Read Online The Last Time We Were Us by Leah Konen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Leah Konen
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anything in common. Suzanne is also a Protestant, straight-ticket Republican, and fiercely Southern. But unlike my mother, she’s just a little bit shameless. They’re on the Homeowners’ Association together, and they’ve been inseparable for almost a decade, since around when Mrs. Sullivan left.
A girl brings us minibowls of shrimp and grits, jalapeño cheese straws in heart-shaped tins, and various other pint-sized Southern dishes. Suzanne takes the lead, saying what she likes and doesn’t, Mom nodding in agreement because we all know that Suzanne cooks better than almost anyone in Bonneville. Between tastings, the two of them trade “local news,” as Suzanne likes to call it, gossiping about everyone from neighborhood women to Lyla’s new in-laws. Eventually, the conversation makes its way to me.
Mom lowers her voice like she does when the tidbits get really juicy. “So guess who we ran into at lunch yesterday?”
“Who?” Suzanne asks.
“Innis Taylor.” Mom clasps her hands together out of sheer delight. “He was very polite. Congratulated Lyla and invited Liz for a walk.” She says it as if he’s Mr. Darcy and I spent the afternoon promenading the grounds of Pemberley as opposed to getting blown off in the Walmart parking lot. “They’re going together.”
“Mom, we’re not going together,” I say. “Geez. And no one’s said ‘going together’ in like a million years.”
She waves her hand. “Oh, I know, I know. I’m not allowed to talk about anything. Let me have at least a little excitement.”
“That is exciting,” Suzanne says, winking at me as she scrapes the bottom of her bowl of grits.
None of us talk about how it’s actually kind of strange, Innis being Skip’s little brother and all. That I wonder sometimes whether Innis is trying to live the life that Skip could have had, if he only chose me because I’m Lyla’s younger sister. And I neglect to mention that Innis might have feelings for his ex-girlfriend. There are some things you just don’t say out loud.
When they’re stuffed and talked out, Mom puts in one order for all of Suzanne’s favorites, as well as six jugs of sweet tea.
After a stop at the florist for hydrangeas and one more at the stationery store for napkins with Lyla’s initials, we head to Belk’s department store. I mess around at the jewelry counter, while Mom and Suzanne head to the lingerie section, giggling like schoolgirls, to find something for “Lyla’s big night.” It takes almost a half hour, but I don’t dare go over and try to hurry them up. The idea of Mom scrutinizing nighties for my sister to wear for Benny makes me want to barf.
MacKenzie texts me when Mom and I are back in the car.
any word?
nothing, how was your swim?
so good, details later, u should txt him
i don’t know
do it
I type two words to Innis: what’s up? My thumb hovers over the Send button as Mom babbles on about the shower, how happy she is that Lyla found Benny, whether I heard Suzanne say that our neighbors five doors down are trying to get a tacky nautical-themed mailbox approved by the Association.
I steady my breaths, tap it before I can stop myself. In seconds, the message is out there, in the ether, floating its way to his phone.
“Liz,” Mom is saying. “Liz. Are you listening?”
I look up to see her turn into the shopping center near our house.
“That phone,” she says. “I swear you’re addicted to that thing.”
I bury the phone in the bottom of my bag. Maybe if I can’t see it, it’ll be like the message wasn’t sent.
“Did you even hear me?” she asks.
I turn the radio down, give her my full attention. “I know, I know. The mailbox heard round the world.”
“No, I was saying we should treat ourselves.”
“Huh?”
She smiles mischievously and drives to a spot right in front of the nail salon. “Let’s get mani-pedis.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
She looks like a bobblehead, she nods so vigorously.
A girl brings us minibowls of shrimp and grits, jalapeño cheese straws in heart-shaped tins, and various other pint-sized Southern dishes. Suzanne takes the lead, saying what she likes and doesn’t, Mom nodding in agreement because we all know that Suzanne cooks better than almost anyone in Bonneville. Between tastings, the two of them trade “local news,” as Suzanne likes to call it, gossiping about everyone from neighborhood women to Lyla’s new in-laws. Eventually, the conversation makes its way to me.
Mom lowers her voice like she does when the tidbits get really juicy. “So guess who we ran into at lunch yesterday?”
“Who?” Suzanne asks.
“Innis Taylor.” Mom clasps her hands together out of sheer delight. “He was very polite. Congratulated Lyla and invited Liz for a walk.” She says it as if he’s Mr. Darcy and I spent the afternoon promenading the grounds of Pemberley as opposed to getting blown off in the Walmart parking lot. “They’re going together.”
“Mom, we’re not going together,” I say. “Geez. And no one’s said ‘going together’ in like a million years.”
She waves her hand. “Oh, I know, I know. I’m not allowed to talk about anything. Let me have at least a little excitement.”
“That is exciting,” Suzanne says, winking at me as she scrapes the bottom of her bowl of grits.
None of us talk about how it’s actually kind of strange, Innis being Skip’s little brother and all. That I wonder sometimes whether Innis is trying to live the life that Skip could have had, if he only chose me because I’m Lyla’s younger sister. And I neglect to mention that Innis might have feelings for his ex-girlfriend. There are some things you just don’t say out loud.
When they’re stuffed and talked out, Mom puts in one order for all of Suzanne’s favorites, as well as six jugs of sweet tea.
After a stop at the florist for hydrangeas and one more at the stationery store for napkins with Lyla’s initials, we head to Belk’s department store. I mess around at the jewelry counter, while Mom and Suzanne head to the lingerie section, giggling like schoolgirls, to find something for “Lyla’s big night.” It takes almost a half hour, but I don’t dare go over and try to hurry them up. The idea of Mom scrutinizing nighties for my sister to wear for Benny makes me want to barf.
MacKenzie texts me when Mom and I are back in the car.
any word?
nothing, how was your swim?
so good, details later, u should txt him
i don’t know
do it
I type two words to Innis: what’s up? My thumb hovers over the Send button as Mom babbles on about the shower, how happy she is that Lyla found Benny, whether I heard Suzanne say that our neighbors five doors down are trying to get a tacky nautical-themed mailbox approved by the Association.
I steady my breaths, tap it before I can stop myself. In seconds, the message is out there, in the ether, floating its way to his phone.
“Liz,” Mom is saying. “Liz. Are you listening?”
I look up to see her turn into the shopping center near our house.
“That phone,” she says. “I swear you’re addicted to that thing.”
I bury the phone in the bottom of my bag. Maybe if I can’t see it, it’ll be like the message wasn’t sent.
“Did you even hear me?” she asks.
I turn the radio down, give her my full attention. “I know, I know. The mailbox heard round the world.”
“No, I was saying we should treat ourselves.”
“Huh?”
She smiles mischievously and drives to a spot right in front of the nail salon. “Let’s get mani-pedis.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”
She looks like a bobblehead, she nods so vigorously.
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