Room to Breathe

by Liz Talley

  And then that thought invaded. She could lean back on the couch and unbutton her dress, then run her hand down to her lace panties and—

  Is this what young people did? Masturbate in front of one another? Wait. Young people? She wasn’t that old. She had to stop thinking that way. Clay was right. She wasn’t old. If she wanted to have no-strings-attached sex, she damn well could. “I couldn’t do that in front of you. I would rather you . . . I mean, ugh, I don’t know what I mean. My brain feels fuzzy, and I’m in uncharted territory.”

  Clay gave a soft laugh and pulled her into his lap, and even though she tried to half-heartedly protest it, she let herself tumble into his arms. “I thought you said you wouldn’t touch me unless I asked?”

  “You want me to let go?” he asked, his blue eyes dancing with humor . . . and desire.

  Slowly she shook her head.

  His impish grin faded as his blue eyes darkened. “You may not want to want me, but you do. So why don’t you stop stalling and take what you want?”

  “What I want?” she repeated.

  He tucked her hair behind her ear and cupped her jaw. A rush of desire so intense punched her in the stomach hard. What she wanted. She’d known that from the moment she’d uttered, “You’re welcome to stay and eat if you want.” It was inevitable. Tippy Lou’s words beat a drum in her head. He’s old enough. You’re both adults. And then her own thought. No one would have to know.

  Daphne brushed her hand against his jaw, then slid her hand around to tangle in his hair. “I want you.”

  He smiled. “So is this a yes?”

  “Yes.”

  And that was all it took. From that moment on, she surrendered herself to every fantasy she’d ever had about the hot contractor who’d haunted her dreams and filled her days with delicious naked man chest and laughing blue eyes.

  And now look where she was, leaning naked beneath her bathrobe against her bedroom wall after having practically shoved the man out the window so she wouldn’t get caught diddling her daughter’s ex-boyfriend, who also happened to be her contractor.

  Daphne was screwed.

  Literally and figuratively.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dear Miss O’Hara,

  The sun was so pretty through the changing oaks today that I immediately thought of you. You wrote about how you love sunlight dancing through the orange-y cypress trees on the lake in winter. Wait, is orange-y a word? I thought it peculiar that you wouldn’t say burned sienna or persimmon. Righters always seem to have the write words. Oops, pardon my homophones. That’s the kid’s lesson today in language arts. Maybe your silly dog could tackle homophones in a new book?

  I hope you’re okay. Usually you respond to my emails, and I have grown to depend on our friendship as a boost to the end of my day. I put Poppy to bed, get a beer, and log on. I always look forward to hearing about your day. Once upon a time, being a man of letters was a true compliment. Not sure that holds true for emails. Still, I hope I will get to meet you soon. Of course, I’m determined you will be our speaker. The PTSA is starting to whisper about me when it’s time for my report on Read Across America. Please say you’ll come. If not for the kids . . . for me?

  Best,

  Evan

  Ellery clicked off her phone, set the kettle on the stove, and turned on the burner. Next week she’d have to use a hot plate because the kitchen was slated for the tear out. She wasn’t sure how they would be able to work with all the noise and stupid Clay stomping around without his shirt. Of course, Ellery didn’t have to come in every day to do the job her mother had given her. Most of it could be done on her laptop, but remaining in her empty town house made her feel even lonelier. Plus, it was better to keep office hours. More professional, and when she netted a job next year, she’d already have good habits.

  She shouldn’t be so ugly to Clay. He was who he was. Like a leopard unable to rearrange his spots. It was generally accepted Clay would never be serious with any girl. He had a rep for chasing after skirts, even back when Ellery had pursued him. Some guys were like that—destined to never be brought to heel. So being irritated at Clay was like being mad at that leopard for maiming a gazelle. And, hey, at least he’d gotten his shit together for the most part—he and his brother had started the construction company and seemed to be doing well. The work they’d done so far on her mother’s house had been quality. She should lay off being bitchy to him. Sometimes her emotions ran over her common sense. Okay, often her emotions ran over her common sense.

  “You want cinnamon apple or pumpkin spice?” Ellery asked when her mother finally pushed into the kitchen, looking a little under the weather. She hoped her mother wasn’t getting sick. She looked tired and flushed at the same time.

  “You mean apple cinnamon?”

  Ellery suppressed a sigh. Her mother knew what she meant. “Whatever. You left dishes in the sink. You never leave dishes.”

  “I went to bed early,” her mother said, walking to the cabinet and grabbing two teacups, which she slid toward Ellery. “Speaking of early, why are you here at this hour?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I would go over some stuff with you, get my work done, and take off early. Josh said he’d take me to the movies tonight, so I want to get a blowout and maybe get my nails done.”

  Her mother leaned against the cabinet, waiting for the teakettle to chirp with steam. “A date sounds nice.”

  Ellery wished she could tell her mother all her concerns about Josh, but that wedge of something sat between them. She wanted to be mature enough to get past the hard feelings she had toward her mother, but she couldn’t seem to let go of the anger, frustration . . . betrayal. Ellery wasn’t sure why she still felt so hurt by her parents splitting . . . and by her mother not caring enough to repair her life with Ellery’s dad. She told herself that plenty of people divorced and lived with broken families, but deep inside she wished for what had been. Down beneath her “it’s cool” facade, she longed to be that little girl whose parents were there to smooth away the hurts, hold her when she was scared, and chase away the shadows from the dark corners of her life . . . as irrational as that sounded.

  Or perhaps she was overanalyzing her feelings because she felt so . . . unable to control her own life. Perhaps this was something all mothers and daughters went through when they moved from one stage of life to the next. Daphne had always been a helicopter mom, driving her nuts with volunteering for everything at school, leaving well-meaning inspirational notes on her bathroom mirror, and henpecking her to finish an essay, make her bed, send a thank-you note. When Ellery had been a child, her mother’s machinations had been like a straitjacket, but now that she was grown, her mother’s little asides and unsolicited advice chafed her.

  Ellery decided to change the subject. “So who came to dinner last night? I saw the empty wine bottle and glasses. Tippy?”

  Her mother turned to the sink and started running water. “Um, just Clay. His brother couldn’t come, and Tippy said she wasn’t interested in eating animals. I made meat loaf.”

  “So just you and Clay? That’s kinda weird.” Ellery tried to imagine what sort of conversation the two could even have. The image of Clay and her mother eating together made something wriggle in her gut. She didn’t like it. Mostly because Clay was Clay.

  Her mother shrugged. “Well, no one else I invited bothered to come. At least someone came to eat all the food I fixed.”

  Of course. Guilt was her mother’s favorite weapon. “I told you I had to work, Mom.”

  “I remember.”

  The kettle whistled, and Ellery poured the boiling water into the two cups. “I know you asked me to keep that date open every week, but sometimes people do what they have to do. It’s a lesson you taught me over the past few years, right? I don’t want to work, but I have to work.”

  “So you’re quoting me back to me?” Daphne asked.

  Ellery lifted a shoulder. “I’m just saying. Anyway, why’s his truck still here?” />
  Clay had probably drunk too much and had to call one of his bimbos to pick him up. Ellery knew his modus operandi because the couple of times she’d seen him out on the town, he’d slung his drunken arm around whatever woman tickled his fancy that night and sauntered out with her.

  “Morning, pretty ladies,” Clay called through the screen door.

  “Speak of the devil and he shows,” Ellery drawled. Stop. Try to be nice to him.

  “Hope you ladies have some coffee on. I could use a cup or three,” Clay said, opening the door and coming inside like he owned the place. Ellery bit her lip to keep from saying something she’d regret.

  “We’re having tea, but feel free to make some,” Daphne said, gesturing toward the empty coffeepot.

  “Wait, where did you come from?” Ellery asked as Clay let the screen door fall and started for the coffeepot.

  “I took a walk,” Clay said.

  “You? A walk?” Ellery asked, not believing the man for one minute.

  “I like to take walks. Besides, my head was fuzzy. I ate dinner with your mom and she served some good-ass wine that I had too much of. Thankfully, she let me sleep it off in the guest room. Uh, Daphne, I think I left my extra shirt. I’m gonna grab it, then ride down to CW Pantry and get some coffee. No sense in dirtying the pot for me.” He did an about-face and headed toward the bowels of the house.

  Clay had slept at her house? Okay, not her house any longer, but . . . she leaned over and watched him walk out. When Clay was out of earshot, Ellery hissed, “You let him stay here? In my room?”

  Her mother looked guilty and shifted her eyes away. “What did you want me to do? He drank too much.”

  “Call Uber. Or Bimbo Express. That’s his usual way of getting home.” Of course, her mother was too polite not to offer her ex-boyfriend Ellery’s room. The woman probably did turndown service and left a mint on the pillow. The thought of Clay staying in the bedroom where she’d dreamed about him kissing her made her even more aggravated. Soon the house would be sold, and everything she’d ever known would be gone. Clay didn’t get to sleep in what had been hers. Not after he’d cheated on her with Devyn Does Dallas Moss. “Lord, Mom, people will talk.”

  “About what?” Daphne asked, pulling a new box of tea from the cabinet. Her mother’s expression had narrowed. “I’m a grown woman, and I don’t care if people talk.”

  Ellery shouldn’t poke her mom with a stick, but she couldn’t help it. “It looks bad is all I’m saying.”

  Daphne turned around. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ellery. No one will even know, and if they do, big deal.”

  “Come on, Mom, you know people in this town love to gossip, and though the thought of you and Clay is ridiculous, people might think . . . I don’t know. I just think you want to keep your reputation intact. After all, you’re a children’s author. People are watching you now.”

  “So that means I can’t date? Or that I can’t date someone like Clay?” Her mother’s gaze pinned Ellery to the tile behind her.

  “Of course you should date, but Clay is, like, my age. Surely you want someone more appropriate. He’s my ex.”

  Truth be told, she couldn’t imagine her mother dating anyone. The woman was unwilling to share any piece of herself. She was good at trying to advise others about how to be in a relationship, but she’d tossed her own aside fairly easily and hadn’t seemed interested in tossing Ellery or her father a rope.

  Instead her mother became single-minded in her determination to build a career. Her books became her babies. Part of Ellery admired her mother for what she’d done. And part resented the hell out of being relegated to second best.

  So the idea of her mother dating, being in a relationship with someone was . . . surreal.

  “So who exactly is appropriate for me to date, Ellery?” Her mother put her hands on her hips.

  “Come on, Mom. I shouldn’t have said appropriate, but you know what I mean. All I’m saying is people will make you out to be something you’re not if you let guys like”—she jabbed a finger toward where Clay had disappeared—“spend the night. Even when it’s totally innocent.”

  Her mother didn’t say anything. Just stared at her. “And what will they make me out to be?”

  Ellery adjusted the teacups so the handles lined up and tried to think how she should say what her mother needed to hear. “You remember Shari Gill? How Mr. Mark left her, and then suddenly she lost thirty pounds, paid for her plastic surgeon’s kids to go to college, and started taking selfies in a bikini? She used to wear those ugly Girl Scout shorts and Jack Rogers sandals, for heaven’s sake. And then suddenly she’s shopping at Forever 21 and dating a stunt double who sells weed to high school kids. It was such a cry for help. I’m just saying that you don’t want to become like her.”

  Clay came back in with his T-shirt balled in his hand. “Found it under the bed. Must have accidentally kicked it underneath. By the way, Ellery, you have some classic copies of Playgirl under there that would probably fetch a good amount on eBay.”

  “I don’t have copies of Play—”

  “Gotcha.” Clay laughed, shooting his finger like a gun toward her.

  “You’re so mature, Clay,” Ellery said, shooting her mother a look that said see what I mean.

  Clay grinned like a deranged circus clown. The man took nothing seriously.

  “Hey, Daphne, thanks for letting me stay last night. I had a great time,” Clay said, tucking his balled-up shirt under his armpit. He walked over to her mother and gave her a half hug-squeeze. “Best, uh, dinner I’ve had in a while. Be back soon.”

  Ellery caught sight of her mother’s flush before she turned away and shut the water in the sink off. Sudsy bubbles peeked over the rim of the farmhouse sink. The screen door slapped against the frame right before Clay’s boots crunched along the drive. Her mother’s reaction to Clay’s departure was odd.

  Daphne turned around. “I’m going to ignore what you said about Shari. Her husband slept with half of Shreveport, and then he called her a heifer at the Fourth of July party in front of everyone. She deserved every implant and every halter top she wore. And, by the way, I don’t need you to approve of who I decide to date . . . when I decide to date.”

  “You’re right. What I want isn’t important, is it? I forgot.” Ellery let that hang there. Her mother’s eyes flashed with something that might have been contrition. For a few moments, silence as comfortable as a thong bikini hung between them.

  The kitchen clock ticked, ticked, ticked.

  Eventually, Ellery slid the cup over to her mom. A peace offering. “Look, I don’t want to fight. You’re right. I don’t have to approve.”

  Her mother nodded, seemingly gratified at the admission, and picked up her tea.

  Good. Ellery didn’t want today to be acrimonious. She wanted it to be good, set the mood for her date with Josh. Squabbling with her mother wasn’t going to accomplish anything. “Hey, I’ll help you with a dating app if you want me to. There are specialized dating sites for people your age.”

  “You know that I’m not even forty years old yet, right?” her mother drawled, eyeing her over the lip of the cup.

  Ellery laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “I know. It’s just going to take me a little while to adjust to you dating. Okay, so let’s talk about something else. Like the upcoming book tour. I talked to Ruth, the new publicist. I think you’ll like her. Anyway, she sent me all of the bookstore locations so I can make sure your hotels are close. I’ve highlighted all the directions, names of contacts, and nearby restaurants so you don’t have to worry about—”

  “I thought you were coming with me on this one?” Daphne asked, setting the mug on the counter and stirring in one sweetener. She took a sip and sighed. “That’s so good. Just what I needed.”

  “The bookstores will have people at the stops to help you.” On one hand, it would be nice to get out of Shreveport. On the other, Ellery couldn’t afford the time away. Her supersecret credit card kep
t knocking on the door of her consciousness, and she refused to let her daddy pay that one, too. Besides, a full week riding through Texas and Oklahoma with her mother felt too . . . something. She didn’t feel like wading through excited children to open the books for her mother to sign or hand her coffee the way a good assistant would do. Of course she was proud of her mother, but still . . .

  Even as she had the thought, she knew that deep down the attention her mother got bothered her. Childish and petty, true, but still, something inside balked at all the fawning. She wished she could be happy about her mother’s new life, but the little girl inside her still cried for what used to be. Life had been so much easier when her mother and father stood in this very kitchen, flipping flapjacks and singing old James Taylor tunes. When she didn’t have to think about her mother going on dating websites. When she and her mother still hugged and touched and laughed.

  But change happened, and she was dealing with it.

  Sorta.

  “I don’t need you, but it would be nice to spend time together.” Daphne leaned against the counter and studied Ellery. “We could shop and watch old eighties movies every night before bed. Remember when we used to do John Hughes marathons? Jake Ryan fan club?”

  If only her mom really understood how much Ellery wanted to go back to that simpler time. “Mom, I have a fiancé and another job. I can’t leave here to go have fun. I’m trying this adulting thing.” And failing. Your daddy pays your bills, your fiancé is avoiding you, and you’re carrying on with another man.

  She flicked the voice of truth away. She was adulting.

  Sorta.

  Her mother’s sad smile made her stomach hurt. Daphne tossed her tea bag in the trash and said, “I know. It’s just lonely being on the road. I don’t know how those traveling salesmen do it.”

  Now she felt even worse. “Well, my birthday weekend’s in a few weeks. We could do something fun then.” Her parents had always planned something exciting to celebrate her birthday. For her sixteenth birthday, they’d taken her and her friends to Dallas in a limo. Her eighteenth had featured a bonfire, fireworks, and an ice cream truck. When she’d been in college, she’d come home the weekend before or after her birthday because her mother had always conspired with her friends for something over the top. Once they rented out a spa, and another time they reserved a dining room at a local Mexican restaurant and hired a mariachi band. Ellery would always offer up false protest, but the thoughtfulness her mother put into celebrating her always made her feel so loved.