Page 13 of Pour Decisions
“Arrested? No. I mean we won’t be bringing charges with the WCWA Board.”
“Oh.” I can’t help the relief that floods my voice. Not that being censured by the WCWA Board isn’t bad, it is. But somehow in my mind the dissolution of my career isn’t as bad as the reneging of my freedom.
She cocks her head. “It will be quite some time before you are welcome back to one of our competitions, if ever again. You understand that, right?”
“I understand,” I say. Even though I don’t, not at all. Just somehow the relief in knowing I’m not being arrested by the police makes everything seem tame in comparison.
Barbara stands and exits the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and tears. I know Michael is responsible for this. Somehow. And Riggs too. I hate them both. If I’m to find a silver lining here, I guess now I have the rest of the evening to plot my revenge.
6
I wake the next morning with no better plan than what I went to sleep with the night before. Which is nothing. No plan. Zero revenge plots to carry out. I’m a vengeance ignoramus.
I toyed with the idea of calling Tess and Megan about a million times through the night, but I didn’t go through with that either. One, because I didn’t want to admit they had disqualified me. And two, because I want to see if I can come up with something on my own. So far, the only thing I’m certain of is that I should have called Tess and Megan because me on my own can’t come up with squat.
The doorbell rings, interrupting my musings.
I glance at my cell, it’s not even nine o’clock in the morning. I listen for my mother or grandmother to answer before remembering that they planned to hit up the free pancake breakfast at the church this morning. We aren’t devout, far from it. We’re worse than that - the holy when its handy kind of crowd. And it’s handy about four times a year. The pancake breakfast, Easter brunch, July Fourth picnic, and Christmas. Because god forbid we don’t go to church on Christmas. No pun intended.
I glance at my reflection in the hall mirror on my way to the front door. If you take my reflection from yesterday, but remove all the makeup, that’s me today. Still tired, with bags under my eyes, bed-head hair, and dried drool on my chin.
The knocking starts just as I’m reaching the door. I throw the lock and fling it open.
Riggs is standing on my front porch. Looking better than anyone has a right to at it’s-too-early-for-visiting-o’clock.
I slam the door in his face and begin the retreat to my room.
He knocks again. “Morgan? Can I talk to you for just a second? Please?”
I pause.
I’m tempted. If for no other reason than to let him know how pathetic and disgusting I think he and his friends are.
So, I trudge back to the door and pull it open once more.
He smiles. “Thank you.” Then hands me a to-go coffee cup and holds up a big pink box. “I brought coffee. And doughnuts. A peace offering, if you will.”
“What kind of donuts?”
“I got an assortment. From a place down the way about a mile.”
He’s talking about Wilson’s Bakery. They have excellent donuts. I consider taking the box and slamming the door in his face again. Because it felt good to do it the first time. Instead, I open the door wider and let him in. “Come on in.” I lead the way across the small room and gesture to the kitchen table.
He sets the box on the table. “Did I wake you?”
My eyes shut. My head bows. I forgot about my appearance. I take a deep breath and let it out in a huff, before remembering I haven’t brushed my teeth either.
Kill me now.
Please.
I take a large drink of the coffee he brought, burning my tongue in the process. I swish the hot liquid around my mouth anyway to burn off the germs that cause morning breath. That works, right?
“No, you didn’t wake me, I always look like this.” I can’t tell if he gets the sarcasm or not, so I just keep talking. “You know, you’ve got a lot of nerve coming here like this after what you did.”
“I wanted to apologize.”
“Good. You should. For what?”
