Southern Complications

Tess

TessI was packing up for the day when my phone dinged, and I felt myself getting excited. I couldn’t wait to check my phone. I usually left the office by about 5:30, went home, made dinner and worked from my home office for a few hours.

I looked at the clock, 5:50.

“Crap!”

Tucker Byers was going to have to wait.

“I need to get home before Grier.”

I finished packing my briefcase and darted out of the door.

I was driving home when I heard Grier’s text tone and my stomach dropped. I pulled my phone out of my purse and checked it at the light, I did not, on top of being late, want to get pulled over for texting and driving.

(6:02pm) Grier: Where are you?

(6:03pm) Tess: Late call and stopped at the store for dinner. Omw!

“s**t! Now I have to stop.”

I made a quick detour to the local grocery store and grabbed a pound of ground beef and spaghetti sauce.

I’ll just say I thought we were out.

After a quick check out, I jumped back in the car and dashed home so that I could fix dinner.

“How was your day?” Grier asked when he walked into the kitchen.

“It was good. Mr. Westerhall came to my office this morning…”

“Oh yea. That’s great,” he said cavalierly. “I got a motion granted for a summary judgment in the case I’m working on with one of the Junior Partners. We really weren’t sure how the judge would rule. It came out in our favor and I think I scored some major points today.”

“That’s terrific!”

“Yea, I’m feeling really good about it. Making some good headway there. Never know I may be an associate by spring. When’s dinner going to be ready? What are we having?”

“Just a few more minutes. Spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Again? Ugh, fine.”

“Sorry Grier, just ran late at work and wanted to get something quick for you.”

“Yea, okay. I’m going to my study. You can bring my plate in there.”

“Okay, I’ll have it ready in just a bit.”

I hurried and finished dinner and took Grier his plate. I fixed myself a plate and sat down at the island to eat when I remembered my unread message from earlier.

Quickly and quietly I got up and grabbed my phone from my purse.

Tucker Byers: My mama always told me that persistence was a good thing.

I smiled.

Tess Allen: Uh-oh. Are you a mama’s boy?

Tucker Byers: I’m a good country boy. I love my mama. Didn’t you ever hear the expression watch how a man treats his mama?

Tess Allen: A good country boy? New in town. Hmm…Where are you from?

Tucker Byers: I’m from Kentucky.

Tess Allen: Oh boy, you probably have a pick-up truck with a gun rack and a Trump sticker.

Tucker Byers: You got the pick-up truck part. We aren’t all stereotypes. Guess what? My mama isn’t my sister.

I laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Grier asked from behind me.

I jumped.

“Huh? Oh, Lindi. She was just texting me some more of her dating disasters,” I quickly closed my messenger.

“Lindi, that girl needs to settle down. She sleeps with anything with a d**k. I told you I don’t like you hanging out with her.”

“She’s my best friend, Grier. I’ve known her since we were kids.”

“I don’t like her! She’s trouble. You know that old expression ‘birds of a feather.’ She’s a w***e do you want people thinking that you are a w***e?”

“No one thinks I’m a w***e, Grier.”

“They will. I don’t need the partners thinking that my fiancée is a common whore.”

“Grier, she’s not a whore.”

The next thing I heard was the crash of my plate on the kitchen floor. I ducked just in case.

“I don’t like her!”

“Okay, sorry.”

“Clean that up. I’m going out for a bit.”

“Okay, will you be gone long?”

“I just need to calm down, you get me so worked up sometimes.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I hope you have fun.”

I had learned over time that it was just better to try to appease him as quickly as possible. This wasn’t the first time we’d had this argument about Lindi, sometimes it escalated and sometimes it didn’t.

While Lindi knew we didn’t have a perfect life, she thought it was pretty good, but she still held a slight grudge against Grier for the black eye and broken rib I had about four years ago. I tried to convince her that I had fallen down the stairs, but she didn’t buy it. After taking me to the hospital, she brought me back home and threatened to “stomp a hole in his high-yellow, gray-eyed ass” if he ever laid a hand on me again. Whenever she had a little too much wine, she reminded him of that fact. As far as she knew it was a one-time incident. I just learned to hide it better.

I cleaned up the broken pieces of glass, splattered noodles and sauce off the counter and floor, fixed myself another plate and slid open my phone.

Chapter 13