Happily Ever Madder: Misadventures of a Mad Fat Girl (30 page)

“Mason, no, please, just let me explain.”

“There’s really nothing to explain, Ace, when you think about it.”

He takes off, walking fast, and I follow him through a maze of alleys back to the truck. He says nothing on the drive home. When he pulls up in the driveway, he takes the keys out of the ignition and looks at me.

“I think you should go back to Bugtussle,” he says. “Unless of course you have something else in mind, like moving in with Kevin Jacobs.”

“Mason, please just let me explain.”

“No, Ace. Let me explain something to you. I’ve been living down here by myself for over five years. Alone. Waiting on you to decide that you could trust me, and then you finally did, and now here we are—” He shakes his head. “After the way you acted about everything that happened before, who would’ve ever thought you’d be the one cheating on me.”

“I am not cheating on you.”

“Right. Like you didn’t have anything to do with all that garbage at the charity ball?” he says, getting out of the truck. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that?” I get out and walk behind him up the steps to the door.

“Mason, please!” I say, following him into the kitchen, where he gets a beer out of the fridge.

“I don’t want to hear it, Ace,” he says, twisting the cap off the bottle.

“I was in the bar with Jalena and Tia and—”

“I said I don’t want to hear it!” he yells, slamming his fist down on the bar. “You had to do something to make him think he could do that. Men don’t walk up to random women on the street and start making out with them, Ace. It doesn’t work that way. A woman has to give some indication or some kind of invitation to a man. If Tia or Jalena asked me to walk into a dark alley, do you think I would push them up against a wall and start kissing them?” He looks at me. “Do you?” I shake my head and he continues. “No! I wouldn’t! So if you would like to explain something, please feel free to explain what might have led Kevin Jacobs, town whore, to think such behavior would be acceptable to you.”

He looks at me and I look at the floor.

“Let’s talk about logic,” he says, putting his beer on the counter.

“Okay,” I say, not looking up.

“Your defense against apologizing to Lenore Kennashaw, if I recall correctly, was that it’s easy to be nice to nice people, but rather difficult to be nice to people who aren’t, right?”

“Right,” I say, and I’m almost sure this conversation isn’t going to end well for me.

“That makes sense to me because I’m a logical guy, but here’s the thing with logic: It can work for you or it can work against you. For example, the only logical conclusion I can draw from what happened tonight is that Kevin Jacobs would
not
have been all over you in that alley unless that was what you wanted.” He picks up the beer. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

I want to say something, but words won’t come. I bite my lip and feel the sting of tears.

“That’s what I thought,” he says. “I think you should leave.” He walks out into the garage, where I can hear him banging stuff around. I go upstairs and start packing. Buster Loo creeps out from under the bed, and I pick him up and give him a hug.

“Mommy blew it, Buster Loo,” I whisper to him. “I’m so sorry, little fellow.”

After I load the last of my bags in my car, I go back in the kitchen and open the door to the garage. Mason is sitting in a lawn chair with his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m leaving now.”

“Ace,” he says, getting up.

“I’m so sorry,” I say and bite my lip, but the tears start anyway.

“Please, don’t do that,” he says, wiping a tear off my cheek. “Listen, do you remember that day we were sitting in your grandma’s swing under that big oak tree after your parents passed away, and I told you that I would always be around, no matter what?”

“Of course,” I say. “I could never forget.”

“Well, that promise still stands and it always will.” I look up at him. “We tried, baby.”

Mason kisses me on the cheek and I turn to go because I have to get out of there before I have a squalling nervous breakdown. He scoops up Buster Loo and tells him to be a good dog before handing him to me at the front door.

“Just go back to Bugtussle and think it all over,” he says. “Who knows? You might decide to come back.”

“Okay,” I say, but we both know that’s not going to happen. “Thank you so much, for everything.” I walk out the door and don’t look back.

* * *

I know I need to call Lilly, but I don’t have the guts to tell her what happened. I decide to call her when I get to the Alabama state line. Then when I get to the Mississippi state line, I decide to call her when I get to Meridian. When I get to Meridian, I decide to call her when I get to Tupelo, and when I get to Tupelo, I know I have to do it.

“Happy Halloween!” she says cheerfully when she answers.

“Hey,” I say, with a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. “Please don’t ask me to explain right now—”

“Ace, what is it? What’s going on?”

“Lilly, I’m coming home.”

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special thanks to Danielle Perez, Heidi Richter, Susanna Einstein, and Molly Reece.

And thanks to Joe McCay, Tonya LeMay, and the wonderful staff of Margaritaville Hotel in Pensacola Beach, as well as Ryan O’Keeley of O’Keeley Media in Pensacola, Tricia Foley, and TurnHere.

Thanks also to Kathy Patrick and the Pulpwood Queens of Jefferson, Texas; the BB Queens of Jackson, Mississippi; Emily Gatlin and the fine folks of Reed’s Gum Tree Bookstore; Lyn Roberts of Square Books; Cat Blanco of the Book Exchange; Karen White; Echo Garrett; Angela Lee; Cynthia Callander at Vero Beach Book Center; Tom Warner of Litchfield Books; B. Bronson Tabler, P.A., of Tabler Law in Tupelo, Mississippi; Scott Thompson of the Ole Miss Alumni Association; Rhonda Keenum of Mississippi State University; Jordan Gann; Lelani Salter of
Town & Gown Magazine
; Brad Mooy of the Arkansas Literary Festival; Farris Yawn of Canton Festival of the Arts. And Barnes & Noble (Mississippi State), Booksellers at Laurelwood, Lemuria Books, Page & Palette, Capitol Book, Barnes & Noble (Pensacola), Orlando Public Library, Books Plus, and Blue Bicycle Books.

And thanks to Deirde Donahue of
USA Today
, Jennifer Brett of the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
, Barbara Hoffert of
Library Journal
, Sara Vilkomerson of
Entertainment Weekly
, Kristina Webb of TCPalm, Sam Grisham of the
Prentiss County Progress
, Brant Sappington of the
Banner-Independent
/
Daily Corinthian
, Cyrus Webb of Conversations Radio, the
Daily Journal
of Tupelo, Wendy Wax, Sophie Littlefield, Valerie Frankel, Rachael Herron, Deep South Magazine, Kindle Fever, Shelf Awareness, BlogHer, and everyone else who took the time to do an interview, book review, blog entry, and/or feature.

Finally, a big
muchas gracias
to Sandy Jackson and her aristocratic weenie dog, Buddy Chubz, Mandi Harris, Molly Wren, Melisa Depew, Jenny Little, Edgar Serrano, Michael Raines, Aaron Raines, Brent Raines, and Barry and Wanda Raines. Thanks also to all the rest of my family and friends. And, last but certainly not least, thanks to each and every person who is a fan of Ace Jones. There are no words to properly express my appreciation for all of your support.

Photo by Rachel Wade

Stephanie McAfee
was born in Mississippi, and she now lives in Florida with her husband, young son, and chiweenie dog.

Also by Stephanie McAfee

Diary of a Mad Fat Girl