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Whoever it is, I can call them back. Or that’s the plan, until it starts up again. This time I slip my fingers out of the glove and answer.

“Hello.” A visible puff of air exits my mouth.

“Shelby. I was going to leave a message.”

“Oh, Mom,” I say, looking both ways as I cross the street. “Hi. Sorry, I couldn’t get to my phone with these gloves on.”

“I thought I would hear from you, but since that hasn’t happened I decided to make the call.”

“Sorry, Mom.” A pack of sorority girls bundled in heavy jackets and boots take up most of the sidewalk. None seem prepared to yield, so I step off the curb to go around them. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy?” she repeats, unbelieving. “Busy with what? It certainly hasn’t been with your obligations back home.”

“What obligations?”

“Oh, you’ve already forgotten? Maybe that cold weather has impaired your memory. Fine, I’ll remind you.” Her tone turns sarcastic. “There’s all of your volunteer work, including the time you spend with the youth program. There’s the Wednesday night bible study, the Saturday Mobile Soup Kitchen.”

“All of those run smoothly without my participation.”

“David, of course, has been a God-send. Stepping in to fill your shoes while you’re off on this little…”

“Little what?” I stop mid-stride, feeling the anger rise in my chest.

“The word that comes to mind is, tantrum.”

“I’m not having a tantrum, Mother.”

“Oh? Then what would you call running off in the middle of the night, with barely a word to your family or your fiance?”

A dozen words come to mind. Liberating. Adventurous. Fun. I think of Reid…orgasmic.

I reach the door of the Badger Den, but don’t go in. “What is this about, Mom? Did you just call to make me feel bad for doing something for myself for once?”

“No. I called to discuss the upcoming party. Even if you’re two thousand miles away, I’d like your input on a few things…”

“What party?” I blurt.

“Did you start using drugs out there?” she asks. “I’m talking about the engagement party for you and David.”

“David and I aren’t together anymore.”

“Nonsense.” In the background I can hear her rustling around. Probably with her fabric swatches and samples. “Like I said, this is nothing more than a tantrum and once you wear yourself out, everything will go back to normal. Now, how do you feel about lilies? Charlotte down at the florist says that–”

“You know what?” I interrupt, feeling like my head is about to explode. “I wasn’t throwing a tantrum, but now I am. There isno way I’m coming back for that party. No more than I’m going to marry David. That part of my life is over.”

There’s a gasp on the other end of the line. “Shelby Marie Rakestraw, how dare you speak to your mother like that. You made a commitment–a promise–to David in front of your family, his family, the congregation, and God. You think you can humiliate us and just walk away?”

Part of me, the big part that grew up subservient, wanting nothing more than my parents approval, shouts ‘no!’ and to go crawling back to the familiarity of that life. It would be so easy. But staring at the neon lights of the Badger Den, and feeling the warm, cozy sweater I’m wearing, along with the memory of waking up next to Reid’s muscular body is too intense to ignore.

Maybe more intense than anything else I’ve experienced.

“I’m hanging up now,” I tell her and disconnect before she can respond, then push open the door and enter the bar. It’s dark, dank, and smells like stale beer. The floor is sticky and there’s hockey highlights playing on the big screens. Josie waves at me from behind the bar and I grin. This is nothing like the life I left behind, and I’m here for it.

“We’re almost out of limes,”Mike jerks his chin at me. “Can you head to the back and slice some?”

“Yep,” I say, zipping out from behind the bar. I grab a box of empty bottles that need to go out to recycle. There’s a fast beat to working at a place like the Badger Den. There’s always something that needs to be done. Serving drinks, clearing up, taking out trash, placing orders in the kitchen or bar. There’s no time to think about anything other than the task at hand. Like,what it felt like to have Reid’s face between my thighs last night, or how irritated I am at my mother.

I know, those two things shouldnotbe in the same train of thought.