Last Call Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Intro

  The Invitation

  Get Your Freak On

  Celebrate

  The Plan

  She dropped a bomb

  Mark

  Jack

  Carter

  Daniel

  Paint and Surprises

  Spencer

  Brian

  Bad Ideas

  Last Minute Leo

  Jax - Again

  Gage- My Hero

  Canceled

  Cinco De Mayo

  Calling Dibs

  Slow Dancing

  Seeing things

  Long phone convo

  Begging

  Sweet Nothings

  Triple date

  Art Show and Time Flies

  Meet the Parents

  Cocktails

  Let's Skip It

  The Reception

  Secrets Revealed

  Unexpected Company

  The Stuff of Nightmares

  Recovery

  Coming in 2014

  In Acknowledgment

  Last Call Play List

  About the Author

  Last Call

  A Novel

  Michele G. Miller

  Last Call

  Copyright © 2013 Michele G Miller

  Published by Enchanted Ink Press

  All rights reserved.

  License Notes

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems - except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews - without permission in writing from the author.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any reference to historical events; to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Last Call is edited by Stacy Sanford

  Cover Art by Kelsey Keeton of K Keeton Designs

  Models: Mark Weaver and Cameo Yvette

  "Once in awhile, right in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairytale."

  ~ Author Unknown

  To my love, Jonathan

  You’re my Prince Charming and this is our fairytale

  Thank You.

  “You are cordially invited…

  Four words that spark the fear of God into any gently bred, single southern woman.

  Along with ‘Diet,’ ‘What dress size do you need?’ and ‘We need to cancel your cut and color today,’ there is nothing - and I mean NOTHING - a single woman wants to hear less than You are cordially invited.

  Unless, of course, you are the one doing the inviting.

  Otherwise, those four little words are a vivid reminder that some other lucky girl has snared her Prince Charming and you haven’t.”

  ~ Erika Guthry, July 24, 1998

  Friday - April 12, 2013

  The Invitation

  It all started with a 6x9-inch cream envelope and some swirling calligraphy.

  I stepped into the small house I shared with my two roommates to find the offending envelope propped up against a glass vase on our dining table. Next to the envelope was a bright yellow sticky note with my roommate Sara’s chicken scratch:

  Wine is chilling and dinner is on us <3

  Indication #1 that this envelope was bad news.

  Indication #2? The three missed calls and voicemails from my mother sitting on my phone. She never called me during my school hours, and yet today she had tried, and failed, to reach me three times. When she didn’t catch me by voice, she finally sent a quick text:

  Mom: Darling, call me on your way home. Everything is fine here. I have wonderful news from Mary Anne to share.

  My mother never texted me. Typically, she considered texting beneath her. This text was a warning sign.

  Indication #3 was the name Mary Anne.

  Then finally, as I walked towards the envelope that was so beautifully addressed to Ms. Savannah R. Guthry and flipped it over, I found indication #4. The proudly displayed return address along the back of the sealed envelope. It was a dead giveaway as to whom this event was for. As if I hadn’t connected the dots already.

  First things first. I dropped the envelope back on the table, walked slowly down the long hall into my room, and stripped out of my clothes. My mood instantly improved as I slipped on my favorite comfy outfit and piled my dark hair into a messy bun on top of my head. Phone charger in tow, I walked back to the front of the house where I plugged in my phone, grabbed a glass of the aforementioned wine, and plopped myself into a chair with the offending envelope.

  For a good twenty minutes I just sat there chewing on my lip and sipping the white wine. Curling my legs under me, I finally decided to open it.

  The heavy paper was sealed with a gold wax “G” stamped into it and I chuckled to myself. The Guthry family certainly spared no expense when it came to a wedding of one of their own. Without looking in the envelope, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it contained a wedding invitation. Slowly I pulled the card out, indulging in one long sip of my wine before reading the words.

  Mr. and Mrs. Grantham E. Guthry

  Request the honor of your presence

  At the marriage of their daughter

  Mary Anne Guthry

  To

  Mr. Daniel Edward Livingston, III

  On Saturday the Fifteenth of June

  Two Thousand and Thirteen

  Country Club of Charleston

  Charleston, SC

  Daniel Edward Livingston, III: the boy with the crystal blue eyes and windblown blond hair. My heart clenched at the painful memory. Then, almost as quickly, I felt nothing as I thought of the man he had become. My gorgeous, Southern, spoiled cousin was marrying my first love. No big deal. I knew it would happen eventually. I could be happy for them, couldn’t I? After all, it was four years ago. Four years since Daniel sat me down to tell me he wanted to “explore his options.” Little did I know his option was my cousin Mary Anne.

  The vibrations of my phone pulled me back to the present. The display glowed: Mom. I debated the wisdom of letting her fourth call of the day go to voicemail, and decided it was best to get it over with. Avoiding Erika Guthry when she wanted to speak with you was pointless. She could be relentless, and it was best to deal with her like ripping off a bandage…grit your teeth and get it over with quickly.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “Savannah Rose Guthry, I have been trying and trying to contact you today! I almost had Daddy contact the authorities. You’ve given me quite the scare, darling.”

  Add hysterics and exaggeration to the list of qualities my mother possessed.

  “Momma, I’m fine. You know I have classes all day. I just walked in the door a few minutes ago.”

  “Well you should have called me back,” she drawled, the irritation clear in her heavily accented voice. She’d been inconvenienced. “Sweetheart, I called to tell you about Mary Anne and Daniel. Have you heard yet?”

  “I’m staring at the announcement as we speak.”

  “Oh darling, I’m sorry. I so hoped I would be able to warn you. Are you alright?” she asked; her voice heavy with misplaced sorrow. The speed at which her emotions changed could give you whiplash.

  “Mother, it’s been four years. I’m fine.”

  “Losing someone like Daniel Livingston does not simply go away, Savannah. I can’t believe we let him slip through your fing
ers and right into Mary Anne’s. Why, I bet Charlene is prancing like a peacock at the match.”

  “I’m sure she is, Momma. Look, I need to run…”

  “Honey, you know Mary Anne barely graduated, don’t you? Daniel would have done so much better with you. But here we are; they’re getting married in June and you’re in Tennessee still in school.” Her voice rose an octave or two as she mournfully complained.

  “I’ve really got to run, Mother,” I interjected before she could whine some more.

  “What? Oh darling, your father is calling. We’re supposed to have dinner with the Alexanders this evening. Oh…” she gasped. “The most amazing idea just popped into my head! Spencer played golf with your daddy and Neal today…”

  “Oh Momma, don’t go there. Leave poor Spencer Alexander alone,” I begged. You could practically hear the matchmaking wheels spinning from two states away.

  “Sweetheart, Spencer was a doll all those years ago escorting you to your coming out party after Daniel broke your heart. Don’t you worry about a thing, Savannah. I’ll handle everything. I’ll call you in a few days to discuss the details of the pre-wedding events. Love you.”

  “Alright, love you…” I heard a click and she was gone.

  With a heavy sigh, I lifted my wine glass to my lips and was surprised to find it empty. According to the clock on the wall, Sara and Candace should be back with dinner any minute. Another glass could wait for them to return. As I carefully took the wedding invitation from my lap and slipped it back into the envelope, I allowed my mind to wander back to Spencer Alexander. The history there was way more complicated than my mother knew, and he didn’t deserve her snooping into his personal life when all he did was play golf with my father.

  Mind made up, I quickly rang my father’s cell phone, hoping to catch him before he picked my mother up for dinner.

  “Bradford Guthry,” his brusque business voice answered.

  “Hi, Daddy.” Yes, I was a daddy's girl.

  “Hi, baby. Sorry, I didn’t see it was you. Everything alright?”

  “I’m great, Daddy. I talked to Momma a moment ago about Mary Anne’s wedding.”

  “Oh? I’m sorry baby, I should have warned you about that.”

  Funny thing was, I knew immediately that my father was talking about warning me about my mother calling. Whereas my mother thought I needed warning of the event, as if I was going to have an emotional meltdown. My father knew it was my mother’s overreacting, melodramatic phone calls that would put me over the edge.

  “It’s alright, I survived. However, Spencer Alexander may not.”

  “Spence? What does he have to do with anything?”

  “What, indeed,” I laughed; filling him in on Mother’s ‘amazing idea’.

  “Leave your mother to me, honey. Will you be home before the wedding, or are you set on staying in Nashville for the summer?”

  “You know I’m staying here, Daddy.”

  “Alright, sweetie. I promised not to complain. Don’t worry about your mother. I’ll keep her off your case. You have finals in the next few weeks, don’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay then, study hard and let us know how you do. Let me run before your mother yells at me for being late again.”

  “Have fun. Love you.” I laughed as I hung up the phone, my mood significantly improved merely by speaking with him.

  My mother and father were polar opposites when it came to me. Although I knew they both wanted what was best for me, it was my father who listened to me about my wants. My mother, on the other hand, assumed she knew what I wanted and never had a problem making decisions for me.

  Muted laughter outside the front door alerted me to my roommates’ arrival. Hearing the fumbling and rattling of a key in the lock, I got up to help them in.

  Sara let out a curse as I pulled the door open and she stumbled in. “We’ve got to get a locksmith to look at this. It sticks.”

  “Surprise,” sang Candace, nudging Sara in and holding up two carry out bags from my favorite local Italian restaurant.

  “And ice cream,” Sara chimed in, pulling out a tub of Ben and Jerry’s. “Want dessert first?”

  I so did, more than either of them knew.

  Friday - April 12, 2013

  Nine Weeks until “The Wedding”

  Get Your Freak On

  An hour later, stuffed with ice cream and parmigiana chicken, the three of us were lounging in the living room when Candace finally got up the nerve to ask about the invitation. I’d allowed them to take a peek at it when they first came home, but neither of them had said anything about it until now.

  “So, do you have to go to the wedding?”

  “Hell yes she has to go! What would Mary Anne and the rest of those little debutante brats think if she didn’t?” snarled Sara, her eyes flashing in anger at the mention of the word debutante.

  “You forget - I was one of those debutantes.”

  Derisive laughter bubbled up from Sara as she pulled herself up in her chair; sitting on her feet. Yoga really did her body good. “Savannah, you are no more a debutante then I am. I know you did all that stuff back in the day, but it was solely at the urging of your mommy dearest. You’re so not the ‘only wear white after Memorial Day, clutch-my-pearls, and never leave-home-without-makeup’ type anymore.”

  “This is true,” I agreed. My girlfriends really were the best medicine ever.

  “So, you’re going then?” Candace asked again.

  “I have to. Could you imagine my mother’s reaction if I tried to skip out?” I shuddered in faux fear. “Besides, I don’t want Daniel or Mary Anne to think they’ve hurt me. If I don’t go, everyone will assume I’m not done nursing my broken heart.”

  “Over that pretty boy? Whatever,” Sara protested.

  I refused to jump at her bait. Sara liked her guys rockabilly, and the more James Dean-like they were, the better. I was pretty sure the only reason she ended up in school in Nashville was for the music scene and the rockabilly hunks.

  I rolled my eyes at my eccentric roommate and leaned forward to pour the last of the white wine in my glass.

  “I forgot to tell y’all that my mother is already trying to wrangle me a date for the happy event.”

  “Oh good lord, who?” coughed Candace, clearly as amused with my mother’s antics as I was.

  Sara butted in, “You need to find some hot, tattooed bad boy to walk in on your arm, Savannah.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I need, Sara. My poor mother would die of a heart attack.”

  “Wait a minute.” Candace popped up, her eyes bright with excitement. “Lord help me, I’m going to say it.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Sara may be on to something.”

  “Yes,” Sara squealed with delight. “Hot bad boy to the rescue.”

  “Nooo, thank you. I’m not interested in a bad boy toy.”

  “Boy toy. Even better, Savannah,” Sara teased; rubbing her hands together evilly.

  “Shhh. Would you two be quiet? I’m not talking about a bad boy or a toy. However, we could find you an amazing date for the wedding.” Candace smiled my way, adding, “One that will dote on you all weekend, and show those Charleston socialites that you are doing perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

  Sara hissed out a very enthusiastic “Yesssss” while exchanging high fives with Candace. Their eagerness to help me was touching, but misplaced. I didn’t need a date for this wedding. I would be fine.

  “Put your little black books down, ladies. I’ll be perfectly fine attending the wedding by myself. I couldn’t invite some random guy to a family event anyhow.”

  “Like hell you can’t,” growled Sara. “Girl, this is the wedding of the couple who humiliated you your senior year of high school. They are the reason you don’t go home for the holidays. You damn well can and will show up for that wedding with a slamming dress and a gorgeous accessory on your arm.”

  “Sara,” chided Candace.

  I
hadn’t given it much thought in a long time but Sara was right. Mary Anne and Daniel being a couple had kept me away from home for the past two years. During my freshman year of college I’d gone home for all of the holidays, only to find the happy couple showing up at family meals. What would normally be a joyous time to see my family ended up being an uncomfortable mess as Mary Anne draped herself on Daniel’s arm; her eyes smiling triumphantly at me. Daniel, on the other hand, always had the good manners to look guilty when he caught my eye.

  My mind flew back to Easter two years ago when he’d cornered me in my own room during Easter supper. I had sat, for the better part of an hour, through Mary Anne’s high pitched voice detailing their exciting spring break trip with his parents. Not being able to stand it any longer, I quietly excused myself from the meal. Tears began to fall the second I sat on the edge of my bed.

  I cursed myself for the weakness the tears were revealing. What was wrong with me? I didn’t miss Daniel, not really. That was when a light knock sounded on my door. Without waiting for permission, Daniel stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind him. His clean white polo stretched tautly across his thick chest, and his normally floppy blond curls were meticulously combed to the side. He was the epitome of a J. Crew model, with his seersucker pinstripe pants and his Sperrys. Country club 101.

  “Savannah.” He stopped short of my bed when he saw the tears on my face.

  “What are you doing in here, Daniel? Go back to Mary Anne,” I snapped.

  Shoot. That sounded like a jealous ex, didn’t it? I didn’t want him to think I was jealous, yet I couldn’t help being angry.

  “I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, Savannah. I could tell you were upset, and I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

  “Thanks for the long overdue apology, Daniel. You did hurt me - over a year ago - but I’m fine now. I have a headache, that’s all.”