The Season (27 page)

“Ugh. And we just have to wait?”

“Afraid so,” he answered.

With our entire life in limbo, the weeks after our meeting at XT Energy were excruciating. Even Christmas didn't offer a distraction. Julia and I pleaded with Mom and Dad to forego gifts. We needed nothing, had already bought too much, and we could be pushed back into massive debt anytime the phone rang.

Relieved, my parents agreed, and we settled on a quiet Christmas at the ranch. We'd make a big breakfast and go for an afternoon ride, like we did when we were kids. We threw Mom one bone and let her buy us matching Christmas PJs, which was a family tradition. We opened them Christmas Eve. Mom went extra silly—red flannel footy pajamas with dancing snowmen and penguins. We put them on and had
hot cocoa with mini marshmallows downstairs and then went up to bed early. Julia and I always slept in the same bed on Christmas Eve. When we were girls we stayed up too late giggling and talking, waiting and waiting for the hooves to clatter on the roof. Finally Dad would come up and tell us to go to sleep or Santa wouldn't come at all. That night we lay under her quilt face-to-face, inches apart, enjoying the familiar comfort, the shared memories of all those Christmases at the ranch.

“I'm so proud of you,” Julia whispered. “You are so brave.”

“I don't feel brave. I've been terrified the whole time.”

“Being brave doesn't mean you're not scared. It's being scared and doing it anyway.”

“I can't believe you won't be there next week with me,” I said. “You should be. You should do it next year.”

“Hey, if everything goes the way we hope it does, we won't be able to afford it next year.”

“That's true.”

“But I don't think I'd do it anyway,” Julia said.

“Why? I thought you loved it.”

“I did. But I think I got what I needed—even if I don't do the walk across the stage.”

“I love you so much, Julia.” I reached over and put my hand on hers, and squeezed.

“I love you too, Megan.” She squeezed my hand back.

I held on to her hand, and in a few minutes her
breathing deepened and she slept. Long before any reindeer landed, I fell asleep too.

We padded downstairs the next morning and in lieu of gifts, Mom had put out a spread—huevos rancheros, chila quiles, bacon, biscuits, gravy, and a gallon of dark coffee. We stuffed ourselves with comfort food, then lolled on the couch.

“I did get you girls one small thing,” Dad said.

“Dad! You promised—no gifts!” Julia said.

“They didn't cost nothing but time,” he said. Okay, now we were intrigued. He handed us each a flat box, about a foot square. Weighty.

“That's a pretty heavy sweater,” I joked.

Julia and I tore open the boxes, and inside each found a small sculpture he'd made from two large horseshoes welded into an
M
, with a smaller one welded perpendicular. Together they formed the letters
Mc
. Our first names were engraved in the upper-left crescent.

“You made these?” Julia asked.

He nodded. “I got to thinking after that sculpture show. Now I gotta admit they aren't art, but—”

“They're awesome,” I said. We both hugged him. I thought about all the crap I'd wanted all those years, all the crap I'd received. This piece of scrap iron would be the one Christmas gift I would keep forever and pass down to my kids.

Later, Julia helped me practice the Texas Dip in the living room. When my knee hit the ground I always bumped noticeably, and even with a chair I couldn't get all the way
down to the floor. Somehow my back leg just wouldn't get out of the way. I feared I had done too many squats, had run too much. My thigh muscles were just too big for such a graceful move.

“Again,” Julia said. I bent forward, one hand on the chair. While I scooched and prodded my body down, the doorbell rang and a moment later Zach Battle appeared in the doorway, with Mom behind him.

“Hi, Julia—Megan, Merry Christmas,” Zach said. He held a small box.

“Merry Christmas, Zach,” I said.

“Merry Christmas,” Julia said. Awkward silence followed.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Mom asked.

“No—thanks. Um, I was wondering if I could have a moment alone—with Julia.”

“Absolutely,” I said, and dragged Mom to the kitchen. We then snuck back to listen at the edge of the doorway.

“I brought you something,” Zach said. He handed Julia the box.

She opened it and pulled out a small dancing elf who said “Sorry” over and over.

“First off, let's get one thing straight. I am a jackass.”

“I agree,” Julia said, stifling a smile.

“I am more than sorry. I wanted to give you some breathing space, to work things out, and I went to New York. And then before I knew it three days had passed, and I felt like a jerk, and I thought maybe you didn't want to talk to me, and then I waited so long I just got—paralyzed. Finally, Andrew
called me and said, ‘Stop being a coward and go see her.' I never, ever meant to hurt you and I really hope you can find your way to giving me another chance.”

“I like you, Zach. And I appreciate the apology—it helps. And maybe we could have something. But not now. Not for a while. I need some time to work out my own stuff before I add a boyfriend back into the mix.”

“I'll wait,” Zach said.

“It might be a long while,” Julia answered, grinning.

“That's okay,” Zach said. “I've got time!”

Then she smiled. “I'll make you a good-faith gesture,” she said.

Zach looked up, expectant—hopeful.

“I need a date for the Bluebonnet Ball this Saturday. How about we start the clock after that?”

“I'm your man.”

Mom spontaneously hugged me.

As Julia waved to Zach, Dad came to the kitchen door. He looked thoughtful as he put his phone in his back pocket.

“What is it?” Mom asked.

“Sam Lanham called. We can have the Aberdeen back.”

“You're joking,” Mom said. But he wasn't. We really looked at each other then. Were we willing to give back the money and take back the ranch, with all the debt, and the work, and the cows, and the worry?
No-brainer
, I thought.

“Well, I say Merry Christmas!” I shouted. Dad hugged Mom, and then me, and Julia came in and made it four.

Zipped into my tight beaded bodice with yards of flowing tulle skirt, with tiny yellow roses woven in my hair, and my makeup model perfect, I struggled, working to get a long white glove over the cast on my broken right hand. I pulled. I pulled again. I stretched and pulled. But it would not go on.

“I can't do this!” I said.

“Leave it,” Margot said casually.

“I have to wear gloves!” I cried. By this time, after more than two hours primping to get ready, with the limo waiting downstairs, I was a wreck. I just wanted it to be over.

“But your cast—it looks enough like a glove. I think it's emblematic of your struggle.”

“I was planning for my Texas Dip to be emblematic of my struggle.”

“Stop worrying about this dip. Who cares? What if you only go three quarters, or everyone can see you put down one knee—what happens? Prison?”

“Nothing.”

“Will you be less of a woman?”

“No.”

“Forget it, then. Do your best and be satisfied. Being a grown woman means embracing who you really are, your true self—flaws, mistakes, all of it. Look at me.” Here she gestured to her hippie getup du jour—a calico blue-and-white flowered prairie dress that ended just below her knee. She wore creased combat boots with red laces, and I could see the hair on her legs. “Is it for everyone? No. But it is
me
—and it makes me happy. You be
you.”

Twenty-Seven

In Which Megan Does Her Version of the Texas Dip

THE FORMAL BLUEBONNET DEBUT BALL TOOK PLACE AT
eight o'clock on December 31 in the ballroom of the Mansion on Turtle Creek. The themes were evergreen—tradition, prestige, and wealth. The linen draping the tables was thick enough for a tapestry. The heavy silver gleamed. The goblets shone. The crystal sparkled. Each table featured a spare and simple yellow rose centerpiece. Women wore classic, formal gowns. Their husbands and dates wore white tie.

From the stage a walkway extended out into the tables, and soon each of us would emerge, move across the stage with our father as an escort, then leave him and walk to the end of the catwalk. There we would pause, perform the Texas Dip, acknowledge the guests on both sides, and when we returned our debut journey would be over.

Backstage we waited in the greenroom like fighters before a title bout, the atmosphere tense and fueled with adrenaline. Sydney and Abby adjusted their elbow-length white
gloves. Ashley One smoothed a wrinkle from her gown, and Ashley Two checked her hair and makeup one last time in the mirror. I sat by myself, calm and reserved. My gown was perfect, my hair and makeup too. I looked down at the one elbow-length white silk glove on my left hand, and then at my right—from the fist to the elbow just my sparkling white plaster cast. I wiggled my fingers.

The one anxious person backstage was Ann Foster. She was on her phone trying to find out just why Lauren Battle had not yet arrived. It was very close to showtime, and nobody, not even Ashley Two, knew where she was. Ann had spoken to her mother, who said she had left hours before. Ann was now leaving Lauren a message.

“So please call me the instant you receive this message,” Ann said. She ended the call.

“A no-show?” I asked hopefully. “Has that ever happened before?”

“Never,” Ann replied.

“Where is she?” Ann turned toward the words, spoken from the door. I knew that voice the second I heard it.

“I need to see Megan McKnight!” Mrs. Gage said.

Ann stepped in her way.

“I'm very sorry, Mrs. Gage, but this is completely inappropriate. She's—”

“Do you not hear well?” Ann recoiled. I felt pretty sure nobody had ever asked Ann that before tonight. “I am not here to speak with you—I am here to speak with Megan McKnight.”

She saw me and blew past Ann. Lauren Battle, in her gown and gloves, followed her in. She had been crying, and her makeup was a mess.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Mrs. Gage peered down at me.

“How about, ‘I'm a dirty backstabbing boyfriend-stealing bitch'?” Lauren put in.

“I'll handle this,” Mrs. Gage said to Lauren.

“Mrs. Gage, this is really not the time.” Ann again stepped between us. “Now, I'm sorry, but you will have to leave. And Lauren, you need to clean up—we start in fifteen minutes.”

“It's okay, Ann,” I said, and stood up. “You help Lauren.” I stepped past Ann till I was toe-to-toe with Mrs. Gage. We were in a similar weight class, she and I. “Now how may I help you?” I asked.

All the girls drew closer.

“Andrew has broken it off with Lauren, and there are rumors,” Mrs. Gage said. “Not that I believe them, but there are rumors that he is seeing you.”

“It seems to me, Mrs. Gage, that you coming all the way down here is more likely to support those rumors than dispel them.”

Gotta hand it to the broad, she could take a punch. I hit her right in the face with that, and she didn't flinch. Word of her arrival had spread, and several mothers appeared now—Mom and Aunt Camille among them. They too moved closer.

“Cheeky girl. Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know who you are.”

“Then you know Gages sailed on the
Mayflower
. We have been governors, senators, and statesmen for hundreds of years. Andrew will join this line. He will be a very important man one day, and I can say categorically that
you
are not the girl for him.”

“Does your son know you're here?” I asked.

“My son does not always know what's best for himself—or his family. But trust me when I say I do.”

“And that includes paying off Hank Waterhouse and allowing him to prey on others?” Several girls gasped, and Ann narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Gage.

“Enough! Just tell me, in simple English—are you seeing my son?”

I rose to my full height and stared down Mrs. Gage, but remembered Ann's maxim:
You don't have to say everything you think
.

“No.”

“Well, thank God for that!” Mrs. Gage said, and Lauren cried in relief. But rather than leave it at that, she bared her teeth at me again. “You are never to see him again. Do I make myself clear?”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Gage, but Andrew is my friend. He's helped my family and supported me, and I intend to do the same for him whenever he needs me to. Now please—
leave.”

The vein that ran from her temple bulged and pulsed. Her eyes dilated and her nostrils flared. I hoped she would keel over right in front of me.

“Mrs. Gage, you have insulted me in every possible way. But trust me that I will not only survive, I will endure. I am a native Texan. My great-great-grandfather faced down wolves and cougars alone on the prairie, and if he can survive that, I can certainly survive an invasion from a Yankee blowhard in a wool suit. Now if you will excuse me, I have a debut to make.”

Mrs. Gage didn't move. Abby stepped to my left shoulder, in solidarity. Then Sydney moved to my right. Ashley One moved in beside Abby. A phalanx of Texas debutantes glared at Mrs. Gage.

“She said
leave
,” Sydney said coldly.

Mrs. Gage stayed.

“You heard her—go on,” Abby added, a distinct twang in her voice.

And then, with no cards left to play, Mrs. Gage huffed and walked out. I took a deep breath and looked at the faces around me.

“Geez—thanks, y'all,” I said, and they whooped it up. I high-fived Abby and Sydney, and then, to my ever- lasting surprise, I high-fived Ann Foster. My mom and Aunt Camille all came in to give us a hug. Even Ashley Two threw me a look of admiration as she helped Lauren spackle her face.

“You're really not mad?” I asked Ann a moment later.

“Gracious no, Megan. I am proud, so proud of you.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

“You are?”

“Look at you now—everything you were and so much more.” She hugged me hard, her face pressing into my dress. “Oh shit!” she said, jumping back, worried that she had smeared my dress. It was the first curse word she'd ever said around us, and we all cracked up.

“Megan, do you need a moment?” Mom asked softly. I took a breath.

“I do. Thanks, Mom.” We looked to Ann—was that allowed?

“We begin in ten minutes. Be back in five,” Ann said.

Mom and I walked arm in arm down a hallway and outside onto a back veranda. It was a quiet space surrounded by oak trees. I took several deep breaths, then turned to her.

“Thanks, Mom—for insisting I do this.”

“You're welcome.”

“You were absolutely right. I made unforgettable memories that I will cherish for the rest of my life.” How would I ever forget Hank's face as I drove my fist into it? Or the five little tweens oohing and aaahing in the locker room? Or Ann—at that first tea, the first deportment class, our graduation, and tonight? I would never forget Margot, or the women at Refuge. I certainly wasn't going to forget Andrew
Gage.

“I'm so glad. I just felt sure that one day you would need skills beyond . . . dribbling. Every young woman does.” She hugged me, tight. “That's what you are, you know—a lovely and beautiful and strong young woman.”

“A lot like you, I bet,” I said.

“Too much like me,” she agreed.

“I love you, Mom.” I willed myself not to cry.

“I love you too. It's hard between mothers and daughters, isn't it?” she asked.

I nodded. “But we have the rest of our lives to work on it,” I said.

“You take the time you need, honey. I'm going to find my seat.”

She gave my shoulder a squeeze and blew me a kiss as she left. I walked to the edge of the low stone wall and looked out. Through the trees I could see the buildings of downtown Dallas, lit in white and green and red lights.

I heard the sound of footsteps running. When I turned toward them, Andrew Gage was standing there. He wore jeans and a T-shirt and sneakers. His hair was windblown. He had never looked better.

“Andrew? What are you doing here?”

He was slightly out of breath. “My mom's in Texas and I had to see you before she—”

“She was already here.”

“Oh, God. Look—whatever she said, it's not true.”

“She said you had broken up with Lauren.”

His brow crinkled. “Oh. That's true.”

“I'm glad.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back. He came over to stand in front of me. He took my hand, and I felt the jolt of connection.

“Look, the last time I tried to say this, in New York, it didn't go very well,” he said quietly.

“A lot's happened since then.”

“I really think I've fallen in love with you, Megan. And if you don't feel the same way, I'll understand, but if there is even one chance you do . . . I have to know.”

What answer could I give? Only the truth.

“I think about you every day,” I told him.

He kissed me. Hard. And I kissed him back.

“The Eyes of Texas” began to play and Ann stuck her head out the door.

“Megan! We're starting.” We broke our kiss, but he still held me.

“I have to go,” I said. “Will you be here after?”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

Backstage, the six of us waited in the wings, in alphabetical order, to make our entrance. I was next to last, with only Sydney behind me.

“Miss Ashley Harriet Abernathy!”

Ashley One emerged, took her dad's arm, and walked gracefully to the center of the stage. From there she walked steadily alone to the end of the catwalk and performed
a very acceptable Texas Dip. Her legs folded slowly beneath her, and her head nearly touched the floor. Then she rose easily and walked back. Her dad brought her backstage.

“Way to go, Ashley,” Abby whispered, and fist-bumped her, and all of us except Lauren stepped forward to congratulate her quietly. Ann gave her a long hug.

“Miss Lauren Eloise Battle!”

Lauren emerged to loud applause and took her father's arm. She walked quickly, but on the catwalk she teetered ever so slightly. At the edge she gathered herself, and then began her Texas Dip. She bowed and folded and let her head fall to the side, and the crowd clapped loudly. She stayed down and they clapped harder, showing appreciation for the depths of her bow. The clapping slowed when she failed to rise, and stopped altogether when she lifted her head and mouthed “help me!” to her father. He hustled out and with an assist she rose and made her way backstage. Hot tears poured down her face, and though Ashley Two reached toward her, Lauren dodged and ran out, ignoring all of us too. We shared a look.
So sad.

“Miss Ashley Diann Kohlberg!”

Ashley Two gathered herself, went out, and dipped just fine.

“Miss Margaret Abigail Lucas!”

“Go, Abby!” I whispered up to her.

She beamed and went out to wild clapping. I would be next, and then Sydney. I still fretted over my Texas Dip. I knew I had never really dropped all the way down, and had
never been able to really get my back leg out of the way. I was considering a radical new move when Sydney spoke to me for the first time since the Nasher luncheon.

“I never thought you'd keep it a secret,” she said quietly. I knew instantly what she was talking about.

“Really, why?” I asked, glancing back. She looked thoughtful and earnest.