She’d only been gone a few days and she felt like a stranger in her home, an intruder so meaningless the dog couldn’t even muster a real bark. The kitchen was cleaner than when she was in charge, there were no baskets bursting with clean laundry awaiting folding, and the floor even looked swept. The faint hint of bleach wafted from the nearby bathroom. The only sign of untidiness was Kate’s and Tommy’s homework stacked on the kitchen table. She rifled through the papers. Kate was reading Eleanor & Park for English class—yellow stickies cluttered the book’s edge like a bird’s wing. Tommy’s precalc homework was riddled with eraser marks. Next to the homework lay another sheet of paper, with many of the same problems, but in Chris’s handwriting. He had helped Tommy with his homework—he’d never done that before. She envisioned her boys side by side, speaking more numbers than words. She could practically hear it all in her mind.
Beside the homework lay Kate’s iPad. MJ flipped it on and scrolled through her texts, e-mails, and photos. In the album were several pictures of Chris and Tommy cooking dinner—it looked like spaghetti. They were laughing and having faux sword fights with the uncooked noodles. While she wished she could have been a part of the fun, knowing that this memory existed was almost as good. No matter what Chris thought of her, he obviously loved their children as much as she did.
What had Jerry said? You just need to find one new thing to love, and then you’ll remember all the rest.
A tsunami of images flooded her, sucking the air out of her lungs. Her first taste of lemon custard pie, Chris’s laugh, holding hands during Kate’s and Tommy’s births, his preference for boxer briefs, Sunday-morning pancakes and bacon, his special smile just for her. The memories were so much and not enough. How could she ever doubt that she loved this man? That she needed him every day?
She tiptoed up the steps, avoiding the creaky ones like a teenager sneaking in after curfew. After standing in the doorway to her bedroom, listening to Chris’s breath, slow and rumbly, she slid in between the sheets, lying still, not even breathing. Chris moved, but MJ stayed as far on her side of the bed as possible. He sprawled on his side, face crushed into his pillow, his sandy hair messier than normal. She lay a foot from him but felt as far away as if she were still in Vegas. She had to be closer.
How did this chasm form? It was just a small crack a few months ago. But that’s how it happens. Ice can split the strongest boulder; add a little water to the tiniest crack and give it time. MJ turned to face him, to watch him sleep in the moonlight. A tiny snore wheezed from his nose. He was really and truly asleep. She laid her hand over his still one, twining her fingers between his, listening for any sign he was waking. Another rumble, louder than the last. She relaxed into the sensation, easing her tense muscles and warming her worried heart.
She had spent the flight thinking about Doyle’s and her failed kiss. It was so telling. Chris was her one and only. The only one who could send shivers through her body and make a room disappear around her.
She breathed into the heat flooding her body from where their hands connected. Were the papers a bluff to make her confront their problems? Would Chris really leave her? He wouldn’t, would he? Not when they still had this connection. But he could. A connection when one party was asleep didn’t count. She struggled to keep her eyes open, not wanting to miss one moment of lying in bed with him, knowing it could be the last time. Her eyelids drooped as she let all the distance between them dissolve. She wanted to take in as much as she could, store it up to get her through whatever was going to happen, like a squirrel saving nuts for winter. If she saved up enough, she could make it through the icy time to come. She needed his warmth and love. And she would take everything she could now.
She fell asleep blissed out, holding his hand, remembering his long-ago proposal.
MJ had tossed her keys onto the counter, scattering the bills and pizza flyers. Dishes piled in the sink and the tiny kitchen floor needed sweeping. How could two people who were never home make such a mess? She pulled off her work clothes as she walked down the short hall to their bedroom, carefully hanging the suit coat and skirt, and tossing her heels into the corner. It seemed illogical for her feet to hurt so much when she sat at a desk all day, trying to find people jobs for the staffing agency. She peeled off the control-top panty hose, cursing as she snagged the material, sending a run from thigh to toe. Chris wasn’t home yet from his job at a nearby bank branch.
Their tiny apartment consisted of one bedroom, one bathroom, a tiny galley kitchen, and a postage-stamp living room. It wasn’t much, but it had a small patio and a view of a farm field out the window over the sink. They’d moved in together after college, figuring they could afford one decent apartment rather than two separate hovels in bad parts of Milwaukee.
She’d worried if they lived together he’d smother her, but so far, no smothering. He respected her need for quiet, for space. He let her read alone on the porch while he made a pizza from scratch for dinner or played Nintendo. And he respected that she liked to take charge of their life—paying the bills, buying the toilet paper—yet he stepped in to pick up tasks she hated, like taking out the garbage and, of course, cooking.
In her comfy sweatpants and baggy T-shirt, MJ flicked on the radio station to keep her company while she cleaned the kitchen, then made dinner. It was Taco Tuesday night—one of the few meals she could usually handle. As she turned the browned meat and seasonings down to simmer, she heard the door open.
“Mmm, gotta love Taco Tuesday. Never gets old.” Chris appeared in the kitchen, his tie hanging loose and his suit a bit too baggy. He kissed her neck where it met her shoulder, sending a whirlwind of butterflies aloft. She turned into his arms to further the matter—the tacos would keep. Chris’s hands trembled as they dove into her hair, pulling it from the loose ponytail. His kiss seemed urgent and needy and she matched it, letting the passion lift her away from thought and dissolve in a swirl of heat.
With a quick inhale, Chris pulled away, jarring her senses back with the harsh fluorescent light humming above them. His eyes burned into her as they both worked to control their breathing. She stepped toward him, wanting to continue, but he held up his hand and shook his head.
“One second. I need to say something first.”
He slipped his hand into his baggy pants pocket, then took a knee on their freshly swept kitchen floor. What was he doing? They hadn’t talked about this yet. She lost her breath and tried to take a step back, but she was already pressed into the sharp edge of the counter.
“Moon.” Chris started to speak. His voice quivered with nerves. “You’ve made my last few years complete. I can’t imagine living another day without seeing you every day and I don’t want to. I know this isn’t a proper ring, but believe me that the sentiment is. MJ, will you be my wife?”
He looked up at her with long lashes offsetting his eager eyes, so certain of her response. Her chest hurt from lack of oxygen. She felt him slide something onto her ring finger. It wasn’t cold and hard like she expected, but as it settled into place, MJ’s knees buckled and the kitchen went black.
She woke to a cold cloth on her forehead and Chris’s concerned face above hers, eclipsing the ceiling light in the kitchen. He smiled into her eyes.
“Too soon?” Chris asked.
It all came rushing back at once—the proposal, the bent knee, the ring. MJ put her hand in front of her face. Instead of a sparkling diamond, she saw a cheap tin ring with a clear plastic gemstone. That explained the unusual sensation. She searched for words to explain how she did love him, how unexpected this was. She’d never thought about marriage before. Her mom had never married; she had always assumed she’d be the same.
“I’m . . . sorry.”
Chris shook his head.
“Don’t be. I knew it was a risk. Hell, it’s not even a proper ring. Can we forget this ever happened? Maybe pick up where we left off before I lost my mind.”
MJ shook her head.
“No, don’t take
it back.” She reached for his face. “I just never thought I’d find someone like you, someone I could trust with my heart forever. Yes, yes, Chris Boudreaux, I will happily be your wife.”
When she woke, she was alone. On Chris’s pillow lay the divorce papers and a photo.
As MJ rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched, remembering the events that brought her home, her hand hit the papers lying on Chris’s pillow. Attached to the front was a photo printed off the computer. Even through the pixelation, there was no question it was her and Doyle kissing in the booth. She remembered the whispers, the constant photos being taken by fans. Someone must have posted this online, and Chris had found it. Her stomach plummeted. She knew exactly how he must have felt, as she experienced the same thing after Ariana’s phone call. But she wasn’t demanding a divorce. Anger replaced the shock, and she hopped out of bed determined to put an end to this nonsense. He would understand once she could explain. He had to understand.
She sniffed burned toast from the kitchen and padded downstairs to see Tommy fishing a charred bagel from the toaster with a knife.
“Honey, use the bamboo tongs, not a knife.” MJ grabbed the tongs and extracted the bagel as Tommy stared at her. She tossed the bagel in the garbage and put a fresh one in the toaster. As she slid down the button to restart the process, Tommy snapped out of his daze, wrapping his arms around MJ and crushing the air out of her lungs.
“Mom! You’re home. You came home.” He had tears in his eyes.
“Of course I did. I told you I was going to on the phone yesterday.” She brushed his hair out of his face and kissed him on the nose. She had to reach up to get there. He’d grown more during her short absence. A piece of her healed.
“I missed you so much,” he said.
MJ held him close and soaked up the familiar boy smell of grass and fresh air. Even at his age, he still had it, with a whiff of aftershave on certain days. She let him go after a few moments.
“So, who applied for the job of housekeeper? The house has never looked so good.”
Tommy blushed and looked down at his shoes.
MJ’s mouth dropped.
“You did this? By yourself?”
Tommy nodded. The floors were swept, the dishes were in the dishwasher, and even the cupboard fronts lacked their normal layer of food splatter.
“I don’t know, I think I might keep you.”
“Please, no. A brother shouldn’t have to wash his sister’s underwear.”
MJ laughed.
“You are absolutely right. Kate should have been doing her own laundry.” MJ checked the clock; it was past eight. “Speaking of, where are she and your dad? Shouldn’t he be pancaking it up?”
Tommy buttered his bagel and started shoving it in his mouth. Between bites, he managed to explain.
“Dad was gone when I got up, and I don’t think Kate came home last night.”
MJ went from proud of her son’s responsibility to disappointment at Kate’s lack of it.
“She didn’t come home? Is your father aware of this?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
She took a few deep breaths. It didn’t take long to get back in mom mode. “I’ll track down Kate.”
Tommy kissed his mom and headed downstairs, a spring in his step as he bit into an apple.
At least things seemed better with him; now to find her daughter.
MJ called Kate’s cell and she picked up after a few moments.
“Hey, Ma, what’s up?”
“Where are you?”
MJ could hear rustling in the background and Kate cleared her throat.
“In my bedroom. Why?”
MJ squinted her eyes. Kate didn’t know she was home. Two could play at this game. She walked up the stairs and entered Kate’s room. The bed was made and everything was neat and tidy.
“Can I talk to Tommy?”
“Um, no. I think he’s outside.”
That little shit.
“Okay, so do you want to tell me where you really are?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m standing in your bedroom, and Tommy just went to the basement. I know you aren’t home.”
Kate went silent. MJ couldn’t even hear her breathing.
“Kate?”
“You’re home?” Her voice squeaked it out.
“Yes. I’m wondering why my straight-A daughter is lying to me. I know you’re about to graduate, but we still have things to do around here. We need to sort out why you aren’t getting any acceptance letters. Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”
MJ heard more rustling.
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” she mumbled, and clicked off the phone.
MJ checked the time; she’d give her ten minutes before she called again. She returned to the kitchen and shuffled through the unopened mail on her desk. Still no letters. She searched for the Marquette admissions department’s phone number and hoped someone would be in the office on a Saturday morning. After a few rings, a young voice answered.
“Hi, my daughter applied a few months ago and I’m just following up on her application.”
“I can’t tell you the status, but I can let you know we’ve received it. What’s the name?”
She knew they had received it, but thought she could wiggle a little more info out of this student who was stuck answering phones on a Saturday.
“Boudreaux, Kate.”
She could hear some clicking in the background.
“I’m not seeing anything. Let me look her up by social.”
MJ gave it to him.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not finding a record for her. We don’t have the application.”
“That’s not possible. She filled it out months ago. Maybe it was entered incorrectly.”
“If that’s the case, then it was your daughter who made the mistake. It all feeds from the application.”
MJ mumbled her thanks and hung up.
MJ couldn’t fit together the pieces of this puzzle. Kate was meticulous about getting her work in on time; it didn’t make sense that her applications would be any different. Yet she recalled when school counselor Kyle had mentioned he wasn’t getting any transcript requests. She called Northwestern and UW-Madison and got the same responses—no application on file. She knew if she called the other dozen schools, she would get the same response. It was the middle of April and her daughter hadn’t applied for college.
Kate walked in the door with forty-nine seconds to spare. Her face paled when she saw MJ standing behind the island, tapping her fingers; then MJ saw her straighten her spine, preparing for a confrontation. Her little girl had too much of MJ in her. She slid a cup of hot cocoa across the counter, but Kate only looked at it.
“I’d rather have a cup of coffee,” she said.
“I’d rather wake up knowing what roof my teenage daughter is sleeping under. Looks like we both lost.”
MJ wanted to pull her daughter into her arms, but she needed to know what was going on here. She folded her hands on the counter in front of her and waited.
“Why do you even need to know? You weren’t even here,” Kate said.
Guilt smacked MJ in the face. Smart girl—she’d gone right for MJ’s weak spot.
“We’ll discuss my deficiencies as a parent later. You first.”
Kate poked at the marshmallow floating in her cocoa, her mouth a thin line.
“Tommy told me what he found on Dad’s desk.” She turned her brown eyes up to MJ. “How could you do this to us? Why did you have to play poker? How come Dad is never home?”
“Nothing has been signed.” MJ tapped the counter, thinking about how to handle this.
Kate looked up.
“Mom. Are you and Dad going to get a divorce?”
MJ looked into her daughter’s large brown eyes, the eyes of the little girl she used to kiss after a tragic tricycle accident. Now they looked at home in a young woman’s face, a woman old enough to ask the question
she’d been avoiding herself.
“I don’t want to, but we have some work ahead of us. Even grown-ups make mistakes that need fixing, and your parents have really made a mess of things. No matter what happens, we’re both here for you and Tommy. Always.” MJ’s throat tightened up at the thought of putting her kids through a divorce. She sipped her coffee to loosen it up. “That still doesn’t explain where you were last night.”
“I was at Bree’s. Her ex-boyfriend won’t leave her alone and it’s freaking her out. She needed a friend so I went over there after dinner.”
MJ studied her daughter for any lip biting or finger picking. There was nothing. She was telling the truth.
“Keep me posted on your whereabouts from now on. Don’t lie.” Kate nodded and turned to leave. “One more thing—can you tell me why Marquette has no record of your application?”
Kate’s eyes widened; then she bit her lip.
“It must have gotten lost. Computers aren’t perfect.”
MJ narrowed her eyes. “Then why did I get the same information from Northwestern and UW?”
MJ almost felt bad for Kate as she slumped in defeat and tears welled in her eyes. MJ wanted to pull her into her arms, but they needed to sort this out first.
“Why, Katie?” MJ asked.
“I freaked out. You kept on me to get the applications out, get the applications out. It’s such a big thing.” She spoke between ragged breaths. “College changes everything. I couldn’t do it!”
That wasn’t how she’d raised her kids.
“That’s not true, you can always B-DIO.”
Kate’s face turned red as the tears fell faster.
“You aren’t listening to me. I couldn’t B-DIO, Mom. It was too much. I couldn’t do it alone. I’m not like you. I needed help.”
MJ winced—she had done this. She was too focused on her own issues; she completely missed her daughter’s dilemma. No matter what MJ had screwed up in Vegas, Kate was not going to be collateral damage. MJ could make this right, at least. She walked around the island and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Kate opened her mouth to protest, then shut it, leaning into her mom’s embrace.
Luck, Love & Lemon Pie Page 20