Текст книги "Nuts"
Автор книги: Alice Clayton
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
“You did?” he asked, his pleasure evident even through the concern.
“Stop looking at me that way. I’m drunk, but I’m not too drunk to know some things.”
“What things do you know, pretty girl?” His palm swept across my cheek, cradling my face, his fingers resting lightly on the back of my neck.
“I know what you were up to in there, with your big sexy hand on my back all night, marking your territory.” I tugged at his shirt, bringing him in closer, then kissed his nose, his eyelids, his forehead, and finally his chin.
“What if I was?” He inhaled quickly as I nibbled his jaw. A muffled groan escaped him as I wound my hands into his hair, then kissed a path straight toward his mouth.
“I know a much better way to mark your territory,” I breathed, then covered his mouth with a hot, wild kiss, thrusting my tongue into his mouth as his hands became rough and unsteady.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice full of need and want, and I luxuriated in the knowledge that I could make him this way. “Tell me what you want.”
I pulled him close to whisper in his ear. “I want you to fuck me raw, then come all over me. I want to be covered in you, slippery and wet and filthy dirty.”
Leo froze. Then pulled back to look at me. And sucked in air like he didn’t have nearly enough.
I’d love to tell you we made it back to my house. The most I can say is we made it just barely of town, and defiled a country road in the most glorious way.
Chapter 21
“Order up! I’ve got scrambled with dry rye, two Reubens, one with pickle, and a black cow. Let’s get a move on, shall we, ladies?”
I laughed as dish towels from all four corners of the diner came flying in my direction. Maxine and the others trooped over to retrieve their orders from the window, and I earned a wink from her. I’d spent the morning in the weeds when Carl called out sick. I’d handled the grill, prepped for tomorrow, and started on the cleanup, staying ahead as best I could.
“How’s it going, Mrs. Oleson?” I called out as the bell tinkled, alerting me to a new customer.
Mrs. Oleson waved and called out, “Roxie, will you be here tomorrow morning? I need to order something for the mayor’s luncheon next week. Can you do a pineapple upside-down something?”
“How about pineapple and orange, with a brandy glaze?”
The entire diner oohed and aahed, and she gave me the thumbs-up. Giving a little curtsey, I turned back to marrying the ketchup bottles behind the counter, whistling along with the jukebox as I combined the half-bottles. Hearing the bell tinkle once more, I called over my shoulder, “Welcome to Callahan’s! Grab any open seat; a waitress will be right over with . . .”
My voice trailed off as the scent of patchouli reached me. No way. I turned to see my mother standing just inside the door, Aunt Cheryl right behind her. She was tan, healthy looking, and positively beaming.
“You’re not supposed to be– What are you– I mean, you’re home!” I blurted. Oops.
“Well, welcome home to you too,” she replied, her voice warm and happy. Her arms and hands were covered in henna tattoos, she had a new piercing in her nose, and her wild hair was in two frizzy braids.
Overcome with the need to hug her, I rushed out from behind the counter. A wave of patchouli washed over me, strong and earthy, and for the first time in a long time, I was very glad to see her.
But how odd that my first thought was, damn, was it time for her to come home already?
“A little help here?” Aunt Cheryl was struggling with what appeared to be both sets of their luggage.
“Oh, Aunt Cheryl, I’m so sorry, let me help you with that,” I exclaimed, snatching up duffel bags and tote bags filled to the brim with Spanish flamenco fans, Chinese New Year masks, a bamboo—
“Ma! You can’t just carry a bong around like a purse!” I threw a dish towel over the bamboo pipe.
She was waving to everyone like a celebrity. Oh boy. She’ll be milking this for the next ten years.
“It’s a ceremonial bong, Roxie. I got it from Laos. Your uptight is showing,” she said, walking further into the diner and taking a good long look.
Something tightened in my stomach as she sized up the changes I’d made, no doubt weighing how quickly she could change them back.
Shaking my head, I sprang into action. Maxine and I set all the bags off to the side by the door, while my mother was greeting everyone as if she’d been gone for years.
Someone at the counter asked the million-dollar question. “So, did you guys win?”
Mom and Aunt Cheryl passed a look between themselves before shaking their heads. “Sorry, can’t say anything. Contractually bound to be silent,” Mom explained.
“Aunt Cheryl, are you okay? You look exhausted,” I said, pushing a stool behind her.
“I’ve never been so tired in my entire life.” She sank onto the stool gratefully, resting her head on the countertop.
She was half asleep by the time I looked around for my mother, who was making the rounds, greeting her regulars, making conversation. She grew up in this town, she knew everyone, and she was well liked by all. Her return provided some excitement for this sleepy town, and she was getting her moment’s worth. As she walked around she continued to check out the changes I’d made, but there were no comments or questions so far. If she was irked by the changes, she didn’t say anything. Maybe because we had an audience. Or, maybe because she was happy with it. Unlikely, but stranger things had happened.
As I continued with my side work, the restaurant started to clear out from the lunch rush. And as I cleaned, I kept waiting for the feeling of relief to wash over me. That she was back, that I’d done my time, and I could return to my life in California. And I kept on waiting for that feeling.
But it never came. Funny.
When the last of the lunch crowd left, Mom locked the door. Making her way over to me, she sat on the stool next to her snoring sister, laughing. “Should we let her sleep?”
“She seems pretty tired.” I chuckled. “I say let her sleep.”
“Speaking of sleep—”
I jumped. Who’d told her about Leo already?
“How have you been sleeping, with all this fresh country air?”
I breathed in relief. “Oh, um, I’ve been sleeping pretty good, actually.”
“And you look really good,” she said, examining me carefully. “You look rested. You skin is good, your eyes are bright, and your hair looks nice and strong.”
“Thanks, I eat a raw egg every day for a shiny coat. You want to check my teeth?”
“Don’t sass your mother, Roxie,” she said absently, still looking me over too carefully. Could she tell? Did she know? “Mmm-hmm,” she finally said.
I felt the same way I had when I was a kid and I tried to lie about whether or not I’d done my homework. She always knew.
“You’re free to go, Rox,” she said.
“Um, thanks, but I’ve still got ordering to finish up before I can leave today. I’ll see you back at the house. I’m sure Aunt Cheryl would prefer to nap on the couch rather than on the counter.” I smiled, and patted her on the hand. “Good to have you home, Mom.”
“I meant, you’re free to go back to California.”
I was halfway through the swinging door when I heard her words. I swooped back out to the diner.
“I’m home! You’re released!” she cried, making a grand gesture toward the front door. “I’m surprised you didn’t run for the hills the second we walked in.”
I sat down beside her, toying with a loose thread on my apron. The setting was much as it was when I was a little girl. Sitting side by side, not looking at each other, but at the yellow order tickets that flapped against the steel strip.
“I was thinking,” I finally said, spinning my phone on the counter as a distraction, “I sort of have to stay a bit longer. You see, you’re home sooner than I planned. I’m glad you’re home, but I’m not prepared yet. I um . . . still have cake orders to fill. I need to tell you about the cake orders I’ve been taking. And I’ve got these zombie classes I’m teaching. We’ve still got canning to learn, and I was hoping to get to pureeing and freezing before the last of the tomatoes go.”
Then my phone lit up with an incoming text. And on the screen was Leo’s name, and a picture that I’d taken the day he showed me his walnut . . . trees. He was grinning lazily, looking every inch the poster boy for Hot Farmer—it was my favorite picture of him. And though I quickly turned it over, I wasn’t quick enough.
My mother saw the picture. And she might have even seen the text. Oh man.
Her lips rolled in as she tried to hold back a grin. “I see.”
“You see nothing. This isn’t what it looks like.”
“I’d love to know what you think it looks like, when the most eligible bachelor in the state of New York is texting my daughter things like, ‘Hey Sugar Snap, last night was incredible and—’ ”
“Stop talking! Oh my God, make it stop!” I wailed, dropping my head onto the counter just like Aunt Cheryl.
“You’ve been making more than cakes this summer, Roxie Callahan!” My mother leaped up from her stool and ran behind the counter, grabbing two mugs and the coffee. Pouring us each a cup, she propped her chin up on her hands and arched her eyebrows. “Spill it.”
I spilled it after dinner, after Aunt Cheryl was sawing logs in the guest room, and my mother and I sat on the front porch. That front porch was seeing some action this summer, between the floor sex and the storytelling. My mother partook of a bowl of Colorado’s finest leaf, while I stuck with an iced coffee.
I kept the spill light and disclosed no real substance, admitting only to seeing Leo occasionally, casually. A few juicy nuggets easily distracted her, and with only the slightest nudging, I was able to turn her focus away from me and my love life, and on to how her trip had been.
Officially she couldn’t tell me whether they had won, but based on the fact that she was home early, and an artfully timed wink when I said, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, just tell me, you lost, right?” I put two and two together.
And as easy as it was to distract her with something shiny (talking about herself), she could be distracted even more by something shiny and rose petal filled (her love life).
My mother had met no less than three men on her trip. First there was Hank, an auto parts salesman from Akron, Ohio, traveling with his son for the show. An early favorite, he and Mom had shared one night of drunken kissing in San Francisco’s Chinatown after the Welcome to Amazing Race cast party. His son and Aunt Cheryl had intervened, explaining to each in turn that getting involved with the competition was a recipe for disaster. When my mother caught Hank with his hands down the pants of another competitor (Sabrina, a yoga instructor from Tallahassee), she agreed, and off Hank went into the discard pile.
Next up was Pierre, a French expat who’d been the instructor on a South Seas pearl diving expedition. After trying to free dive after only ten minutes of training and zero breath support, my mother had been hauled up out of the water and onto Pierre’s lap, whereupon she was resuscitated by the smitten Frenchman. She actually came around several moments before she publicly came around, so as to enjoy a little more mouth-to-mouth. My mother and Pierre enjoyed a night of oceanic skinny dipping, where she urged him to try to set a new world record for holding his breath underwater while otherwise occupied . . .
I nearly had to get the scotch to listen to that story.
And finally, there was Wayne Tuesday. Yep, his actual name.
Wayne was a cameraman for the production company that owned The Amazing Race, and his unit had been assigned to my mother and Aunt Cheryl. Late one night on the island of Tahiti, after a limbo contest that my mother won, the two of them sneaked away from the rest of the crew and shared a frozen pineapple daiquiri. Was it the pineapple? Was it the limbo? Was it the bendy? (Pretty sure it was the bendy.) Who knows, but she was quite taken with Wayne.
Now, typically when a reality show contestant gets involved with a member of the crew (they frown on that), one of two things happens. The contestant is removed, or the crew member hits the bricks. Wayne and my mother were able to hide their budding romance from everyone until the final location in Rome, where they were caught playing a spirited game of hide the salami. He was fired, and a few weeks later, my mother and Aunt Cheryl had been eliminated.
For the record, this was how hard it was for my mother to keep a secret. Did she ever tell me, “Hey, I didn’t win the Amazing Race”? No, but she circumvented the rules, quite handily in her mind, by using words like eliminated. No one, and I mean no one, who knew Trudy Callahan longer than an hour told her a secret.
But as she recounted story after story of her adventures, I was caught up in the excitement, the silliness, her carefree come-what-may attitude. I was enjoying her company, I laughed at her tales, and I sympathetically patted her shoulder when she told me of the perils of getting sunburned down there after a stint at a nude beach.
And so we sat, watching the fireflies dance lazily through the backyard, chatting about this and that and everything. I was convinced she’d forgotten about the text when she suddenly said, “Leo Maxwell is exactly the kind of man I can see you with. See this through, Roxie.”
I was so taken aback that I remained on the porch, sitting stone straight, thinking about what she’d said long after she went inside.
Chapter 22
The next morning, my mom told me that Wayne Tuesday was arriving today; he was driving up from DC to spend the week with her. Aunt Cheryl had left for home early the next morning, telling my mother to never, ever call her again for any kind of reality show. Or any traveling of any kind.
My mother was pleased as punch that I’d be staying around for a bit, but it was going to make for close quarters around the house. I was used to my her having her boyfriends over, but it’d been years since I’d actually had to see it. I shuddered as I pressed down on a burger patty, thinking about what I might have to endure once Wayne arrived.
Mom and I had driven into work together today. She was eager to see the books and see how things had run while she’d been away. I was anxious, now that she was back and settled in, to see how what I’d done would be received.
Though it shouldn’t have mattered. I was leaving . . . right?
Perhaps? Perhaps not? If Chad Bowman were in my head right now, he’d have done a cartwheel. I was entertaining the idea of . . . staying? It seemed so.
I pondered this as I cooked up some cheesesteaks and got ready to throw a new kielbasa on the griddle. The butcher shop I’d gotten the pastrami from had a new line of German sausages, and I’d been steadily working my way through them. The kielbasa was fantastic, perfectly spiced and a little squeaky with good fat here and there. I was mentally working on a recipe with grilled onions and a splash of apple cider vinegar when I heard Maxine call out that I had a visitor.
Looking at the ancient clock over the hood, I saw it was just about lunchtime, which could only mean one very specific visitor. I grinned, setting the cover down on the cheesesteaks to let the cheese get nice and gooey, wiped my hands on my apron, and pushed through the swinging doors.
I immediately spied Polly sitting at the counter, her menu in front of her, looking very grown up.
“Drinking soda isn’t illegal. That’s just silly, Daddy,” she argued, giving Leo one helluva a sideways glance.
I leaned against the doorframe and smiled as Leo calmly took the menu and closed it, setting it down between them.
Behind them I saw my mother with the coffeepot, bopping from table to table, chatting it up, making sure everyone had what they needed.
And a flash forward suddenly struck me—or maybe just a daydream. Clear as day, I had the sharpest vision of a slightly older Polly helping me at the diner. She snapped gum and took an order from a boy who wasn’t much older than she was.
I gazed out at the scene before me: happy people, in a happy town. All the hap-hap-happy—could it be real? Could this be real for me?
Just then Leo noticed me, and as always, his eyes traveled over my entire body, heat flaring in his eyes before he gave me a wink.
I grinned instantly. Maybe this could be real. I waded into the argument with that same grin.
“Pork Chop, you can’t have soda. White milk or apple juice are your choices. Take it or leave it,” Leo said, in a firm voice.
“Grandmother, please,” she whined.
Grandwhat? I stopped so fast I left skid marks.
Sure enough, there sat Mrs. Maxwell. And she looked so profoundly out of place I had no idea how I hadn’t seen her.
Maybe I was distracted by the little family fantasy of me and my very own Almanzo raising Polly on the farm.
Her severely chopped bob was so silvery it would glow in the moonlight. And she had green eyes like Leo and Polly, though hers were the color of money and power.
She was dressed sharply in cream colored trousers that were tailored within an inch of their life, and I silently applauded her for having the balls to wear them into a place that served chili seven days a week. The crisply pressed navy blouse was capped off with pearls that probably cost what I’d paid for culinary school. Or more.
Mentally cataloging my outfit, I cursed, thinking about the rice pudding that had splotched onto my capris earlier. Not to mention the smear of cranberry on my apron.
“Hi, Roxie!” Polly chirped. Smoothing her napkin over her denim shorts, she continued, “Grandmamma, this is Roxie. The girl I was telling you about. She makes the best pie! And we make a superfancy grown-up grilled cheese with fawnteeni cheese and apples and rye bread with these weird little sticks in it. It is soooooooo good!”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Roxie, is it?” she asked coolly.
No handshake. She probably couldn’t even lift her hand, due to the weight of the diamond as big as a skating rink.
“My Leo tells me that you have been helping out your mother here until you move back to . . . where is it?”
“C-C-California,” I spluttered, seeing my mother heading toward the counter with two empty coffeepots and a wide grin. Oh boy. My mother and his, in the same place and time, could be the stuff of legend. It could also be the stuff of epic train wreck.
“Hey there, Polly, you’re home from camp early, aren’t you?” my mother called out, scooting around the counter in a swoop of sandalwood and leather fringe to stand in front of Leo’s daughter, reaching out and tweaking her nose. Polly giggled, and answered my mom’s high-five offer with a resounding smack of her own.
“Hi, Ms. Callahan! Camp was just okay, and Daddy missed me so much we decided I should come home early.”
“We’re glad to have you home. And, Leo, you just get better looking every time I see you!” My mother moved down the counter. “How’ve you been this summer? It sounds like you and Roxie have had a grand old time! Goodness, look at you, turning as pink as a pig’s butt.”
If you say the word butt in front of a seven-year-old, no matter how brainy they are, they will laugh until their head pops off. Hearing her father referred to as a pig’s butt sent Polly off into a gale of giggles that rolled on and on and on, no matter how Leo’s mother tried to kindly quiet her down. She giggled so hard she likely missed the comment about me spending the summer with her daddy, but his mother sure didn’t.
“And this must be your mother, Mrs. Maxwell. You know, I think you’ve been coming here all these years and never once made it into my diner. Now, how is that possible?” My mother moved across from Leo’s mother.
“You know how summers can be, so busy with guests and parties. I always mean to get into town when I visit, but Leo keeps me so busy back at the house,” she replied in that nasal, Northeast monied voice. A little bit Boston, little bit Hamptons, a lotta bit Upper East Side. “And I don’t think I quite caught your name, Mrs . . . ?”
“Just call me Trudy.”
Mrs. Maxwell smiled evenly, likely wondering how she’d suddenly become on a first-name basis with some hippie. She extended her hand across the Formica, a gesture that my mother ran away with.
“Say, look at that lifeline!” she exclaimed, turning Mrs. Maxwell’s hand over and examining her palm. “Unbroken, but this curious line here . . . hmmm . . . were you in an accident when you were a child?”
“Mom, lay off, huh?” I urged, placing my foot on top of hers behind the counter and pressing down. “Mrs. Maxwell, what can I get you? Cup of coffee? Cup of chili?” I’d just asked the equivalent of a modern-day Mrs. Rockefeller if she’d like a cup of chili?
Before she could answer, my mother stepped in. “Roxie, go brew Mrs. Maxwell a cup of my special black tea. I’m going to read your tea leaves!” My mother moved around the counter and tucked her arm through Mrs. Maxwell’s. “Come take a look at our jukebox; I bet you’ll know all the old classics from your teenage years—which were hopefully misspent.”
As Leo and I watched, our mouths ajar, my mother led his mother off to the old Wurlitzer. And Mrs. Maxwell, with years of good breeding, went politely along, smiling and nodding and likely thinking she’d indulge the townie for a little while before beating a retreat.
And as they were going one way, Chad and Logan came the other way, heading straight for the counter.
“What is happening?” I asked as Polly played unconcernedly with the buttons on Leo’s sleeve. As I looked closer, I noticed he was wearing very un-Leo clothing. White polo shirt, long sleeves rolled up. Khaki shorts. I peered over the counter to get a look at his feet. Sperrys. “What’s up, preppy?”
He grimaced. But before he could answer, Chad and Logan arrived.
“We need ice cream sodas, stat,” Chad announced, sinking onto the stool next to Polly and offering her his fist. “Hey there, Pollster, what’s going on?”
Polly bumped his fist. “Just hanging out with Roxie. Daddy, I also need an ice cream soda, splat.”
“Can you make mine chocolate?” Logan asked. “You have no idea the day we’ve had!” He leaned across Chad to offer Polly his own fist bump. “What’s up, little miss?”
“You have no idea the day I’ve had!” Polly echoed. “First, I almost flushed my Barbie down the toilet. Then, Grandmother and Daddy almost got in a fight about whether I should be allowed to try on her lipstick. And even though it’s probably not my color, it should be still my choice whether I get to try it on, right?”
“I totally agree,” Chad said.
“And then,” Polly said, knowing she had all eyes on her, “we get here, and Daddy says I can’t have a soda! And now the boys are getting ice cream sodas—how is that fair?”
Seven years old, just to remind you.
Polly, Chad, and Logan all looked at Leo.
“Ice cream sodas all around, please, Roxie,” he said with a sigh. “You still have that bottle of scotch hidden back there?”
“Roxie, how’s that black tea coming? Hop to it!” my mother called out from the front of the diner.
I escaped to the kitchen, where I was greeted with smoke pouring from the grill, the cheesesteaks now fried, and a burned-beyond-belief kielbasa.
“What is happening?” I asked the world one more time, and someone finally answered me.
“Crazy has come to Bailey Falls,” Leo said in a deep movie announcer’s voice, peering around the swinging door, coughing slightly at the smoke.
I nodded in agreement. “And its name is Mother.”
Once the smoke cleared and the sausage was put out of its misery, Leo reached out and tilted my chin up toward him. “You doing okay with all this, Sugar Snap?”
“I’m trying, Almanzo. I really am.” I sighed. I let him pull me into his arms, wrapping mine tightly around his waist, feeling his good strength seeping into me. Resting my chin on his chest, I gazed up at him, losing myself in the eyes I’d first looked into in this very kitchen, only two months before. I sighed, rising up onto my tiptoes. “A kiss would help.”
“Coming right up.” His lips pressed against mine, hungry and hot.
And when Maxine opened the door, asking where the black tea and ice cream sodas were, the entire world could see us.
I heard a gasp and we both broke the kiss, turning to see my mother and his, one with a look of delight, the other with a look of distinct displeasure.
Chad and Logan with big grins.
And Polly. Her eyes widened. Then filled with tears. Her face crumpled. She climbed off her stool, ran to her grandmother, and hid her face in Chanel No 5.
Leo’s hands fell from my skin like he’d been electrocuted. And the look on his face . . . oh.
He left the kitchen without a word, running across the diner and scooping up his daughter, holding her close as she cried, as his mother tried to comfort her as well. He backed out of the diner, his arms full of his family, his eyes meeting mine.
Now I knew.
He mouthed, “I’m sorry.” His mother looked backed at me with absolute ice in her eyes.
Now I knew.
I stood in the kitchen doorway, dumbstruck.
Now I knew why they called it falling in love.
Because the fall was so very, very bad.
Moments after the Maxwells left, while I was sitting quietly next to Chad and Logan, my mother handing me the tea I was supposed brew for Leo’s mother, the bell tinkled and we all turned at once, hoping to see . . . I couldn’t say it.
A tall, good-looking man in his fifties came sailing through the front door, more salt than pepper in his hair. He held a bag in one hand and a map in the other. “I’m looking for Trudy Callahan? I’m Wayne Tuesday.”
My mom patted my hand made her way over to Wayne, and he kissed her full on the mouth, right in front of everyone. Jesus, everyone was getting kissed stupid right out in the open today. Like no one in town had anything better to do than watch people smooch it up?
As the kiss became two, then four, I felt that damn lump in my throat, and try as I might, it just wouldn’t swallow down.
“You know what, I think I’m gonna get out of here.” Pushing off from my stool, I untied my apron, grabbed my bag from under the counter, and nodded to Chad and Logan.
“You want some company? You can come over; we’ve got Beaches on Blu-ray,” Logan offered.
“That does sound nice, but I think—” I looked over their shoulder and saw quickly where this was going with my mother and Wayne Tuesday. “Ugh. I just need to get out of here.”
Because the lump, I was discovering, was quickly followed by tears, and they were already stinging, preparing to march down my cheeks. The guys both looked at me sadly as I headed out the front door.
My truck looked blurry through the tears now starting to spill. I jumped into the giant Wagoneer, which had carried me all the way across the country and back again, and as I started up the old familiar rumble, U2 came blaring out of the crackly old speakers, singing “One.”
Is it getting better . . .
Oh can it, Bono!
I pulled over on the side of the road, threw the car into park, and pressed eject. I had no patience for U2 today, and the way their words never failed to highlight exactly what I was thinking, exactly what needed to be said. But still Bono sang, words about having someone to blame. I pressed eject again. Still nothing. I pressed eject a third time, and when nothing happened, I punched the stereo.
Which still did nothing! Bono sang about asking me to enter but then making me crawl, and I slapped at the CD player, yelling and crying, trying to get the damn thing to stop.
And then I heard a very familiar Wrangler pulling up behind me.
Before Leo could get to my window, I grabbed my bag and slammed out of my car, walking up the road.
“Hey, Roxie, where are you going?”
“Leave me alone, Leo,” I said, not wanting him to see me crying, not wanting to see his face. He had a power over me that I’d never felt before, and I was weak with it. I was angry at myself for letting things get this far, but Leo was going to feel the brunt of my anger.
“Stop, please—Jesus, Rox, would you stop already!” he shouted, his footsteps loud on the hot asphalt as he ran after me, because that’s what happens in a romantic comedy, right? She walks, he chases, she protests, then they kiss and all is well—ha.
He caught up to me and I turned around, my face wet with tears.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet. Where’s Polly?”
“She’s with my mom. I dropped them off at the house, and then I came back for you. Your mom told me you took off, and I guessed you’d gone this way. Polly’s fine. She’s—”
“Polly’s not fine,” I countered. She’s not fine at all—she was crying.”
“Rox, she’s had me all to herself for seven years. Don’t you think seeing me kissing a woman, especially one she just met, would be a bit weird for her?”
“Are you crazy? It’s a lot weird! You have no idea what she’s feeling right now,” I snapped, wiping at my tears angrily. I stomped past him, heading back for the car.
“What do you mean? How can you know what she’s– Hey, would you stop running away from me?” Leo called, hot on my heels.
“She’s wondering if you’re going to marry me. She’s wondering if I’m going to kick her out of her house. She’s wondering if you’re going to stop paying attention to her. She’s wondering if I’m going to start making her eat boiled carrots every night. She’s wondering if you’re going to forget her one day, because you’ve got me now!”
I reached the car and opened the door, but he slammed it shut before I could get in. I whirled around, sheer anger flowing out now. “And worst of all, she’s wondering if she’s going to love me and I’m not going to love her back!”
He rocked backward as though I’d slapped him.
The lump . . . oh, the lump. I was choking on it.
“Don’t you see, Leo? You can’t just bring a girlfriend home when you’ve got a kid. It’s not fair to her, it’s not fair to you, and it’s sure as hell not fair to me.”
“Oh come on,” Leo said, his voice angry. “That’s bullshit.” He advanced so that I was pressed back against my Jeep.
I pressed back. “Don’t tell me what I feel is bullshit! Don’t you dare do that! I let you in, and I don’t do that with anyone! You give me this incredible summer, and then I find out you’ve been hiding a kid from me this whole time, and then you expect me to just become Miss Susie Homemaker and be exactly what you need, what she needs, what everyone needs? What about what I need?”
