Page 1 of Just the Tipsy
ONE
BIANCA
“You can always staywith us, sweetie. Anytime,” Mom says. Her smooth, alto voice fills my car and tugs at my heart. “You don’t have to go all the way over to some random town to get away.”
“I know.” I swallow and pause as the GPS tells me to pull off the interstate. “But I’ll be fine.”
Mom doesn’t speak for a few beats, letting my doubts creep in.
Yeah, fleeing from LA to Jepsen, Tennessee, a town I’ve never been to, is easily the most impulsive thing I’ve ever done. But things just happened to click into place — I needed somewhere to lay low after my relationship very publicly exploded. My great aunt passed away and left her house in Jepsen (and dog) to me.
Have I seen this house? In a shitty picture, yeah. Have I ever had a dog (or even a pet in general)? No. But if I had to choose between staying in a random small town for a little while and staying in LA to be harassed by my shitty ex, his legion of fans, and the press, I’m choosing the former.
Even if I’m doing something like this completely on my own for the first time. Or anything big on my own, really.
“Why not go to New York to stay with Kaitlyn?” Mom asks. “You two are already working on the spa, aren’t you?”
“I know, but New York would probably be as bad as LA. Plus she and her husband just got married so I don’t want to crash,” I say. “And we can work on the spa over Zoom. It’s not a big deal.”
Mom lets out a sound of acknowledgment and I brace myself for her opinions on the spa my best friend and I are working on opening. It’ll finally get me out of modeling and being an “influencer”, but the fact that I turned down my parents’ help with it is killing them.
Thankfully her opinions don’t come. Not that she’d have anything new to say.
My GPS tells me to make another turn down a long, tree-lined road. At least it’s pretty.
“I’ll let you drive since it sounds like you’re getting close,” Mom says with a sigh. “But just let me know, okay? You can always move home since it’s nice and private. Our security system is top notch.”
“Thanks, Mom.” My dad wouldn’t allow anything less. Just because he’s behind the scenes and Mom’s music career peaked twenty years ago doesn’t mean he’s not protective. “Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She hangs up and I come to a stop at a light. I’m about ten minutes away from Jepsen and there’snothingout here besides a bunch of trees and fields. A gas station with a Burger King attached doesn’t count. At least there’s a sign saying that there’s stuff out there in the direction I need to go and not just more trees.
I turn toward Jepsen, my stomach twisting in knots. My great aunt Gloria and I weren’t particularly close and I hadn’t seen her in person since I was a teenager, so I have no idea what to even expect. She lived there for years and years, but what ifI’m the only Black (or even brown) person there now that she’s passed? I’ve never had to deal with that before.
I’ve been the only or one of the few Black people in a space a lot throughout my life — my private schools, an alarming number of runway shows — but there’s that and then there’s a whole town.
With two more turns, the landscape starts to change. A few subdivisions of cookie-cutter brick houses appear, then a few buildings. Finally, I reach downtown (or what I assume to be downtown) Jepsen. It’s cute, at least — not a suburban hellscape of strip malls like some of the spots I drove through on the way from the airport. The businesses and buildings have character, like they’ve been around for decades and lovingly kept up.
I turn again toward the veterinary clinic, my hands sweating all over again. All I know about the dog I also inherited is that her name is Sadie and she’s been living with the veterinarian since my great aunt passed. I like dogs and all, but how do you care for one?
The veterinary clinic is in a standalone building somewhat close to downtown. Another building is under construction next to it with a big sign that saysFuture Home of Jepsen Animal Shelterwith the logos of several businesses that are sponsoring the shelter underneath. The most prominent one is for Stryker Liquors. I’m supposed to be meeting with a Dr. Stryker. He’s probably related, right? Who knows how these towns work.
I park in the small front lot and head inside.
Right when I step in, I’m greeted by a young Latina woman wearing scrubs, her hair tied back in a bouncy ponytail. A tiny bit of tension leaves my body — at least I’m not the only brown person in a fifty mile radius. Her name tag saysMarisolwith a cute dog sticker next to it.
“Hey there! How can I help you?” she asks with a big smile.
“I’m here to pick up a dog. Sadie? She’s been living with Dr. Stryker, but he knows I’m coming today,” I say.
Marisol’s vibe shifts to something more reserved. Shit. Either this Dr. Stryker is such an asshole that just bringing him up kills her mood or I accidentally bitchfaced her. Probably the latter, but I genuinely can’t help it. My face is just like this. It worked for modeling — I just had to have my normal expression going down the runway and people ate it up. But in a small Southern town I doubt it’ll win me any favors.
“Okay, great! I’ll let him know you’re here — he’s just finishing up with a patient now,” Marisol says. “You can have a seat.”
I sit down on one of the few chairs in the waiting room, across from an older woman with a black and white cat in a carrier, along with a small dog wearing a vest that says, “Shy and nervous! Do not pet!”
Honestly, same. Do they make the vest in human sizes, too?
