Beauty and the Mustache

“You’ve never dated a nice man?”

“I did once—in high school. I dated a really nice boy named Jackson James—or at least he was nice to me until I admitted that I wasn’t attracted to him. Then he made a big, public fuss, told everyone we’d slept together, and refused to talk to me again.”

“And…?”

“After that, I promised myself I’d only date men I was attracted to, because I never wanted to hurt someone like that again. And since then, I’ve had my heart broken twice. The first time you know about—Grant, in college, the son of that big shot Wall Street tycoon.”

“Sorry,” Sandra said, her expression grim at the memory. “I’d forgotten about Grant.”

“What happened with Grant?” Elizabeth looked between the two of us.

Sandra glanced at me and I shrugged my shoulders, indicating that I didn’t care if she shared.

“He was an asshole. He was dating two other girls. But,” Sandra added, turning to me, “he was a smooth asshole, wasn’t he? There was no way of knowing what he was up to. And when you found out, you broke up with him.”

This was all true. He was a really good liar. What I didn’t tell Sandra was that when I broke up with him, he told me I was trash—I was a pretty face and a nice piece of ass, but all I’d ever be was backwoods, ignorant trash. He even said he would have been embarrassed to introduce me to his family, and that no man would want me once my looks faded.

It hurt my heart to think about it now, mostly because I was stupid enough to fall for him in the first place.

“And Sam wasn’t your fault either.” Sandra said this as friend Sandra. “He was just a flake.”

Sam was my boyfriend for three months in graduate school, and I’d fallen hard. He was a musician who decided that he wasn’t ready for a serious girlfriend; this was after we’d had sex, of course, and he’d told me he loved me. Six months after we broke up, he married a record executive’s daughter.

“Do I want to know about Sam?” Elizabeth asked.

“No,” Sandra said, and made a face like she’d just remembered what sour milk tasted like. Then she turned to me. “That’s two guys, Ashley. That’s hardly enough to make you swear off men.”

“No, that’s three guys if you count my childhood friend Jackson. If you count my father, then that’s four guys who have broken my heart. If you count my brothers, then we’re up to ten.”

Sandra pressed her lips together and stared at me. “Drew is smokin’ hot, got a head full of brains, doesn’t bother much with chit-chat, and will be coming by daily.”

“But he’s also pushy and entitled, and he rubs me the wrong way.”

Elizabeth muttered under her breath, “If you let him, I think he’ll gladly rub you the right way.”

I stared at her, my eyeballs bugging out of my head. Then I flopped back on the bed, covered my face with my hands, and groaned. “Are we really talking about this? With my mother downstairs, sick and… she’s not going to get better.”

Sandra sighed. “Yes, and we’re sorry.” I felt the bed depress at my side. Sandra lay next to me and threw her arm and leg over my body, hugging me. “You’re really vulnerable right now. It’s natural to want and actually crave physical comfort. Drew would likely love to provide you with physical comfort. The thing is, there’s an intensity about this guy that makes me worry for you. I just wanted to see if you returned his interest.”

“Well I don’t. I’m not interested in Drew.”

Elizabeth chimed in. “You have a lot going on.”

“Exactly.” I felt Sandra nod next to my shoulder then squeeze me. “You’re a sensitive soul. You read poetry for fun! You’re a romantic. I don’t want you leaving Tennessee with two broken hearts.”

I shook my head, opened my eyes, and faced Sandra. She looked worried.

“I’ve learned my lesson, Sandra. I know better than to trust men. I’ll just ignore him.”

She gave me a little smile. “I doubt he’s going to be easy to ignore. He strikes me as the stubborn type.”

“He is stubborn, but he won’t make a move. Even if what you’re saying is true—which it isn’t—he won’t push me. My brothers trust him. And, more importantly, Momma trusts him.”

“Honey, I hope you’re right.” She cupped my cheek, her smile wary and small. “But you should know, my dearest, that you don’t need to be pushed in order to fall.”

***

“Tell us more about Ashley as a little girl,” Elizabeth said eagerly, her eyes darting to mine then back to Momma’s. “Was she a rough-and–tumble kind of girl, or was she decked out in pink chiffon?”

It was Sandra and Elizabeth’s last day, and we were all sitting in the den. Momma’s weekday hospice nurse, Marissa, had also stopped by to train the weekend nurse, Tina. However, Marissa had stayed after Tina left and Joe had arrived for his shift, explaining that it was her day off and she wasn’t in any rush to leave.

So, we all sat around Momma’s bed chatting and drinking mint iced tea. It was nice to share my friends with Momma and vice versa, like two parts of my heart coming together. Additionally, their presence was comforting in general; this was especially true after Elizabeth heard back from our oncologist friend in Chicago. In his expert opinion, nothing could be done for my mother other than make her last weeks comfortable.

My mom sighed at Elizabeth’s question, a happy smile on her face, and her eyes lost a bit of focus as she recalled what I was like in my growing-up years. “She was a bit of both, really. She loved to run wild with her brothers—when they weren’t being big meanies.” She paused and winked at me, then continued. “But she also liked to get dressed up in my clothes and shoes. One time I found her with lipstick all over her face.” She chuckled briefly, the smile lingering behind her eyes.

I shook my head and grinned at the memory. “I was five and thought makeup consisted of only lipstick, meaning in order to put makeup on I just needed to put lipstick everywhere and it would magically do what it needed to do.”

Sandra leaned in close to my mom and said, “That’s how she puts on makeup now, too.” Her tone was conspiratorial and her expression serious. “We’re all too polite to correct her. It’s very awkward when we go to the circus; everyone thinks she works there.”

Marissa and Elizabeth laughed.

“Sandra, I’ve known you three days, and I can’t imagine politeness stops you from saying anything.” My mother grinned and winked at my friend.

Sandra sighed. “It’s true. What is this politeness of which you speak?”

Momma laughed but then her breath hitched, and she winced and closed her eyes.

The mood in the room changed instantly. My hands balled into fists. Both Marissa and I stood and crossed to the bed as Joe handed Momma the remote that controlled the morphine pump. “Bethany, you shouldn’t be afraid to use the medication,” he said to her, his tone warm and kind. “It’s meant to help.”

Momma nodded and pressed the button once. “I know.” Her voice was gravelly, unsteady. “I think maybe I’m just tired.”

Elizabeth and Sandra exchanged looks then stood and began clearing dishes.

“Oh, girls, don’t go yet,” Momma protested.

“Don’t think you can get rid of us,” Sandra said over her shoulder, pausing just inside the door to the den. “We’ll be back. We’re just going to steal your daughter for a bit while we make dinner, but after that, we’re coming in to do those tequila shots.”

“You better rest up, Bethany,” Marissa said, giving my mother a teasing look, referring to Sandra when she added, “Texas girls mean business.”

Momma’s medicine was already kicking in when we left. Marissa offered to stay behind just in case she woke up so I could help Sandra and Elizabeth with dinner.

We’d made it just three steps down the hall when we were stopped by Roscoe. He gave us all a warm smile. I noted that he had a vase of wildflowers in his hands. Often, over the last several days, I had mused that Roscoe reminded me of a puppy—eager to please and hungry for affection.

“Hey! Is Momma still up?” he asked.

“Uh, kind of,” I said. “She’s just resting now.”

His face fell just slightly and he sighed. “Ah, well. I’ll just poke my head in and leave these by her bed, maybe sit with her for a while.”

“What’s going on?” Billy appeared at the end of the hall and walked toward us.

He looked like he’d just come home from work. Apparently, he worked all the time, because today was Saturday, and he’d already put in some long hours during the workweek, coming home after 7:00 p.m. every day.

Sandra stepped forward and threw her thumb over her shoulder. “Go on in, Roscoe. Marissa is in there already; you could keep her company.” The subtle shift in Sandra’s tone had me looking at her with suspicion.

Roscoe’s eyes brightened. “Really?”

Billy scowled. “What’s she doing here? I thought she only worked during the week.”