The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

I shake my head. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

Flora tsks, shaking her head as she pulls a stack of dishes from a cupboard. “You better find out. That girl won’t just go back where she came from. Not until she gets what she wants.”

My muscles clench, some animal reflex to feeling threatened. “Good thing I’m too busy to worry much about it,” I say, which is only partly a lie. I haven’t thought about Shana since seeing Amelia this afternoon, that’s for sure. My stomach drops. Dusk is setting in. Amelia must be expecting me soon.

“Is that Bell’s mom?” Sammy asks, saving me from my own thoughts. We all look at him. He taps his crayon on the table.

He might be too young for this conversation, but he looks about as concerned as I feel, and it’s a small comfort. “Remember the woman who gave Bell the red envelope?” I ask him.

He nods. “That was her?”

“Yeah. But Bell and I haven’t talked about that yet.”

“I won’t say anything,” he says, nodding.

“I think I have some garlic,” Flora says. “Want to take it with you?”

I furrow my eyebrows. “What for? I have garlic at home.”

“Not for cooking,” she says, a smile sliding over her face. “For warding off evil.”

“What evil?” Bell asks, bouncing excitedly in her seat. “Zombies? Monsters?”

“Something like that,” I mutter and point at the drawing. “Look—Sammy’s coloring outside the lines.”

“What!” She grabs his crayon. “What are you doing? Do you have a stick up your ass?”

“Bell Beckwith,” Flora scolds, but the rest of us burst into laughter. She has no idea what she’s saying, but she looks pleased with herself to have gotten such a raucous reaction.

“I don’t know where she gets this stuff,” I say, looking pointedly at Pico and Randy.

Flora dishes out pasta. Except for Myra and Flora, we each eat portions as big as our heads, Bell included.

Later, while Bell’s in the bathroom, Flora says, “Why don’t you all go get a drink? I can watch the kids.”

I shake my head. “I’m not in the mood to fight with Bell tonight.”

“She won’t even notice. Sammy’s here.”

She means to comfort me, but her words sting. Is that what I have to look forward to? Bell blowing me off for boys? I make a mental note to revisit the idea of locking her in the house until her hair is gray.

“I can help.” Sammy rolls his eyes but blushes. “I’ll even watch Beauty and the Beast.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “You’d do that?”

He suppresses a smile. “Sure.”

He knows Bell’s moods, her favorite movie, and he’s got her back. Maybe I don’t have to be so terrified of what’s to come. “You’re a good man, Samuel.”

“Thanks, Mr. Beckwith.”

I grin. “Call me Andrew.”

Buck, Timber Tavern’s longest standing bartender, hands me a pint. “You got company, Beckwith,” he says, nodding behind me.

I close my eyes and sigh. What now?

“Hey,” I hear.

I look sideways as Denise slides onto the stool next to me. “What’s up?” I ask.

She sets her purse on the counter. “I’ll have a Stella,” she tells Buck, waiting until he serves her to speak again. “It’s nice to see you, Andrew. Been a while.”

“I’ve been busy.”

She nods. “I’m sorry about before, when I yelled at you. It’s just, like, I care about you. You know? And Bell.”

“I know.” I take a seat too and lean my elbows on the bar. “Truth is, you’re probably right.”

“Am I?” she teases.

“I guess. Bell and I are codependent. I just don’t know how to parent any other way. I don’t know if I want to.”

“I know I don’t have children, but I have three older brothers.”

I take a swig and recall all the times I blew Denise off, especially right after sex. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“And I’ve been doing lots of thinking about this,” she continues. “You aren’t doing her any favors by scaring off women who get too close.”

I look over at her. Pico, Myra and Randy are nearby, cracking balls on the pool table while they wait for me to start a game. “By women, you mean you.”

She shrugs. “Just someone who might want to be part of your lives. You’re not going to be able to fight her battles for her forever.”

“You don’t know that,” I say, folding one corner of a cardboard coaster. “I can’t think of anything better to do with my time than follow her around and make sure people treat her right.”

She smiles a little. “You’re a good dad. I bet you’d be even better if you were happy.”

“Christ. What is it with you people? I am happy—”

I stop when I catch her wide-eyed expression. “Shit,” she says as color drains from her cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” I turn on my stool to follow her gaze. In the doorway, dressed in head-to-toe, skin-baring black clothing, is Shana. Scanning the bar. She spots us, narrowing her eyes.

“What the fuck,” Denise says. “Did you know—”

“Yeah,” I say. “She got back about a week ago.”

Shana strolls toward us. “Well, well, well,” she says. “I guess the rumors are true. I didn’t think you had it in you, Denise.”

“What’re you doing here?” Denise asks.

“Spoiling your date, it would seem.”

“It’s not a date.” Denise’s expression sours. “And what do you care? What right do you have to say anything? You left them.”

“Some friend you are.” Shana shakes her head slowly. “How long did you wait to move in on my man?”

I groan. If I thought I could flee the bar, I’d try, but Shana would never let me off that easily. “Come on. It’s not like that.”

Shana keeps her eyes on Denise. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I knew you always had a thing for him. You were supposed to be my friend.”

Denise flinches, dropping her arms to her sides. “I was a great friend to you, Shana. I invited you into our circle of friends because Andrew cared about you. You’re the one who up and left without a call. Didn’t even say bye. What was I supposed to do?”

“Fuck my boyfriend, I guess.”

“Look, we didn’t plan it,” I say in Denise’s defense. “We were friends. It just happened.”

Shana glares at Denise. “So it’s true then. You back-stabbing bitch.”

Denise’s mouth falls open. “Are you kidding me? Do you know what everyone in this town said about you when you left? I was the only one who defended you.”

I nod after I take another sip. “It’s true. Everyone talked shit. Denise said you had your reasons, though. Not sure why she had your back.”

“You have a funny way of showing support,” Shana says. “Pity you couldn’t get a seat at the table, though. Have to settle for his scraps.”

Denise’s eyes water. “Why do you think that is? You completely fucked with his head.”

Shana smirks. “You of all people should’ve known nobody could replace me. Especially not you. Andrew and I were made for each other. But you knew that, didn’t you?” She tilts her head. “Andrew likes a strong woman. Not someone who’ll swallow her self-respect just to get in his bed for a night. You’re pathetic.”

“That’s enough,” I say, and both women flinch at my raised voice. “Leave Denise out of this. She might be the only friend you have left here.”

“Not anymore,” Denise says.

“You think I care?” Shana asks. “Why are you still standing here?”

Denise’s face reddens as she looks between us. I remember what

Flora said earlier—Shana won’t go quietly. And the more I ignore her, the harder she’ll try to get my attention. “Just give us a few minutes,” I tell Denise.

Denise storms off, and I can tell I’ll pay for dismissing her. She’s a good friend, and I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t have any distractions while taking on Shana.

I look down at my sleeve. Shana’s playing with the edge of it. “It’s true, you know,” she says.

I take a long pull from my beer to cool off. “What is?”

“You and me. We’re made for each other.”

A fiery anger rises up my chest—outrage, injustice, frustration. It flames out before it reaches my lips, though. Why? For so long, I’ve wanted the opportunity to rail at Shana. There’s so much to say, I don’t even know where to begin. I’m afraid if I say one thing, it’ll all come pouring out, and I don’t want to give her the satisfaction. I’ve never been good at controlling my reaction to her. What if that hasn’t changed? If she can still get under my skin, does that mean I still love her?

“Andrew, babe. Look at me.” She’s close enough that I catch a hint of her scent, the same passion fruit-something-or-other shampoo she always used. Again, it’s as if she never left. I glance into her eyes knowing I’ll find that familiar twinkle. It was there more often than it wasn’t, whenever she’d try to get me to do something. “No one will see,” she would say, smiling mischievously and unbuckling my pants as I drove the two of us back from a day at the shore. Or, more soberly, “A one-year-old won’t know the difference,” when we’d argue over the quality of baby products to buy.

“I got scared,” she says to me. “Can’t you understand that?”

“You think I wasn’t?”

“Nothing scares you.”

How wrong she is. My conversations with Amelia and Nathan are still fresh in my mind. Fear of the future is the reason I’m not with Amelia right now. Fear of abandonment has kept me from letting anyone into our lives in years. If Shana only knew how the love I have for Bell sits in my chest like a bowling ball all the time, crushing my organs, my lungs, my heart. I have the fear of a parent, the most potent, pervasive, life-altering kind there is. “What do you want, Shana? Why are you here?”