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CHAPTER 18
Cash
After tossing and turning on the pullout couch in the basement where I was going to be spending the next few nights, I gave up on taking a nap. Throwing the covers off, I sat up, my legs hitting the concrete floor. As I came up the stairs, I could hear the shower running in the bathroom on the other side of the wall.
Within an hour of arriving, my mom insisted that I lay down since I’d driven straight through the night and all day today. I agreed because it was easier than arguing with her and Cheyenne had asked if she could freshen up before dinner. I was having a very hard time not picturing Cheyenne in there. The only thing stopping me was the chance that my father could’ve had an affair with her mom.
It was torture not knowing. I’d gone back and forth trying to decide if or how I was going to bring up my suspicion to my mom. The last thing I’d ever want to do was cause that woman any more pain in her life. But I had to know.
At least then I could figure out a way forward, which might be through a shit ton of counseling.
I walked down the hallway that led to the kitchen and for the first time I noticed the photos hanging on the walls. There was a lot of my mom and Mitch, over a dozen of Mitch’s kids and grandkids, and two of my mom and me but none of us all together. Every holiday my mom asked me to come up and visit her, but I never had.
My reason had been that the bar was open, holidays were actually some of our busiest times of the year. That was really just an excuse. The truth was, I’d been working through my own shit since I’d gotten out and hadn’t wanted my mom to know about it. I’d filled her in on some of the broad strokes about my issues. Panic attacks, depression, and that I was seeing a therapist. But I just never wanted her to see how dark things had gotten.
But as I looked at the photos, I realized that it might have helped to be around family. Not that Mitch’s family was mine, but they’d accepted my mother with open arms, eccentricities and all. There were pictures of them all gathered around the table at Thanksgiving. There was a series of photos from Easter hunts on previous years. And the Christmas photos were epic.
I wondered if isolating myself had only made me feel more, well, isolated. I determined then and there that I was going to make a habit of getting up here at least once a year on a holiday. The bar would survive. And soon I might not even be there. If it turned out that Cheyenne and I were related, I wouldn’t be living in Firefly much longer. It would just be too fucked up and I wasn’t Jaimie Lannister.
When I walked into the kitchen I found my mom in her happy place. She’d always loved being in the kitchen. She loved baking, cooking, even cleaning. Whenever anyone in town was down on their luck, she was always in charge of the meal train. I remember her saying that feeding people was her love language.
I stood in the doorway watching as she hummed along to the eighties pop songs playing from the Alexa speaker and chopped up vegetables. My mom loved the eighties. She said there has never been and will never be a greater decade. She wore leggings, scrunchies, bright colors, and high bangs whether it was in style at the time or not.
It had embarrassed me when I was younger, but now I thought it was endearing.
“Can I help with anything?” I asked, getting her attention.
She looked up, and scowled. “You’re supposed to be lying down.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Well, I don’t need any help but I’d love the company.” She nodded her head in the direction of the stool opposite her at the island.
I crossed the room, pulled it out, and sat down.
“So, what’s on your mind, dumplin’?” she asked in a way that only a mom could.
“What do you mean?” I poured myself a glass of lemonade from the pitcher that she had sitting on the butcher block.
“You can’t sleep which means that you can’t stop overthinking something. Is it Cheyenne? Have you told her you’re in love with her, yet?”
I started choking on the lemonade.
“I’ll take that as a no,” she commented casually as she continued chopping up celery, not at all alarmed that I had lemonade coming out of my nose.
“I’m not…” I grabbed a paper towel, wiped my face, and cleared my throat before realizing there was no reason to try and deny it. Although, it was going to make for a pretty awkward conversation if my suspicion turned out to be correct.
Since she’d brought the subject up, I figured there was no time like the present. Mitch was still at work, and Cheyenne was in the shower, but I lowered my voice anyway. “Mom, I need to tell you something and you have to promise me that you won’t say anything to Cheyenne or anyone.”
I didn’t think that she spoke to that many people back in Firefly, but it would be just my luck that she did and if I didn’t tell her not to say anything, who knows who would find out.
She stopped chopping, wiped her hands off with a towel, and gave me her full attention. I could see from her expression that she was taking this as seriously as she should be.
“James Comfort is not Cheyenne’s father.”
I waited for the news to sink in. Sabrina and my mom had been best friends so to find that out about someone who you were so close to might take her by surprise.
Or not. She was staring at me as if she was waiting for me to say more.
