Hard Choices

by Ellson, Theresa

  Kathy tilted her head and looked at her son. This was new: Matthew nervous about a woman, or wanting something serious with her. Kathy was taken aback. She took a deep breath and leaned back, choosing her words carefully, “I think that you have proven, over the years, that you have developed excellent instincts with women,” they both knew that was an oblique reference to Amanda. “And I think that she sounds like exactly what you need. And I think,” she leaned forward on the table, “that no matter what I say, you’re already smitten,” Kathy chuckled.

  Matthew rolled his eyes. “All right, maybe I am! But do me a favor,” he said earnestly, “don’t mention this to Audrey yet. Let me tell her. When the moment is right.”

  Kathy nodded, wondering how that conversation was going to go. Audrey was very used to being the most important person in her daddy’s life. But she was grown and gone, now. It was time for Matthew to have a life of his own.

  Matthew reflected on that conversation as he unpacked his suitcase and started on his laundry. His housekeeper had been through last Tuesday, so the house was spotless. As he stowed his suitcase in the hall closet, he glanced up and saw all his sheets neatly stacked. His housekeeper always changed the sheets, but Matthew smiled to himself as he took a new set down. Maybe changing his sheets tomorrow morning was a little presumptuous, but Matthew preferred to think of it as hopeful.

  Chapter 22

  I woke up at my normal time on Saturday morning, and decided to head out for a run. Becca was not a morning person, so I wasn’t worried about missing her before she left.

  The crisp autumn air was just what I needed to clear my head. I had been anxious at first with Aaron, but not nervous like I was now. I was glad that after all our deep conversations on the phone, Matthew and I had had one chance to spend time together where I knew we wouldn’t end up in bed together.

  I knew today would be different. But I was starting to feel ready for it.

  I came back in the house to the smell of frying bacon.

  “Dear GOD, I love you, my daughter!” I called from the front door as I headed into the kitchen.

  “Well,” Becca said as she popped a piece of bacon into her mouth, “I know we really do not need the fat or calories, but screw it. I wanted bacon!”

  I laughed and poured myself a cup of coffee. “How much longer do I get you?”

  “I need to take off around noon, and I’ll head straight back to school with Angie, if that’s OK,” Becca looked at me a little anxiously.

  “Nope, not OK. I never like it when you leave,” I squeezed her shoulder as I stole some bacon.

  “I had fun last night, Mom.” Becca and I had just hung out in our PJs again, sipping wine and half-watching the never-ending Supernatural marathon.

  “Me, too, honey,” I plopped a kiss on her forehead. “I love it when all three of you are here. But – don’t tell your brothers – I really like it when it’s just us girls.”

  “Me, too,” she smiled and poured her scrambled eggs into the frying pan. “I’m going to leave you the dishes, and I am not going to feel bad about it,” she warned me.

  I laughed and shook my head. “Seems like a fair trade to me.”

  ***

  After breakfast, I decided a long, hot bath was called for. As I watched my tub fill, I debated dumping some bath salts in the water. I didn’t want to smell like a floral arrangement, though, so I used some lightly scented bubble bath, instead. Some part of my brain recognized what I was doing: having an inane inner conversation to distract myself from how nervous I felt. I grabbed my Kindle off my bedside table and snuggled down in the hot water.

  An hour later, I was washed, dried, hair done, make-up on… and debating what the hell to wear, when Becca knocked on my door.

  “Come in,” I called absently while staring into my closet.

  “If you’re done, I’m going to hop in the shower. What are you doing?” Becca asked, before I had a chance to answer her first question.

  “Trying to figure out what to wear.”

  “Where are you going?”

  I turned to Becca and swallowed. “I have a date,” I said slowly.

  She smiled at me knowingly. “Mom, you’re acting like you just said you’re heading out to rob a bank. A date is good! Who is it?”

  “His name is Matthew,” I said reluctantly. “He’s a friend of Robert’s from college.”

  Becca nodded approvingly. “Nice. Where are you going?”

  “He’s cooking for me at his house,” I said calmly.

  Becca narrowed her eyes at me. “Is this your first date?”

  I laughed nervously. “No.” Then, not wanting to appear slutty to my daughter, I stretched the truth a little. “We met several months ago. This will be my first time, you know, at his house, though,” I felt my face flush and I found myself unable to meet Becca’s eye. Her silence unnerved me, though, so I finally looked up to see my daughter biting her lip, obviously trying not to laugh.

  “Mom, look,” she put her hands on my shoulders. “I don’t know how OK my brothers are going to be with this, honestly, but please don’t ever feel like you have to hide things from me.”

  I cleared my throat. “I appreciate that. I do. But I am not prepared to discuss my sex life – or potential sex life – with my daughter, OK?”

  She chuckled, “Good! I don’t really want details! But,” she pulled me into a hug, “I’m glad you’re dating. I don’t want you to be alone.”

  I hugged her back. “Thank you, honey, I appreciate that. Now, Becca, seriously! Help me find something to wear. Does everything I own scream ‘mom/professional’?” I wailed.

  Becca rolled her eyes. “Mom, you dress appropriately for a very-fit-forty-something, and believe me when I tell you, my brothers and I appreciated that! It was hard enough to have a MILF mom for the boys, as it was,” Becca said as she began rifling through my closet.

  My jaw hit the floor. I stood staring at Becca, looking like an idiot, I am sure. She finally glanced my way, and did a double-take, then rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, Mom! Didn’t you notice that the boys’ friends were always over here?”

  “Well, yeah… but I… I always just thought… you know, I was the fun mom, who always had snacks… and… and… and…” suddenly all those enthusiastic “Hi, Mrs. Masters!” from my sons’ friends didn’t seem so innocent anymore. “I feel a little sick,” I said quietly as I sat down on the bed.

  “Oh, Mom. Don’t worry about it,” Becca kept rifling through my closet as she talked. “You were never creepy, or did anything to encourage them. Remember Taylor?” I nodded, remembering a casual friend of Becca’s from high school. “Her mother mortified her on a regular basis, wearing low-cut tops, and Daisy Dukes. It was so bad, I was embarrassed for her. There it is!” her sudden subject change caught me by surprise.

  “There what is?”

  “Molly bought this for you for your last birthday, remember?”

  “My birthday is January 3rd, remember? Your dad and I split a few days later. My memories of those few weeks are a little… vivid but selective.”

  “Well, Molly got this for you. You look a little horrified, and she would not give you the receipt to exchange it.”

  I nodded. “That’s right. Yeah, that is not me, is it?” I fingered the beautiful, champagne-colored light-weight sweater. The very-sheer sweater. A sweater I would only wear over a cami – but probably never at all.

  “It should be,” Becca said, diving back into my closet for the matching cami. “Mom, you will rock this.”

  I stared at it, still dubious. “What do I wear it with?”

  “The dark blue skinny jeans I gave you, which are,” she rifled through a few more hangars, “right here!” Becca yanked them out with a flourish. “You will look hot. Trust me.”

  “OK,” I said, trusting Becca but still feeling dubious.

  “Boots! We need boots… and jewelry…” Becca kept muttering and pulling things out of my drawers and closet. I swallowe
d, hoping I liked the final effect.

  When she was done dressing me, Becca assured me I looked attractive but not slutty, stylish but not trying too hard to look young.

  I had to trust her.

  ***

  I still felt self-conscious when I pulled into Matthew’s driveway. As I’d driven through the neighborhood, I’d observed stylish, waterfront homes. From the road, they seemed like simple little cottages. But I knew from the lake view, they were all opulent mansions. All you could see from the road was the top floor or two; the houses had at least one, if not two, floors below road level, though. Along with elaborate decks, patios and docks for lake access. This was not my world.

  I pulled into his driveway, and noted that he did not have an automatic gate at the top of his driveway, clearly marked with a mailbox encased in a beautiful stone pillar. He seemed to be the only house without one. His house was set well back off the road, though, down a driveway lined with leaf-less oaks, not pines. It made for a stately, distinctive entrance. I knew it had to be an incredible drive earlier in the fall.

  I came around a corner in the driveway and came to a stop, enchanted. I’d come upon a little English cottage, in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains! November had driven the plants into dormancy, but I could see a traditional English garden, complete with a short stone wall and a vine-covered archway. The small part of the house visible from the parking area was sided with stone, and the roof even looked like slate. There was an attached garage, angled so it didn’t look attached, and designed to look like a carriage house.

  I was flummoxed. This did not match Matthew at all.

  He popped his head out the heavy wooden front door and waved, looking a little confused. I shook my head and got out of my car, grabbing my purse and coat.

  “You’re at the right house,” Matthew said uncertainly.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s clearly marked. I just did not expect this,” I said shaking my head. “I guess you strike me as more of a stainless steel and cherry kind of guy.”

  He nodded as he held the door for me to enter the house. I looked at the interior and laughed. This was what I pictured for Matthew; the interior of the house was all modern. The great room took up about two-thirds of the part of the house that was visible from the parking area: kitchen, dining area, huge living room, with an enormous stone fireplace in the center, dividing up the space. “See, now this,” I gestured as I did a slow turn and took in the vaulted ceilings with exposed beams and butter-cream walls, “this is what I expected.” I looked at him quizzically. “So why the ‘ode to Narnia’ out front?” I asked.

  “That was to appease my very young daughter, who thought I was dragging her away from home all summer,” he explained. “I bought this place and renovated it, but Audrey was about six at the time. When I asked her if she was ever going to like it here, she said, ‘Only if it looked like Snow White lived here.’ I wasn’t willing go that far, but I had fun going the ‘English cottage’ route. The drive was already lined with oak trees, so we just went with it.”

  I laughed, “Well, it’s beautiful. Inside and out – oh WOW!” I had finally looked out the wall of windows that faced the lake. “That view is spectacular!” Matthew had an unobstructed view of the lake and the mountains that surrounded it. I tossed my coat and purse onto the entry bench by the front door and walked over to the windows, taking in the view. I sighed deeply. “You know, I grew up here, and this view never gets old.”

  Matthew came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. He reached around and kissed my temple. “I like this view even better,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “You look beautiful, Lyssa. I don’t know if I’ve told you this, but I love how you always look so stylish and sophisticated. And this sweater,” he nuzzled my shoulder, “it’s so soft. I might not even want to take it off you.” I turned around. But before I could say a word, he cupped my face in his hands and said, “God you’re beautiful.”

  Then he leaned in and kissed me, gently, sweetly, deeply. I don’t know how long we stood there, just kissing and enjoying each other, but suddenly a kitchen buzzer interrupted us.

  He pulled away and grinned at me. “Gotta take my crab puffs out of the oven.”

  “Oh my god, you made crab puffs?” I squeaked. I could cook a meal, but I was no gourmet chef.

  “I would love to lie to you and tell you that I made them, but alas, I am not that talented,” I felt my shoulders drop with released tension. “My friend is a chef in town. He made them for me, and told me how to re-heat them to perfection. He also made the salad, the broccoli dish, and the soup,” Matthew gestured around the kitchen at the various dishes.

  “I thought you were cooking for me?” I said smartly.

  “I will grill the steak,” he said unapologetically. Matthew stepped back to the fireplace, and I realized that this side of the huge stone edifice housed a massive, gourmet style stove. He tossed the small fillets on the cast-iron cook top. “The steak will only take a couple of minutes.”

  “Well, let me set the table,” I offered.

  “Already done,” Matthew gestured toward a table I had walked past but ignored on my way to the wall of windows. “But can you set the food on the table, and open the wine?”

  I nodded, “I’d be happy to.” It felt so comfortable, just prepping a meal together.

  We sat down to a delicious meal. The soup was a winter squash bisque. The crab puffs were amazing. And he’d picked out a red wine I’d never heard of (probably because I couldn’t afford it) that was perfect with the steak.

  Finally, I leaned back in my chair, completely satiated. “Oh my god, I feel like I stuffed myself, and there’s still so much food left, we didn’t even make a dent.”

  Matthew grinned and took my hand. “We can have leftovers for dinner,” he kissed my hand and rubbed his cheek along it. It was so romantic, it took my breath away.

  “Mmm, are you asking me to spend the day with you, Matthew?”

  Matthew hesitated and cocked his head to the side, looking like he wanted to say something else, but what he did say was, “Well, I was hoping we could get some real time together. Not just an evening at a restaurant, or a long phone conversation. Although, I loved those,” he said suddenly.

  “Do you have any coffee?”

  He looked a little taken aback by my sudden change of subject. “Uh, yeah. I’ve got a Keurig right there,” he pointed over at it.

  I leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips. Then I hopped up and headed over to his coffee maker. “Good! Let me get some coffee, then let’s go for a walk!”

  Matthew smiled like a little kid who’d just opened a present. “Sounds perfect,” he said.

  ***

  Fortunately, the boots Becca had picked out for me had a flat heel with good souls, so they were fine for walking the groomed trails around Matthew’s house. And I’d thrown a heavy coat in the back of my car since the weather can turn cold quickly in our mountainous corner of Idaho. I grabbed my coat and we headed out. We wandered through the woods for hours, and I marveled at how easy it was to talk with Matthew. Aaron had been fun and simple, but conversations with Matthew went so much deeper.

  We talked about deep, real things – like why and when Matthew had backed out of Inlay Systems. Had he stayed, he would have made even more money.

  “But how much money do you need?” he’d asked rhetorically as he held a low-hanging branch out of my way. “I just couldn’t see the point of it anymore. I was making all this money, and never had time to enjoy it. Or enjoy my daughter. It wasn’t worth it.”

  I smiled knowingly. “Robert and I basically made the same choice at some point along the line, when we were building the business. We turned down some lucrative clients because they were assholes,” I shrugged and Matthew laughed. “We both wanted a life, too, just not a huge business.”

  Since we were only a few years apart, we had the same set of cultural references, and laughed over stupid things, like our favorite Seinfeld ep
isodes.

  I had started to realize, from all our conversations on the phone, that Matthew was someone who could really be my partner, not just my boyfriend. Spending the afternoon talking and walking just intensified that feeling.

  Sunset comes early in November, and Matthew pulled out his phone and glanced at the time. “Whoa, we better head back.”

  I nodded and looked around, “Where the heck are we, anyway?”

  “We made a loop,” Matthew pointed up the hill from where we were down on the beach. “There’s my house, right there.”

  His house. With his bedroom.

  I took his hand and said, “I hope you have some of that amazing wine left.”

  He grinned. “And plenty more where that came from.”

  ***

  Matthew felt like a teenager when Lyssa reached over and took his hand. He couldn’t remember a more enjoyable afternoon he’d spent with anyone. Everything just flowed with her.

  When he’d pointed up to his house, he’d noticed a moment’s hesitation on her face. This day was going so well, he was almost afraid to hope it would turn into a night that was just as good. When she’d taken his hand and suggested wine, Matthew tried not to let his excitement get out of hand. They may have met months ago, he reminded himself, but they’d really only been dating for a couple of weeks.

  Let her set the pace, he reminded himself. Go easy.

  They climbed the winding path up to his house and Lyssa stopped for a moment on his back deck. “It’s so beautiful,” she breathed, looking out at the lake.

  “I like my view better,” Matthew said huskily. Lyssa turned to see what he was looking at… and her eyes widened when she realized he was watching her. “Those mountains can’t hold a candle to you,” he reached up to her face and brushed her hair back. She closed her eyes and shivered a little at his touch.

  Then she opened her eyes, looked into his, and leaned in to kiss him.