Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,56
Carole says, taking her hand back. She begins to collect herself. Rebuild the walls. Armor back up with Aqua Net, push-up bras, and a well-placed “no, thank youuuuuu, ma’am.”
“Well, it’s not fine, actually.”
“Yeah, but it’s just the same old shit. Like you said.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit old, though?”
“I thought it was old back when I was walking around fourth grade and these people were calling me the same exact names. So now it’s just embarrassing that they haven’t even tried to come up with something new.”
“They’re not known for their imaginations.”
“Except when it comes to scenarios about me wanting to steal all their men. The ideas they get about my sex life.” Merry Carole flushes. For looking and dressing much like a 1950s Playboy centerfold, Merry Carole has always been way too prudish for her own good.
“Do you have any idea what this round of rumors is about?”
“None.” Merry Carole’s answer is . . . suspicious.
“Uh-huh,” I say, my eyes narrowing.
“I don’t.”
“Well, I don’t believe you, but I guess you’ll tell me in your own good time.”
“What?” She is ridiculously putting on some faux-innocent bullshit routine. It’s actually hilarious.
“The texting the other day and now this? There’s someone in the picture that you’re not telling me about. It’s fine. It’s your business, but if I’m going to defend you in the court of public opinion that is North Star’s town square, I should have all the information.”
Merry Carole remains silent. For a long time. And then . . .
“Reed and I—”
“I knew it,” I say, my voice a bit too excited.
“We thought we were being discreet. I thought so, at least.”
“They know everything that goes on in the entire great state of Texas, sweetheart.”
“I know.”
“Is it serious?”
“It was. It is. I don’t know anymore. I tried to talk to Cal about it, how he would feel about me seeing someone, and it just . . . he got confused and I’ve just never seen him so upset.” Merry Carole cinches her robe tight.
“What was he upset about?”
“I think he’s afraid everything is going to change? I don’t know—it’s always been just us, you know? I think he also—I think the other boys on the football team might talk a bit about me. I think he feels like he has to defend my honor a lot and maybe he thought me seeing a man was like me being with someone who talked about me like those boys on his football team did, you know?”
“I’m sure the boys on the football team talk about you. You’re a beautiful woman,” I say.
“I don’t think they put it so lovingly, Queenie.”
“I’m sure they didn’t. Did you tell him it was Reed you were seeing?”
“No.”
“But Reed’s not that guy, so telling Cal that it’s Coach Blanchard would have calmed him down about you being objectified, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. It was the most uncomfortable conversation in the entire world. I thought talking to him about, well, you know . . .” Merry Carole shifts her eyes south. I get the point. She continues, “But this? This is a thousand times worse. Sometimes I think this is me paying for not being married to his daddy, you know? Then we wouldn’t have this issue if he just expected me to be with—”
“Wes? Really?”
“I know. I just hate how the rumors are right, you know? They’re right. I am seeing Reed. So what leg do I have to stand on to be righteous about it, you know? I just hope Cal doesn’t get wind of it.”
“You guys must think Cal doesn’t get wind of a lot of things,” I say.
“He thinks about football, girls, and rap music. I am relying on him being a selfish teenager—please don’t burst my bubble.”
“He’s not a selfish teenager and you know it,” I say.
“I knowwwww. Let’s change the subject. How was the new job?”
We sit at that dining room table for another hour drinking beer and talking. It’s glorious and just what I need. We talk about the orientation, Cal, the football team. We don’t talk about the men we’re not mentioning. We take apart the women of the town, again and again. Then we talk about the brisket and the new job. I don’t tell her about yesterday (or the last twenty years) with Everett. I also don’t tell her about Hudson. Not yet. It’d be like cutting out a picture of some movie star and announcing, “This is my new boyfriend!” It feels just as unlikely.