I look myself over in the full length mirror that we moved to the living room for this makeshift fashion show.
I grunt and groan as I ask myself if I'm actually going to wear this: a dark jean mini skirt I keep pulling down to try to get it to at least meet my mid-thigh, and a red, lacy camisole of Ginger's my breasts barely fit into.
I was blessed and cursed as an early bloomer but I've at least grown into my curves now. I adjust the layers of necklaces and big gold hoop earrings that Ginger added. She's also styled my long hair into a mass of muted blonde waves and curls. I've never had so much hairspray in it, even at my prom.
"It just needs something," Ginger says as she chews her bottom lip. "Take those sandals off," she commands, raising one French manicured finger in the air.
"I don't have any other shoes unpacked—"
"Don't mess with my creativity, just take them off."
She pulls her ivory colored Lucchese boots off her feet and tosses them to me. We've been sharing shoes since seventh grade.
"Yes," she says. "Put these on first." She tosses me a pair of high ivory socks from the middle of my bed.
"You want me to wear your babies?" I question. She rarely parts with these beloved boots.
"Yes, you need them tonight more than I do."
I do as she says, popping them on and turning to see the finished product. "Yes! Just like Dolly baby, if Dolly had smaller tits." She winks and I toss a pillow at her from the couch.
"Just like Dolly," I mutter as I look at my reflection in the mirror. Ginger kisses Mama Jo on the cheek and turns to me.
"Alright, get ready for some sangria and unsavory decisions!" She tosses on my sandals, locks arms with me, and pulls me out the door.
The sun is just thinking about setting as we get in the car and wave to my mom—she's still standing on the front porch of my cabin.
"Bye, Mama," I call out the window.
"Have fun, girls! Break some hearts, not the law."
I giggle, shaking my head at her as we start the car and Jason Aldean croons through the sound system.
I'm so far from Seattle, and for the first time since I made the decision to leave Andrew, I feel totally, completely free.
* * *
The Horse and Barrel is alive with women from all over town, and a few brave men that don't want to miss out on their after-dinner beer. Sangria Sundays have been a ritual in Laurel Creek for as long as I remember. It's a night just for the girls, the best country music plays through the vintage sound system; we dance, gossip, and enjoy cheap drinks, especially the house made sangria. Everyone in town knows you don't seek good customer service from a woman on Mondays in Laurel Creek. Chances are, they're probably still a little hungover.
The crowd isn't disappointing tonight. The place is packed and my girls and I are sandwiched into the corner of the only rustic cowboy bar Laurel Creek has to offer. It's been a couple of years since I've been inside but I can't see much of a difference—aside from some new pine floors. I look around and take in the antique tin signs that adorn the entire back wall over the stage where house bands play on Friday and Saturdays. Jack Daniels bottles have been hollowed out and made into wall sconces over the dark rustic wood walls. Cozy booths have dim chandeliers hanging over them, and in the middle of the wide open space is a large dance floor. The entire east wall is a bar complete with neon lights and our town mascot, Archibald the Tiger, gracing the center as a large neon Tiger shrine.
"Someone remind me why the hell the giant Tiger is hanging there again? It freaks me out, it's like it's looking at me," Avery Pope, the newest and youngest addition to our crew asks. I've just met her but she's sweet and funny. Ginger tells me she moved here two months ago from Lexington to teach figure skating at the town sports facility. I've heard all about her. Apparently, she drinks my girls under the table and I can see why as she gulps down what's left in her glass.
"Well, he's a hero," I say. We all love to tell this story and I'm an official expert after writing a paper on him in eighth grade.
"When the traveling circus used to come to town—"
"In like, the 1800's," Ginger pipes up.
