brewery staring at us.