She holds my gaze, looking deep in thought.
“You can’t change the past, Tyson,” she says.
“True. But I can learn from it.”
She gives me a curious look, then says, “Meaning what?”
“Meaning I need to do this,” I say, treading carefully.
“And you need to do it with Lainey and Hannah?” she says. “You have so many other friends who might be able to support you more.”
I nod, knowing what she’s getting at—that I have Black friends who are more settled and arguably better equipped than Hannah and Lainey to understand me.
“I know, Mom,” I say. “But I made a promise to them. And to myself.”
She nods, then says, “Well, I’m proud of you for being a man of your word. You’re a good friend.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
“Maybe not the best boyfriend,” she says with a smile. “But a good friend.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Nicole. I know how much you like her.”
“I do,” she says. “But maybe not for the reasons you think…I just know how much she loves you.”
“She told you that?” I ask, surprised.
“Not exactly. But she understands that you have some unresolved emotions,” she says, confirming that the two of them have recently talked. “And she really wants what’s best for you. That’s love.”
“Dang,” I say under my breath.
“And for the record,” my mother says. “I want that for you, too.”
Chapter 9
Lainey
It’s only been a few days since I left Atlanta, but it feels like much longer, perhaps because I’ve been on a bit of a bender since I last saw my friends. I didn’t plan on that happening, but after digging around on the internet and finding all sorts of nuggets on my sisters, including Ashley’s sappy wedding announcement, I got a little triggered. Drinking helped calm me down.
Last night with Marcus, aka Neighbor Guy, was a particular doozy. We started out at Socialista, a Cuban-inspired cocktail lounge in SoHo; then moved on to the Wiggle Room, a nightclub in the East Village; then Musica, which I only remembered after seeing the photos on my phone. This morning, I woke up in his bed, my clothes nowhere to be found. I must have undressed in my apartment, but I have no idea how I got down the hall without them.
Somehow, though, I managed to make my flight to Dallas. As I sit on the plane now, I order a Bloody Mary—a little hair of the dog—which takes the edge off not only my hangover but also my anxiety about what’s to come.
I still can’t believe Hannah convinced me to go to Texas. I know she has a pure heart and the best intentions, but I can’t help having second thoughts about the mission. I tell myself that I’m not locked into anything other than a couple nights at a luxury hotel. I’ll be able to sort the rest out after we check in and if need be, to talk my friends out of this half-baked plan.
—
My flight lands slightly after Tyson’s and Hannah’s, and when I get to baggage claim, they are waiting for me, Starbucks in hand.
“Dallas in June!” I say as they hug me. “Everyone’s dream destination!”
Hannah smiles, looking sheepish, while Tyson says, “C’mon, now. Positive attitude.”
“Yep. Just call me Pollyanna!” I say, eyeing the carousel as luggage starts to drop from the chute.
“So do we have a plan?” Tyson asks, looking at me, then Hannah.
“Well…I confirmed the addresses,” I say, feeling squeamish.
Hannah nods, then says, “I was thinking maybe we do a little scouting first—”
“Oh, like a stakeout,” I say, rubbing my hands together. “Fun, fun!”
“Not exactly a stakeout,” Hannah says, missing my sarcasm. “More like getting the lay of the land. At least here in Dallas. Dripping Springs is a bit of a haul—”
“We could always put a letter in their mailboxes,” Tyson says.
I nod, thinking. As my heart fills with dread, I feel myself shifting into a reckless mode. “Nah. I say we go right up to the front door.”
“And do a cold call?” Tyson asks, looking wary.
“Yep. We’re in Texas now, baby,” I say, twirling an invisible lasso. “Go big or go home.”
—
Nestled in a grove of trees strung with tiny white lights, the Mansion on Turtle Creek looks more like a private residence than a hotel. As we pull into the driveway in our rental car, I nod approvingly. We get out of the car, a bellman taking our bags, then walk into the lobby.
“It’s gorgeous,” Hannah says. “Nice job, Lainey.”
