Fiction Friday: The Bandbox Hat

 

The Bandbox Hat

Previously: April, Rachael, and SarahJane talked. SarahJane realized she needed some answers and closure about her experience with Date My Son! and decided to contact the show and request to meet with Austin and Linda.

Chapter Fifty-One

April’s eyelashes had barely lifted the next morning before she asked for the rollkuchen. Until we sat at the table to eat, my mind kept wandering back to my decision last night to call Liam and get some closure with Austin and Linda.

“Can we go to the zoo today, Auntie SJ?” April smacked her lips and powdered sugar went flying across her plate.

“I suppose. I just have to make a phone call.” I refilled my coffee mug and sipped the hot brew.

“What time does the zoo open? Can you call now? Can I watch The Barefoot Contessa?”

“Not for another couple of hours. Yes, in a minute. The television cooking show or the movie?”

“The show. I’m an Ina Garten fan.”

April’s earnest expression provoked a chuckle from me. “Are you now?”

She nodded. “My lets me cook dinner one night a week and I always make a Barefoot Contessa recipe.”

“Okay, if you can find Ina, you can watch her.”

April skipped to the couch and flipped on the television. After just a minute of searching, sure enough, she found Ina plucking basil from her herb garden.

So … time to make my phone call. I’d been so sure last night, but now …

“Oh, buck up buttercup,” I muttered. “Make the call.” I scrolled to Liam’s number and pressed Call.

He probably was busy and couldn’t answer. Or—even more likely—he’d see my name on his incoming call screen and would decline. I might get his voice mai—

“Hello? SarahJane?”

Oh. He didn’t send me to voice mail at all. I was talking to the real live Liam.

“Hey, Liam. It’s SarahJane.” What an idiot, he knows who’s calling. “I mean—”

“Drop that right now!”

“Uhhh … pardon me?”

“Sorry, SarahJane, I was talking to the stage manager’s assistant. She insists on changing the throw pillows around in the living room and I want them left there!” His voice raised to a shout.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, it’s perfect. What can I do for you?”

Deep breath in. Count to three. Exhale. Spit it out. “I want to talk to Austin and Linda and get an answer about why they sent me home.”

He was silent.

“Liam?”

“Oh, sorry. I was watching the pillows. Yeah, sure, come back to the house at … about four o’clock?”

Disbelief wriggled up my spine. “Really? I expected a fuss.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Happens all the time. We decide ahead of time who we’ll let—I said leave the tweeds and plushes where I had them! Listen SarahJane, I’ve got to go. See you at four.”

He hung up to attend to his pillow crisis before I could thank him or ask what he meant about what happens all the time and deciding who they’ll let do something. Apparently the same something that I wanted to do: go and get some closure, hopefully with a few answers.

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