“It’s a terrible idea for me to be randomly knocking on some white lady’s door in the state with the highest number of firearms in the country. That doesn’t really work out for people who look like me.”
“That’s a good point,” Hannah says, nodding earnestly.
“Nice try,” I say to Tyson. “You’re coming with us.”
“All right,” he says with a shrug. “But this is how we end up getting shot.”
“Tyson! That’s not funny!” Hannah says.
“It wasn’t a joke,” he says, biting his lip.
I nod, feeling sheepish because I hadn’t thought of that angle—how freely I can walk up to a front door in suburbia without fear of violence.
“You’re right,” I say. “But Hannah’s definitely coming with me.”
“I’ll come, too,” Tyson says. “But you two should lead the way.”
“Fine,” I say, getting out of the car and slamming the door.
I march right up to the front porch with Hannah and Tyson trailing behind me.
“Here goes nothing,” I say, pushing the doorbell.
We listen to the classic ding-dong chime followed by the sound of footsteps.
A second later, the door opens, and we are standing face-to-face with a middle-aged woman in a pink velour tracksuit. Her bleached hair is cut in short architectural layers. I hate it.
“Good afternoon,” I say. “We were looking for Ashley Sheffield—Richards,” I correct myself to her married name. “But I think we may have the wrong house?”
“Oh, my gawd. You’re that actress! On that show!”
It’s a curveball that I didn’t see coming, but I do my best to appear unfazed. “Hello. Yes. I’m Lainey.”
“This is incredible! Ashley didn’t tell me she knows you!”
“So she does live here?” I ask.
“Yes! I’m sorry. I’m visiting this weekend. Ash is at the hair salon! She should be back any minute.”
“Great,” I say. “We’ll just wait in the car—”
“Absolutely not!” the lady says. “Come in! I insist! Was Ashley expecting you?”
“No. We were just…passing through town.”
The woman nods, beaming, then looks at Tyson and Hannah. “Are y’all actors, too?”
“No, ma’am,” Tyson says in his polite courtroom voice. “We’re just friends of Lainey’s. I’m Tyson, and this is Hannah.”
“And I’m Sharon! Ashley’s mom! Please come in! All of you!”
My heart stops. She’s changed her hair color and cut from the one photo of her I saw on Facebook years ago, but how did I not instantly recognize my mother’s nemesis? My father’s wife.
We are already stepping into the foyer as my brain absorbs this information. I know I should abort the mission, but for some reason, I keep going, operating on a weird, dread-filled autopilot.
As we pass the point of no return, Hannah grabs my hand and squeezes it while Tyson calmly asks if we should take off our shoes.
“Up to y’all!” Sharon says. “They aren’t a ‘shoes off in the house’ family. But do whatever makes you comfortable! I love going barefoot!”
As she points to her toes, the nails painted a sparkly teal, I feel another wave of nausea.
The three of us opt to keep our shoes on, walking down a short hall and into the family room, scattered with toys, including a vintage Fisher-Price barn I recognize from my own childhood. It occurs to me that it probably originally belonged to Ashley and her sister, and I feel something break inside me.
“The triplets just went down for their nap, thank goodness. They’re quite the handful,” Sharon says with a laugh, bending over to pick up a stuffed animal and a board book, tossing both into a wicker basket. “Now, c’mon, have a seat!” she says, pointing to a denim-blue, slipcovered sectional. “Can I get you some iced tea?”
We all decline the offer, taking seats on the long side of the sofa, our backs to the wall. I am in the middle, Tyson and Hannah flanking me.
“So how do you know Ash?” Sharon asks me. “Did y’all go to TCU?”
I shake my head, fumbling for an answer, as my father suddenly materializes at the sliding glass back door. Oddly, he doesn’t appear to have aged at all. It’s like seeing a ghost, and he’s staring back at me the same way.
“Hon, look who it is!” Sharon says.
When he doesn’t immediately respond, she continues. “It’s Yvette Gregory!” she says, using my character’s name. “Live and in the flesh!”
Sharon laughs, then says, “I’m sorry! I guess I should say Lainey Lawson! But Yvette feels so real!”
I force a smile and thank her.
