Текст книги "Taking Connor"

Автор книги: B. N. Toler

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“Would this be date two with the painter?” Lexi interrupts . . . of course she does. “Maybe he’ll do some kind of Titanic shit where he draws a photo of you in the nude.”

My cheeks heat not only at the thought of that but that she’s saying it in front of Connor. “Pretty sure that isn’t going to happen,” I mumble, awkwardly, as I push some of my hair behind my ear.

“Maybe he’ll finger paint your bare body,” Lexi continues, goading me. She knows she’s humiliating me right now, and she loves every second of it.

“Okay, Lex,” I snap as I hold my hand up. “Let’s get you that coffee.” Looking back to Connor, the easy expression and humor filled eyes seem to have vanished. Now his brow is slightly furrowed, and his mouth is flat. Lexi has obviously made him feel uncomfortable.

Rolling my eyes, I say, “Sorry. Tuesday night? That works for me if it works for you.”

“Yeah, Tuesday is good,” he adds quickly.

“Join us for coffee?” I ask as Lexi tromps up the stairs of my back porch.

“Nah . . . gotta get to work. But thanks.”

“Okay,” I half smile and give a little awkward wave. “Have a good day, neighbor.”

With a chuckle, he waves back. “You too.”

When I make it inside, Lexi is sitting at the table, mug in hand, sunglasses still covering her bloodshot eyes. “I have bad news,” she begins as I dump the cold dregs of my morning coffee in the sink and pour myself a fresh cup.

“Yay,” I mumble. I may not know what the bad news is, but I do know, without a doubt, it has to do with our mother.

“Gladys knows about Vick,” Lexi confesses before sipping her coffee. My shoulders slump with this news. I’d rather have had a chance to get to know Vick without my mother interfering with mindless gossip and boasting me as the sweetest widow this side of the Mississippi.

“That is unfortunate news,” I sigh in defeat, taking a seat next to her.

“Mr. Grenier was at the bar the other night and saw you two together. Called mom and gave her the 411.”

“And . . .” I question. Surely Gladys has given Lexi her in-depth opinion of Vick, a man she barely knows.

“She’s just happy you’re dating someone, and it’s not Connor.”

I frown with her words. It makes me sad my mother thinks so lowly of a man she’s never met. It makes me sadder she doesn’t trust my judgment. And it makes me saddest that Connor is so undeserving of her low opinion.

Lexi, sensing my dismal thoughts, changes the subject. “Damn I’m hungover,” she sighs.

“You’re hungover every day, Lex,” I point out. “Why don’t you take a few nights off from the party scene?”

She snorts. “Gotta party while I can.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” I ask casually. Lexi is no doubt a very sexual woman. That’s not to say she sleeps with everyone, but she isn’t shy about sex.

She blinks a few times, her gaze drifting away for a brief moment as if in thought before moving it back to mine and smirking. “His name is Bob. You’d like him.”

“Bob?” I question, smiling a little, happy to hear my sister is interested in someone. “What’s he like?”

Twisting her mouth to the side she mumbles, “Hmm.” Then leaning forward, she says, “He’s a solid kind of guy and knows how to show a girl a good time.”

“Well, those are both really good traits.” I smile.

“And whenever I need him, no matter what time of day it is, he’s always there.”

“I like him already,” I add.

She smiles at me. “Oh, you’d adore Bob,” she agrees as she picks up her cell phone and starts messing with the screen. “I have a picture of him.”

I sit up straighter, waiting to see this guy that has my sister so enamored. “Is he cute?”

“He looks like Zac Effron.”

“Really?”

She hands me her phone and when I glance at the screen, my brows furrowing in mild confusion, she bursts into laughter. “Your face, Demi!” she bellows out as her hand slaps the table top.

I look up and glare at her. The picture she has pulled up using the internet on her phone is one of a giant vibrator with some weird looking thing that sticks out.

“Demi, meet Bob,” she gasps between laughs. “My battery operated boyfriend.”

I roll my eyes and slide her phone to her as her body jerks while she tries to stop laughing. “I was excited you had a boyfriend that looked like Zac Effron,” I add dryly.

“Well I picture that sexy son-of-a-bitch every time Bob and I have a go at it,” she jests.

“Very funny, Lex,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know,” she chuckles. “Sorry. I had to do it.”

Seeing the moment has passed, she moves on once again to a different subject. “How was this weekend with the kids?”

I let out a long breath. “Long and exhausting. Thanks for all your help,” I reply snidely.

She smiles saucily. “Looks like you and Connor had it handled anyway. Were they at least good for you?”

I decide not to tell her my concerns about Grayson until I have a chance to discuss it with Wendy. But McKenzie is fair game and being that Lexi was a bit of a wild card herself growing up, maybe she can offer some insight as to what is going on with Kenz. “Mostly well,” I begin. “But McKenzie is going through some major mood swings. She was just . . . angry all weekend,” I try to explain. “And she was even rude to the Jenson’s when they came over to say hi.”

“The old dude across the street?” Lexi questions and I nod. “He’s always given me the heebie-jeebies,” she shutters.

“Really?” I question surprised. “He’s so sweet, though.”

“I’ve just always gotten a weird feeling about him. I don’t know. Must just be me.”

“Well, I doubt he’ll ever come back over after the way McKenzie treated them the other day. Not to mention she told me she hates my house and didn’t want to come over to begin with but Wendy made her.”

“Damn,” Lexi sighs, as her brows furrow. “She used to love spending the night with you. Think it’s because Blake isn’t here anymore?”

That thought hadn’t occurred to me for some reason. But Lexi has a point. Blake was always a part of our sleepovers, and he always made them fun. He’d make fires in the backyard for s’mores and take the kid’s for bike rides. “Maybe,” I admit. “I’m going to talk to Wendy about it. I love those kids, and I’ve been terrible about trying to spend time with them since Blake passed away. Maybe Kenzie and I need some one on one time.”

“Maybe, just don’t make it so obvious. You should include Mary-Anne as well. Otherwise, McKenzie will know you’re just trying to kiss her ass.”

“I’m not trying to kiss her ass,” I defend.

Lexi sips her coffee before saying, “You know what I mean but suit yourself.”

We share another cup before Lexi drags herself out the door and heads home for a nap. I busy myself cleaning up and washing laundry when I remember I never texted Vick back. I find my cell phone and power it on. There are two new texts from Vick.

Vick:

Okay, okay . . . it isn’t that small. I don’t want to lie to you anymore.

Then,

All joking aside, I hope we’re still on for Monday. I’ve been thinking about you all week.

I can’t help smiling as I feel a little flutter in my belly. I don’t know where things will go with Vick, but it is nice to feel . . . wanted.

I text him my address and tell him I’m looking forward to seeing him, too. And just as I’m pouring myself a glass of sweet tea with every intention of curling up on my couch for a nap in front of the television, I hear Connor start his bike and take off. As I plop down on my couch, I try hard not to think about where he’s going.

Apparently my little sister thinks I’m an invalid, incapable of dressing myself appropriately for a date. I assume this because she returned, again, tonight to ‘help’ me dress for my date with Vick. After much debate, I let her convince me to wear my best ‘ass showcasing’ jeans, as she calls them, and a flowy, emerald green top that hangs off one shoulder and makes my dark hair and eyes pop. As I stare at myself in my full-length mirror, I have to admit, I look pretty good. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anywhere near the word sexy, but tonight . . . I do. And the outfit isn’t too much, so I feel confident without feeling over the top.

“Your makeup turned out awesome,” Lexi notes as she sprays me with my favorite perfume, Happy Heart by Clinique. I fan my hand in my face as I cough because she’s sprayed too much.

“That’s too much. I don’t want to gag him,” I choke out between coughs.

“It’ll fade in a few minutes,” Lexi argues as she sprays me once more.

“Enough, Lex,” I beg.

“Okay, okay,” she groans as she takes the bottle back to my dresser. “You look hot Demi.”

“Thank you for coming over and helping.” Although I would have never asked her to, I do appreciate her trying to help me.

Before she can respond the doorbell rings. “He’s early,” she giggles. “You’ve got this guy jonesing for a piece.”

I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. “Will you go let him in, and pleeassee don’t embarrass me?”

“Moi?” she asks feigning offense. “When have I ever embarrassed you?”

I snort. “My senior year when Billy Thompson picked me up for prom, and you told him if he was hoping to ‘get some’ he better think again because I was on the rag.”

Lexi cringes as she bites her lip. “Okay,” she gives in. “One time I was kind of an asshole and embarrassed you.”

“Kind of an asshole?” I question.

“Okay,” she nods as she raises her hands in surrender. “I was a giant asshole, but seriously . . . that was only one time.”

“And how about when I graduated from college, and you flashed my professor at the bar that night?”

The doorbell rings again, and Lexi rushes to the door to answer it. “Okay, two times!”

“Don’t embarrass me!” I shout after her.

Staring at myself in the mirror I try to give myself a pep talk. “You can do this Demi. It’s okay to want to be happy.” I wait a few minutes before heading downstairs and find Lexi and Vick in the kitchen each with a cold beer in their hand.

“Hey,” I smile and give an awkward wave. I don’t know if I should hug him or . . . what? And Lexi being here is causing me to overthink it even more. If I hug him, she’ll probably make some obnoxious ‘Aww’ sound. So, I do nothing. I just watch Vick as he runs his eyes up and down me, and I can’t stop the butterflies I feel when he gives me a thoughtful half smile that borders on a look of appreciation.

“Wow,” he breathes. “You look amazing.” However apprehensive I may be about how to appropriately greet him, Vick apparently doesn’t share that sentiment. In three short strides, he’s in front of me, pulling me to him, placing a chaste kiss on my cheek.

“Thank you,” I manage when he pulls away, heat blanketing my face.

“Well, I’ll be heading out now. It was nice to meet you, Vick,” Lexi interrupts before chugging the remainder of her beer and tossing the bottle in the trash.

“You too,” Vick smiles and waves.

“Call me tomorrow, Demi.” Then she’s out the door before I can respond.

“Your sister is nice,” Vick notes turning back to me. He’s still standing inches away, close enough that I have to fight the urge to back up. It’s not that he’s making me uncomfortable that makes me want to react that way; it’s a feeling of inexperience. It’s been years since I’ve been this close to a man, and I feel like a young girl about to be kissed for the first time ever. It’s ridiculous that I feel that way, but I can’t help it.

“She’s something all right,” I chuckle. “You look nice.” And it’s true. He’s wearing a black polo shirt with khaki shorts, and his hair is mussed in a sexy surfer guy kind of way.

He looks down at himself and smirks. “I’m not great at dressing up. This is about as nice as it gets. Pretty low-key.”

“I like low-key.”

His blue eyes meet mine and watch me for a moment. Then . . . he steps toward me. This time, unable to fight it, I back away a step. His smile grows. “Do I make you nervous?”

Darting my eyes away, feeling silly for stepping back, I answer, “I’m sorry.” Then I meet his gaze again. “I’m just . . . out of practice, I guess.”

He steps toward me again, but this time I remain planted in place, even when he takes another step toward me. Now he’s barely an inch away, and my heart picks up its pace. He leans in, his mouth millimeters from mine.

Don’t chicken out, Demi. It’s okay to kiss another man.

“I have thought of nothing but what it would be like to kiss you; really kiss you.” A part of me wants to kiss him, to see how it feels, test my limits, and another part of me wants to run upstairs and hide. “But I won’t kiss you until you’re ready.” Then, remaining close, his eyes hooded as he stares down at me, he sips his beer as my screen door opens and slams closed.

“Demi, that copper piping is shit!” Jeff yells as he enters the kitchen wiping his hands. Today was his first day of repairs, and he’s been outside all day cursing up a storm. Vick backs away, and I look around him as Jeff does the awkward glance between the two of us realizing he walked in on a moment.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he clears his throat.

I laugh nervously, attempting to play it off, and failing miserably. “Do you need money for more material?” I ask, rushing for my purse.

“We can talk about it tomorrow,” Jeff mumbles stiffly as he straightens to his full height, his protruding belly not quite aiding in the tough guy look he’s trying to portray. I know he’s trying to let Vick know if he messes up, he’ll be dealing with him. He’s the best. “I’m Jeff, Demi’s cousin,” he blurts, gruffly as he holds his hand out to Vick.

“Vick. Nice to meet you.” They shake hands and Vick doesn’t seem to be at all phased by Jeff.

That is, until Jeff informs him, “That girl is my baby cousin. You hurt her, you’ll have me to deal with.”

I’m extremely impressed when Vick doesn’t show one iota of finding Jeff humorous, but in a very serious manner nods and promises, “I’ll treat her with the utmost respect.”

“Good,” Jeff concedes. “Demi, I’ll talk to you in the morning. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will, Jeff.” I smile. “Thank you. Tell Wendy I want to stop by for a chat tomorrow,” I add. I need to discuss the things I’ve noticed with Grayson, and I want to talk about McKenzie as well.

“Will do,” Jeff replies as he heads out. “Have fun you two.”

When the screen door slams closed, Vick and I chuckle. When he steps toward me again, close as he was before Jeff walked in, my laughter fades. He leans toward me and softly asks, “Are you ready yet?”

My eyes widen. He said he wouldn’t kiss me until I was ready. Is that what he’s asking? Already? “For you to kiss me?” I blurt out.

He smirks—an incredibly sexy smirk—and chuckles. “To go,” he says, as he backs away. He loves doing that, playing on my naivety. I fall for it every time.

I want to run from the room I’m so embarrassed. Instead, I clear my throat and blink a few times to clear my head of the thoughts that are flying through my mind. “Um, yes,” I manage after a beat. “Let’s go.”

We make the rather lengthy drive into Denver in Vick’s beat up truck, and along the way he tells me about this house built in the late 1800’s that he and his uncle have been contracted to paint. We stop at a restaurant called Cooper’s; he made reservations. I like that he took the time to plan this. Once we’re inside and seated, Vick orders a bottle of wine for us and with our glasses in hand, he toasts, “To new friends.”

I smile as we clink our glasses and take our first sip. There’s an awkward silence and my leg bounces as I struggle not to fill it. There wasn’t a second of quiet on our first date. I’m not sure why we’re struggling right now.

“How about a little this or that?” I finally ask.

“This or that?” Vick questions with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’ll start. Coke or Pepsi?”

He leans back in his seat and answers, “Coke.”

“Me too,” I laugh. “Now you go.”

The game although somewhat childish is a great ice breaker. We play and laugh until our food is brought out, and then I figure it’s time to get down to business. I want to know a little more, vet him out a bit.

“So what were you doing before you came to Colorado?”

He lets out a long breath through his nose as if he’s been dreading this question. “I worked part time for a graphic design firm and painted on the side. Hit a run of bad luck and my uncle offered me a job out here.”

“No lady friend back in Cali?” I question as I cut my steak.

Vick gives a nervous chuckle but doesn’t look up at me as he works on cutting his steak. “Uh, well. There was, but I never made enough money for her. It ended as soon as I moved out here.”

I wait a moment wondering if he’ll elaborate, but he doesn’t. Instead he changes the subject, “I have somewhere I’d like to take you after this if you’re game.”

“Okay,” I agree, deciding not to push the subject.

After dinner, where Vick’s charming personality and gift for storytelling consume the evening, he drives us further in town to the Art Walk. It’s a seasonal exhibit of over sixty vendors out on the sidewalk that runs every summer. I’ve never been, but I’ve always wanted to go. We stroll down the sidewalk as Vick tells me about the paintings and what he sees, asking me from time to time what I see.

“How about this one?” I stare at the painting of a black dog lying next to an empty dog bowl.

“Maybe a painting about loneliness? The dog feels empty?” I do my best to respond articulately but fail miserably.

“I think the painter is trying to tell us of his inner turmoil. He lost the love of his life at a young age and never recovered from it.” I can’t help pursing my lips at the painting, trying to understand how he sees all that. Maybe I’m just not the artistic type. When Vick bursts into laughter, I look up at him.

“God, I swear I love your facial expressions sometimes.”

I scowl at him. He’s messing with me again.

“Sorry, hon,” he chuckles. “You were right. It’s just a lonely, hungry dog.

“You know, one day I’m going to get you. You won’t even see it coming,” I warn.

He smiles down at me as we move on. “I’ll be waiting.”

We continue, stopping to look at other paintings and discussing what we see. To his credit, he doesn’t let on if he thinks I’m an idiot. He simply nods and smiles thoughtfully at my nonsense. About halfway through, his hand finds mine, and he threads our fingers together. My stomach feels like I’m on a rollercoaster, but when he squeezes my hand gently I realize I like it; I like holding his hand as we lazily stroll down the sidewalk. It’s been a long time since a man’s held my hand. Near the end, there’s a three-piece jazz band playing a slow song. Vick pulls me to him and slowly, we begin moving in rhythm with the song. The side of his chin is resting against my temple, and he’s humming along. I close my eyes and open myself up. I want to soak in this incredibly romantic moment, make the most of it. So when he pulls back and looks at me, his blue eyes full of mirth, I tell him, “I’m ready.”

We were already dancing slowly, but his movements slow even more as his expression morphs to a serious one. Then, his hands come up and gently grip my face as he stares into my eyes, his calloused thumbs brushing ever so softly over my cheek bones. The music, the lights, the people, the art—it all fades away as he leans in and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is soft and eager yet unassuming. His mouth parts slightly as mine opens for him, all the while we sway with the music. When he pulls away, I know my face must be seven shades of bright red. His hands are still gripping my cheeks softly as he leans in and quietly says, “Thank you, Demi.”

Without another word, he takes me in his arms once more and dances with me. I press my forehead to his chest as we move and smile.

That. Was. Perfect.

By the time Vick dropped me off at home, it was late. I noticed as soon as we pulled in the driveway that Connor’s bike was gone, and I couldn’t help wondering where he was. Vick walked me to the back porch and kissed me again, this time a little more aggressively, but not inappropriately. We agreed to meet for dinner Wednesday at Turvey’s, and after another longer kiss, he went on his way.

“So he’s a good kisser?” Wendy muses as she pours us both a mug of coffee. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes telling her all about the new guy in town, and she’s eaten up every word.

I can’t help smiling a little as I stare down at the mug she’s just slid to me. “He’s a great kisser,” I confirm.

Wendy takes the seat next to me at the table. The kids are outside playing and somehow she managed to get Grayson down for a nap which is perfect because I need her undivided attention. This is a conversation that may not go over well. As a whole, parents hearing someone tell them their kid may have a disability, specifically autism, doesn’t usually go over well. Denial is common.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had a first kiss,” Wendy sighs.

“But you have sixteen amazing years under your belt. That’s something to be proud of.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I’m a lucky lady.” Just then, Jeff walks in the kitchen. He’s tugging his shirt over his head, but it appears it’s stuck because he didn’t unbutton the collar, and his midsection is bulging out as he yells, “Honey? A little help here?”

I look back to Wendy, biting my lips to keep from laughing as she shakes her head in silent laughter. “The luckiest lady in all the land.”

She stands and goes to him as he stops moving; his shirt still stuck over his head. “Who are you talking to?”

“Demi,” she chuckles as she yanks his shirt back down revealing his flustered expression and sparse hair, wild and unruly. He looks to me and juts his chin. “Hey, Demi.”

“Hi, Jeff,” I wave working hard to hide my amusement.

Wendy sets about unbuttoning his collar as she speaks. “Demi was just telling me about her date last night and I was bragging about my big strong man here,” she pulls the shirt back up and together they manage to get it off of him. Jeff, while strong, is a softer looking man. Working long hours and having five kids hasn’t exactly left him a lot of time to work out. So his protruding belly is no surprise to me.

Wendy tosses the shirt on the counter and takes her seat beside me again as Jeff smooths his hair back. “Well, you are pretty damn lucky,” he muses. “You get all of this.” He motions his hands down his body.

Wendy sips her coffee and giggles. “I know it, baby.” I’m clenching my eyes closed trying to keep my laughter under wraps. When I open them, Jeff is rolling his back, his belly moving as his hips thrust forward, walking toward Wendy.

“Do you need me to show Demi what a real man looks like?” he asks as he takes her mug from her hand and sits it on the table and proceeds to give her a rather G-rated lap dance.

“I’m sorry, Demi,” Wendy adds as she places her hands on Jeff’s hips to hold him back a little. “He’s all mine.”

“I’m not sure I could handle all that manliness,” I laugh.

Jeff stops and bends down, giving Wendy a chaste kiss. “How are you today, beautiful?”

“I’m good.”

“Got a lot done today, Demi. Heading back over there bright and early tomorrow.”

“Good,” I answer. “Thank you. And I’m actually glad you’re here. I have something I need to talk to both of you about.”

Jeff walks backward until his back hits the counter and he crosses his arms, they almost rest on his protruding belly. “What’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, I look at Wendy. “This isn’t easy for me to . . . bring up to you. It’s an incredibly sensitive subject, and I hope you both know I only have your family’s best interest at heart; specifically Grayson’s.”

“Grayson?” Jeff questions, his brows rising.

“The last few times I’ve been around him I’ve noticed some things that concern me. When he spent the weekend with me, a lot of my concerns were solidified.” I pause and take another breath. Please don’t let them get pissed off at me. “The umbrella of autism is very wide.”

“Autism?” Jeff clarifies, his shock evident in his tone. “You think Grayson is autistic?”

“I think he falls somewhere on the spectrum, yes. But he’d need testing to accurately diagnose him.”

They both look at each other then back to me. Emotions flitter across their expressions, anger, denial, shock, and so on. “Some things I’ve seen that concern me are the way he always lines things up. How he doesn’t respond when you call his name; even when you’re right in front of his face, he won’t look at you while you say his name. But if he hears his favorite cartoon come on he goes running. Hyperness can be another indicator.”

“He’s just an active boy,” Jeff defends.

“He’s not just active,” I point out. “He’s constantly moving. When a child struggles to communicate, they can become frustrated and seem . . . distracted.”

“He’s not autistic,” Jeff insists. “You’re . . . you’re just wrong.”

I expected this reaction, but I can’t say it doesn’t hurt a little. Do they think I would just toss this around without really looking into it? “Jeff, I work with autistic children. I know what the signs look like.”

“Then how come you haven’t said anything until now?” Wendy pipes in, disbelief thick in her tone.

Now, I feel guilty. I should have noticed before now. “I haven’t been around the kids as much as I would have liked. Otherwise, I would have.”

Jeff walks to the fridge and grabs a beer, twisting the cap off of the bottle and tossing it in the bin. He shakes his head before putting one hand on his hip and taking a long swig. I say nothing, waiting for one of them to ask me anything. Finally, Jeff turns to us, and his expression reads one way. Denial.

“I don’t mean any disrespect Demi, but I think you’re wrong.”

The blood drains from my face with his words.

“I’m going to let you deal with this Wendy.”

I’m stunned silent as we watch him walk out of the kitchen, beer in hand. I stare after him, shocked a little myself. But not completely surprised.

At least not until Wendy says, “You should probably go Demi.”

My mouth drops open in shock. No matter how bad I saw this conversation going, I never thought she’d kick me out of her house. “I know this was hard to hear, but please Wendy. Please have him tested. I can help you get it going. If you test him, and I’m wrong, then you’ll know. But I’m telling you, he needs help and the sooner you get it for him, the better he’ll be in the long run.”

Wendy doesn’t respond but gives me a curt nod. “I’d like to get the girls a few weekends from now before school starts. Would you be okay with that?”

She stands and takes her mug to the sink. “Yes. Give me some time to talk Jeff down. I know you mean well, Demi. It’s just . . . hard to hear.”

I nod in understanding, as I walk toward the front door, but stop at the kitchen entrance. “Let me know if you have any questions. I love Grayson. I just want to see him reach his full potential.”

“I’ll call you,” she answers, staring out her kitchen window.

As I pull out of their driveway, I know deep down I did the right thing. And if they’re mad at me, I can’t help that. But even knowing I did the right thing, I just can’t understand why I feel so damn bad.

Tuesday morning I bid farewell to my youngsters for the remainder of the summer. I will miss them, but it will be nice to have a few weeks off before the school year begins again. After I finish cleaning up my classroom, it is with great dismay and trepidation that I head over to my mother’s house for lunch. She called last night saying she was going to ‘stop by’ and visit soon. Not wanting her to just show up and possibly be rude to Connor, I offered to stop by and break bread with her after my last day at work for the summer.

We do the usual small talk as we get lunch ready. She fills me in on how her garden is doing and how her golf lessons are going. Then we get into the real stuff.

“You look thin, Demi,” she notes, as she stares at me over the rim of her glasses that are halfway down the bridge of her thin nose.

“I’m the same weight I’ve been for years,” I assure her before sipping my sweet tea.

She purses her lips and sits beside me. She’s managed a nice spread on the table of store bought fried chicken and potato salad. She was never the best cook, but she always made sure we had a decent meal growing up.

“I hear you’re involved with someone. I love having to find out my daughter is dating a man from Mr. Grenier of all people.”

“It was the first date. And I’m sorry I didn’t call you immediately to make you privy to my personal life. But yes, I guess we are dating. His name is Vick.” I know she already knows his name, but I tell her anyway.

“He’s a house painter,” she grumbles looking up at me, her fingers working at ripping meat from the chicken breast in her hand. “Not exactly the best career.”

I shake my head. “I don’t care.”

“I know,” she surmises before stuffing the meat in her mouth. After she chews and swallows, she adds, “And what about this Connor?”

“What about him?”

“When will he be moving out?”

I finish chewing the potato salad in my mouth before answering. “He has an open invitation to stay.”

Mom leans back in her chair and wipes her mouth. “He needs to move on and find his own place. He shouldn’t be mooching off of you.”

“He’s not,” I argue after wiping my mouth. “Blake had everything set up. You know that. I don’t have to worry about anything.”

Shaking her head, she lets out an aggravated sigh. “Blake was a good man, but for the life of me I’ll never understand why he put you in this position.”

“He didn’t put me in any position,” I clarify, sternly, looking her straight in the eyes. “Connor is a good man, and I’m happy to help him.”

“Demi,” she sighs as if exhausted with my naivety.

Standing, I take my paper plate to the trash and toss it. “I know you’re worried about me, but please stop this,” I beg. “I’m a grown woman. I’m not an idiot. Connor may have made . . . mistakes in the past, but people can change, mother. He is a good man, and I’m telling you right now, if you meet him and show him anything but the utmost respect, I will be very angry.”

Pursing her lips in annoyance, she starts working on her chicken again, not looking at me. “Between you and Lexi, I don’t know who is worse.”

I smile a little. It’s time to give Lexi a taste of her own medicine. “Well, Lexi is dating this really nice guy named Bob.”

My mother’s gaze flies to mine. “She is?”