Page 46 of CowSex
When she looks up at me, I feel a strange tightness in my chest and clear my throat for no reason other than to attempt to dislodge it.
“I can pull a room together. I think if you have an eye for style, it can generally be applied across the board. Homewares is something we’ve talked about branching out into, but when you’ve got the likes of Primark producing and retailing goods at such low prices, it really is almost impossible to compete.”
“Primark?”
“It’s like your Kmart or Target. Mass produced with a quick turnaround. That’s not really how we operate. Our lines are limited, keeping them that way makes sure that they’re always in demand. We offer online exclusives, which are only available directly from us, and others we make available to certain stores. It’s all about supply and demand, believe it or not, for a small business like ours, lower supply has meant a greater demand. People wanna be seen in an item from Gracie Baby’s latest collection. What can I say, Cowboy, my stuff is popular.”
I was mesmerised. Trans-fucking-fixed. Listening to Gracie talk like that, it was evident that she knew her shit, and I was suddenly filled with all kinds of admiration for her. She had it rough as a kid, raised by a single mom with the help of her grandparents, but she’d lost them all by the age of eighteen. She quite literally had no one. But instead of falling apart, she kept going. Dropped out of college and made her way in the world.
I had no clue about the fashion industry or designer labels. I like what I like whether it’s from Costco or Chanel, it matters not a fuck to me what the label is. Sure, I have the money these days to surround myself with beautiful things, but I wouldn’t pay good cash for something just because it is made or designed by someone the rest of the world considers theinthing. I buy it because it suits me and my needs.
AS WE ENTER THE DINER, a deep yearning for my youth and a life so much simpler hits me right in the solar plexus. The mundane sound of crockery and cutlery clattering together, the coffee machine and milkshake spinner churning, the smell of grease and something sweet all combine to almost overwhelm me with their familiarity.
Then I notice the hum of conversation quieten as all heads turn our way.
We come to a stop in front of the host stand, and I have my hand resting on the small of Gracie’s back. She’s relaxed, and I’m grateful that she has no fucking clue what a momentous occasion this is. It’s been years since I stood in this spot. A whole other life ago.
When the band first made it big, we came back when we could, but eventually, between touring, recording, and life, we just didn’t have any need to return.
I came back occasionally to visit with Aunt Emily, and of course, I came for her funeral, but I didn’t visit the diner or come into town at all on either of those occasions.
Now, I look around at the sea of faces. A lot of them would be too young to remember me from when I lived here, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have heard of me and know what I look like.
I watch the nudges and the whispers. There’s nothing malicious, and the reaction is kind of amusing. If it weren’t for my ability to play the guitar and sing, I’d be living a life much like theirs. If Danielle hadn’t done what she did, I might be standing with her in this diner instead of Gracie. Right now, I could have been enjoying breakfast with our son and daughter, who might have been back from college for a weekend visit.
“As I live and breathe. Koa Carmichael, is that you? Get yo’ ass over here and give me some sugar.”
Martha Lang, one of my mom’s oldest and closest friends, and also the owner of the diner comes walking towards me. She flips a dishcloth over her shoulder and wipes her hands down her apron before holding out her arms.
“Excuse me,” I whisper into Gracie’s ear. She grins up at me, and I can’t help but return her infectious smile.
“Hey, Martha.” I wrap my arms around the woman that I have known my entire life. She’s put Band-Aids on my scraped knees, fed me when I’ve been hungry, and stepped up to look after both my son and me when shit went down with Danielle.
“How you doing, boy? Heard you were starting renovations on Emily’s old place and staying there while the work gets done.”
“Well, if that’s what you heard, then it must be true. Gossip’s rarely wrong around here.”
“Pshhh. I don’t listen to none of that shit. I heard it from your momma while on the phone with her just two days ago before she left for her cruise. She also told me Kai’s coming home for the holiday.”
She steps back and looks up at me, and I swear this woman has shrunk since I last saw her at Emily’s funeral.
“Then she told you right. I’m picking him up from the airport the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.”
“Well, you be sure to stop by for a visit. It’s been too long since I saw either of you handsome Carmichael boys.”
“I’ll be sure an’ do that, Martha.”
She looks up at me with her pale blue eyes and a soft smile on her lips.
“It’s really good to see you, son, really good.”
I pull her in for a hug, rather than let her witness the emotion I know is on my face. Because she will see it. Martha never misses a thing.
“Who’s the hottie waiting at the podium, boy, she with you?” Like I said, Martha misses nothing.
“That’s Gracie. There was a mix-up with a booking for Emily’s cabin, so she’s staying there.”
Both her eyes and her mouth open wide.
