Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,88

Star. She’s moving on and finally ready to take a chance on being happy. And I’m back. Here. I hear the toilet flush and the water go on. Paper towels. There’s a moment of quiet as she probably checks her makeup. She opens up the door.

“And Everett?” I ask, finally daring to say his name. Laurel lets out a bitter laugh. She just shakes her head. She folds her arms and I can see her running through a thousand different thoughts (none of them kind, from the looks of it).

“Your friend looks nice. Maybe it’s time for you to move on, too,” Laurel says, her eyes fast on mine. I never noticed how delicate she was, maybe because whenever she looked at me, she was tense and pissed. Or maybe . . . was she just in anguish? This entire time?

“Good luck in Dallas,” I say. I offer her a smile. It’s tentative, but genuine. She gives me a cold, but polite nod and slides past me out into the hall. I step inside the bathroom and close the door behind me.

I put my hands on either side of the sink to steady myself. I always thought Laurel was the winner in all this. She got to swan around town with Everett and plan a wedding and walk down the aisle and see him standing at the end. She got to share his family name and think about building a family. Why didn’t it ever occur to me that she was just as unhappy as I was? Of course she was. She got to swan around town with a man who was in love with someone else. She got to plan a wedding and walk down an aisle to a man who was forced into marrying her. She changed her name, her entire identity, hoping it would make a difference. It didn’t. Her last-ditch effort to build a family and present Everett with something that would interest him, commit him, and make him happy. And not even that worked.

Laurel Coburn and I are more alike than I ever knew. Such a stupidly simple realization. I feel like I just walked outside and “discovered” water was wet. Either that or I’m trapped in some terrible romantic comedy where the music swells as the two enemies realize howwww verrrry aliiiiiiike they reeeeeealllly are. I’m a fool. So is she. All these years.

I pat my face with a wet paper towel, trying to compose myself. What a mess. I throw the paper towel into the trash can, take a deep breath, and open the bathroom door.

Now let’s see about this moving-on business.

I walk out through the backyard and see that Laurel’s group is getting ready to head out. They are standing, hugging, and overloading Laurel with gift bags, cards, and bouquets of flowers. There is crying and pronouncements about being invited to the big Dallas-size wedding. Laurel shoots me a quick look and a smile. And then she’s gone. Just like that.

I walk past the wooden community table and find Hudson in the very back of the backyard. I lean down and kiss him. He puts his hand on the back of my head and pulls me in close. He’s immediately passionate. Without a second thought.

“What was that for?” Hudson says as I settle in across from him.

“It’s all the barbecue. It just gets to me,” I say, flipping my napkin onto my lap.

“Then we should come here more often.” Hudson laughs. Pansy Mack comes over and sets two plates in front of us. She sets another plate down with raw white onion and dill pickle slices. She sets down a bottle of Tabasco in the center of the table.

“Cut that out before Momma sees y’all,” Pansy says, patting Hudson’s shoulder and lingering just a bit too long.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say as Pansy sets the two cups of sweet tea down.

“Now, you should know better, Queen Elizabeth,” Pansy says, her eyes narrowed. There it is. Like a slap in the face. The past infecting my beautiful present. Don’t be like your slutty momma, Queen Elizabeth.

I smile a tight-lipped assent as she walks away from me, tut-tutting me in the process.

“What was that about?” Hudson says, hunkering down and into the food now wafting up between us. It smells delicious.

“My mother had a bit of a reputation,” I say as easily as I can. The last thing I want is for this to become a topic of discussion. I take a sip of the