Tequila Rose by Willow Winters

Author:Willow Winters [Winters, Willow]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-22T18:30:00+00:00

Magnolia

“I’m not allowed to have the Green Tea from Morgan’s anymore.” As I mumble into my phone, I roll over on my bed so I can watch Bridget stack the blocks. She’s been up since 5:00 a.m. and won’t go back to sleep.

Her curls bounce as she plays and she’s quiet and happy. It is what it is. Today I’m a tired mama.

“Oh, don’t blame the alcohol.”

“It’s absolutely the alcohol’s fault.” My words are a grumble and they fall flat. As flat as an open soda can left out overnight.

“Come on,” Renee says, trying to coax me, her chipper positive side coming out against all my doom and gloom. “We talked about this. You weren’t going to tell him. We decided that.”

“No,” I say, correcting her. “I decided I was going to tell him. Whether or not you want to ignore those texts I sent is on you. I was supposed to tell him. Come clean and make sure he knew.” It couldn’t wait for appetizers. But then again, apparently it could.

There’s a featherlight weight constantly fluttering in my chest. It hasn’t stopped and it gets in the way of my heart beating right. Worse than that, it hurts. I can’t stop staring at my daughter, knowing what she didn’t have. But also what Brody didn’t have. And I’m keeping it from him.

“First off, it’s been one date. Don’t be so hard on yourself. A PG date is hardly a time to drop a bombshell.” I roll my eyes at her “PG” comment and pick at the comforter. The last thing I wanted to do was lead him on. PG was the best I had to offer him.

“I’ve seen him three times now. The initial bumblefrick of a meet. At the gallery and then for two hours on a date.” There’s no excuse. The last statement goes unsaid because it’s stuck at the back of my throat as the guilt strangles me.

“You will tell him,” Renee insists and I nod at the ceiling in agreement. “You have every intention to … when the time is right.” I find myself nodding along with her.

Stretching my back, I take my time to sit cross-legged on my bed, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder. The creak of the bed with my shifting weight gets Bridget’s attention. “Mommy tired,” my three-year-old tells the baby doll she’s propped up in front of my nightstand. Lifting the doll she aptly named “Dolly,” Bridget shakes the doll slightly as she commands me, “Go bed, Mommy. Is nap time.”

A soft chuckle leaves me and all the weight of the date two nights ago seems to dissipate.

As Bridget returns to stacking blocks, Renee lists all the reasons I don’t have to tell him anything. Including the fact that he could be a serial killer and that Bridgey doesn’t need that in her life. I don’t think my eyes could roll any harder. Without giving her a response, I take in what Bridget’s building on the floor next to the bed.

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