“Sadly, I’m already taken, Mrs. Porter. Married to that boy’s mother.”
“Oh! A father-son business, then?”
“Something like that.”
Jace returns with the giant suitcase at the worst possible moment.
“This guy is single though,” Louis teases, and my mother plays along with a mischievous grin.
She eyes Jace openly. “Well, then. Perhaps you’d be interested in my daughter, young man.”
Jace returns a tight smile and looks to me. “Where do you want this?”
“Den, please.”
He moves past us, clearly uncomfortable, and I just need this torture to end.
“You wrapping up for the day?” I ask Louis.
“Yep. On our way out. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Porter.”
“Likewise. Hope to see you again soon.”
“Monday is the plan,” he says and nods to me on his way to the door. “Have a good weekend.”
Jace avoids my gaze as he follows Louis out.
“Well then. No wonder you decided to continue with the renovations,” Mom says once we’re alone.
I turn my pent-up emotion on her. “You can’t do that.”
“Do what?”
Is she really that clueless?
“You want the whole list?” I snap.
She straightens, eyes fixed on me, but I don’t regret it. “I was just helping you.”
“Helping me? How did any of that help me?”
“Really, Sienna. You’re acting childish.”
“I’m acting childish? You treated Jace like a servant and flirted with Louis. Both, totally inappropriate!”
“Nonsense. The boy was happy to help.”
“He’s not a boy and he was only being polite.”
She rolls her eyes and begins unzipping her suitcase. “What does it matter? He’s just a worker.”
That’s it. Furious, I clench my fist and turn on her. “You know what? No. He’s not.”
Now I have her attention. Her gaze moves over my face, and I let everything show. Shouldn’t, maybe. Can’t. Don’t. But no, here I am, firing back because I want to.
“What is the matter with you, Sienna?”
My courage fades as reality sets in. This is it. The moment I publicly choose between can’t and want. Jace’s face appears crystal clear in my head. Compassionate, sexy eyes asking me what he’s worth.
“Jace isn’t just a worker. He’s special, Mom. More than that. He’s my boyfriend.”
“Pardon me?”
“You heard me. Jace and I are dating.”
“That child?”
“He’s not a child.”
I’ve never seen her so pale. The woman who’s been my shadow since birth stares at me like she wishes to retract that day from history.
With a harsh laugh, she returns to her suitcase. “You’re just trying to shock me.”
“I’m not. In fact, I’ve asked him to come over tonight so you can meet him for real. All we ask is that you keep our relationship quiet for now. It’s a complicated situation.”
“I’ll say it’s complicated! Have you lost your mind, Sienna?”
“No, I didn’t lose my mind. I’m finally starting to take control of it.”
Her eyes narrow, arms crossed. “I raised you better than this.”
“Better than what?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. Explain it to me.”
She takes a deep breath. Calmer, she releases her arms to her side. “Sienna, I know Joe hurt you. I get that, but you need to see this for what it is.”
“And what’s that?”
“A rebound. Affirmation. Whatever you want to call it, but this is about you feeling better about yourself. You’re just trying to feel wanted.”
I shake my head and grip the bannister. “I’m going to shower before Jace comes over.”
“Sienna! Sweetheart, that’s why I’m here. To help you through this difficult time and prevent you from making these kinds of reckless decisions. All I’m saying is that I understand.”
I turn on the step and glare down at her. “No. Clearly, you don’t.”
Mom is calm when I return, my hair wet, my heart still clenched. I’m not interested in a rematch, and focus on dinner plans instead. She agrees to takeout, and I busy myself in the kitchen with fake tasks while we wait for delivery. My mother was never one for subtlety—or minding her own business.
“You know, just a smidge of lemon juice in a bowl of water would freshen that microwave right up.”
“I like it gross and contaminated,” I mutter.
She huffs and inspects the fridge. “You have a lot of beverages in here for one person.”
“I told you, I’m not just one person anymore. Jace comes over a lot.”
“A lot?”
“Every night he can.”
“I see.” She closes the door and leans against it. “Sienna, we need to talk about this. I’m worried about you.”
“Why? Afraid I’m happy?”
And there go the arms, pretzeled in mom-critique against her chest. “You know this is wrong.”
“Really? Because I’m pretty sure it’s not.”
“Sienna! Just stop. You know you can’t get serious with a man of his age.”
“Why?”
“Because!”
I shrug. Grab a glass from the cabinet. Reach past her to fill it from the dispenser on the door.
“What happens in five years when he wants to have kids? Have you thought about that?”
“He knows how old I am. It’s his choice.”
“Yeah? And is that the future you want for him? Pushing you around in a wheelchair while he still has years left to enjoy? You’re being selfish, Sienna.”
A rock sinks low in my gut. Hangs there carving at the scars. “How can you say that?” I whisper, emotion crushing my throat.
“I’m sorry, but it’s the truth, and you need to hear it.”
I close my eyes. Shake my head.
“You’re lonely, I get that. He’s a hot young thing who makes you feel like a hot young thing. But you’re not. You’re at a different place in life. I care about you, and you’ll both end up being hurt. That boy does not belong with a thirty-eight-year-old woman and you know it.”
I do know it. Oh god.
This is the problem with want.
No! Can’t is the lie. Can’t is the reason we’re here. Can’t is Joe and a future I couldn’t stomach.
“Dad was twelve years older than you are,” I say.
“Yes, and look how that turned out. Anyway, that’s entirely different, and you know it.”
“Why’s it different?”
“You know why.”
“I don’t.”
“Don’t make me say it. I don’t want to hurt you.”
I stand up. Stare at her. Match her for one of the first times in my life. “Then don’t.”
She startles a bit. Takes a step back. I look at my feet and realize my back foot is planted behind me, slightly further to the left.
We call a truce through dinner. Topics like airline inconveniences and the realities of inflation become urgent matters as we gnaw through spring rolls and chicken satay. My mother has plenty of opinions on everything, especially compared to her “better days.” She’s always mourned that window of history when human existence was only laughter and puppies. I try not to roll my eyes and instead enjoy the tangents that finally don’t include Jace.
After dinner we set up her nest in the den. I lay out sheets and blankets while she lines up a department store’s worth of cosmetics on the end table. Perfection is the standard, even at sixty-five. I can’t recall ever seeing my mother without hair and makeup. I certainly wasn’t allowed to leave the house with anything less. We were a beautiful pair. Everyone said so.
The doorbell rings, and my heartrate picks up like it does every time it senses Jace.
“I still don’t see why he has to
come so late. Really, it’s almost nine. Disrespectful if you ask me.”
“He has responsibilities. This is the only time he can make it.”
Seated like a duchess on the couch, she doesn’t look convinced, but I don’t want to start this off with a fight. I escape to the foyer and focus on the door instead. Just his silhouette through the glass settles a layer of peace over me. Jace, the protector. Nothing can touch me when I’m in his arms.
He smiles when I open the door and slide into an embrace on instinct. His lips press down on my hair, and I pull tighter.
“Thanks for coming,” I murmur against his chest.
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry about this afternoon and the way she treated you.”
“We’ll have to get used to that.”
I lean back and reach for his cheek, rough from two-day stubble. Perfectly beautiful like every other thing about him.
“You ready?” I ask.
His eyes turn playful. “Is she ready?”
I manage to hold in my laugh and lead him toward our trial. Can’t keep the judge and jury waiting.
“Mom, you remember Jace? Jace, once again, this is my mother Ramona.”
“Nice to see you again, ma’am,” Jace says, taking her hand.
Her lashes flutter in a promising display, and I suppress my amusement. Jace Beckett is a special kind of charming. Even my judgmental mother doesn’t stand a chance once he commits to being himself.
“Good to see you again as well. Please, have a seat.” She waves her hand to invite him to make himself comfortable in my house. “Sienna, do we have refreshments? I’m sure this young man is hungry after such a hard day’s work.”
Jace looks back at me, and I almost lose my composure at his what the hell look. “I mean, if you’re serving refreshments…” he lilts out.
My mother beams at a job well done. Jace’s eyes dance with humor.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, still trying to hold in a laugh. Geez, what century does she live in?
“So, tell me about yourself,” she says to him as I make my way to the kitchen. I’m dying to eavesdrop but also don’t want to leave him alone with Ramona Porter any longer than necessary. Refreshments—that’s my job, right? I scan the kitchen, which is devoid of any coffee cakes or tea sandwiches. Refreshments. I pull open the fridge, tapping my fingers on stainless steel as I review the options. Leftover Pad Thai, half a bag of baby spinach, three avocados, and the wide variety of beverages inappropriate for one person, according to my mother. Popcorn would take too long.
Hmm… pretzels?
I shut the fridge, grab the bag from the cabinet, and make my way back to the family room.
The conversation pauses when I enter, and Jace looks back at me from the couch. I lean over from behind and drop the bag of snacks in his lap.
“Refreshments,” I say with a grin. He returns it, and I steal a quick kiss.
“Thanks, babe. They look amazing,” he teases.
I move around to the other side and settle next to him. He slips his arm around me.
“Jace was just telling me about his band,” Mom says like it’s a curse word.
“Yeah? He’s an amazing musician. You should hear him play,” I say, and he squeezes my shoulders.
“Oh? Do you play often?”
“A few gigs here and there. I’d love to play more, but I’m pretty busy.”
“I see.”
“He’s also a Black Belt in karate. Did he tell you that?”
“Really? That’s wonderful, dear.”
A muscle in his jaw tenses, and I know he’s trying not to roll his eyes.
“So is that how you spend your time? Playing at karate and with a band?”
“Playing at karate?” he asks, raising a brow.
I can’t take it anymore, and a snort leaks out.
“Is something funny, Sienna?” Mom asks.
“No. I mean, yes.” I sigh. Straighten on the couch. “What are you getting at, Mom? Just say it.”
“Excuse me? Really, Sienna. I’m just making conversation with your boyfriend.”
“See—that! That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“What is?”
“Boyfriend. Band. Playing at karate.” My entire list comes in air quotes for her benefit. “You don’t play at karate. You work your ass off to master a difficult ancient discipline most people can only dream of learning. You know, if you got off your pedestal for five seconds and stopped judging everyone and everything around you, maybe you’d actually have time to work on your own life.”
“Well!” Her arms cross in the familiar threat I’ve feared since I was a child. I feel myself sinking back into the cushions, surrendering to instinct that wants to flee and take it back. Except this time I can’t. No, because a solid hand braces against my back and pushes me into battle. Warmth spreads through me, that same raw courage I felt when I slid my foot to the left for that kitchen confrontation.
“And here I flew all this way to support you after your difficult divorce! Why do I even try?”
“Please. You came here to gloat. Joe and I were over months ago. Where were you then? You always thought Joe was too good for me. You said he’d leave me when he decided he wanted biological children after all.”
Her gaze shoots to Jace, and my stomach drops. Shit. Oh no, please no. Not now. Not yet!
“I suppose you’ve told your boyfriend the truth then? Since you’re suddenly so keen on honesty?”
A boulder crashes into me. I can’t look at him. Oh god, why did I think for a second I could flirt with want? How selfish—how stupid—am I? She’s right. They’re all right!
Except it’s Jace who tenses and leans forward. It’s Jace who does the one thing no one’s ever done for me: fight.
“I’m assuming you’re referring to the fact that Sienna can’t have children. As far as I’m concerned, her ex-husband—and please excuse my language—is a piece of shit for abandoning her, but I’m grateful to him for freeing her to find a better man. I want that man to be me, and even if she thinks she can do better, I’m still thankful for every second I get with her. Your daughter is amazing, Mrs. Porter, and if you don’t see that, then I’m sorry for you and all that you’re missing.”
My throat closes. Tears choke out any possible response. This moment: so wrong and so incredibly right. I clench my eyes shut, my hand shaking as I take his and hold it to my lips. Just hold him. As long as I can to absorb someone who’s so beautiful it’s not fair to claim him as mine. He pulls me against his side and kisses my hair, releasing the hot liquid from beneath my closed eyelids.
“You don’t have to like us together, Mrs. Porter,” he continues, voice softening. “But you’re going to have to accept it.”
My heart warms and breaks at once. Fairytales, they’re what shape moments like this. Dreams, fantasies, idealized versions of history that lie after the smoothing effect of time. My heart wants desperately to believe. Hope. Accept that maybe Jace is right and wanting something is enough to make it happen.
But this is no epic love story, and we certainly don’t live in a magical kingdom. No, this is reality, where hearts shatter and princes fall.
Chapter 0 – 8 = -8
Mom is quiet after Jace leaves. Distant the following day when they return to work. I hold my breath from the moment they arrive, just waiting for her to expose our relationship to Louis. With one ill-placed comment she could make Jace’s life very difficult, and even though I begged her not to say anything, our definitions of “what’s best for me” have always been different. I finally manage to get some work done when she settles in the den with her tablet. Halfway into my report on the market analysis for promotional t-shirts, my phone buzzes.
Jace: Do you think she’ll say anything?
Me: I don’t know.
Jace: I don’t regret telling her.
Of course he doesn’t. A stab of envy shoots through me. Could be admiration.
&
nbsp; The arrogance of youth? Maybe, but it’s a trait I’d cling to in a heartbeat if I could. The weight of accumulated regret is overwhelming after thirty-eight years, a montage reel that cycles in my head when I can’t sleep. When I’m alone. When the clock ticks and air circles through my lungs. Regret is a heavy addiction. Am I going to suffer the last thirty-eight under the same burden?
Me: Let’s go out tonight.
I stare at the message in shock. That’s my name, my number, but who’s this person stating what she wants instead of what makes sense?
Jace: Really? A real date? You’re okay with that?
No. Yes.
What do you want, Sienna?
Real. No regrets. There it is in bold letters in my brain. I want to run toward the ocean shrieking with laughter.
Me: I want us to be real.
Jace: Me too. Come to my class tonight. Then afterwards we can tell Louis and my mom when we drop Aiden off. Better if it comes from us than someone else.
My breath catches in my throat. Go to his class and tell his family? That’s not what I meant. I was picturing a quiet little café in a neighboring city. A dark movie theater? Not, “Hey, world. This is my girlfriend. Deal with it.”
He’s the brave one, not me.
My heart leaps and constricts at the memory of how he fought my mother’s hostility without so much as a flinch. Incredible. So when will I stand up and fight for him? How “real” can something be if you hide it?
The truth smacks me in the face. Bam, an if/then statement as black and white as any of my precious numbers: if not you, then you don’t deserve him.
Time to run toward the water.
Me: What time is it?
Jace: 6 pm. Aiden and I will pick you up around 5:30.
The first stop on our journey is not what I expected. Maybe this bodes well for the rest of the night, maybe not. High, well-lit ceilings tower over a few large rooms with glass walls.
Children of all ages—and their supportive, if bored, parents—bustle around the waiting area, either searching for a chair or the status of the next class. Some carry bags and weapons, others just a smile of anticipation, but all look adorable in their white uniforms and colorful belts.
Young Love Page 9