Daisies & Devin

by Kelsey Kingsley

  In any other situation, I would have felt like a secret being kept, something to be ashamed of. But in this instance, I understood.

  Kylie had left home with a guilty conscience weighing heavily on her shoulders. She hated herself for leaving to live a better life, while her mom chose to stay in that tomb of a home, surrounded by ghosts and memories. It made Kylie sad to talk to her, telling her she was continuing with her life, knowing her mother had yet to leave the past behind and seek her own happiness.

  “What?” she asked abruptly, turning to me. “Dinner? When? Tonight? Uh … Mom, we’re out, running errands, and tonight we have, um …”

  “To fuck,” I whispered, and she swatted at me, her flush creeping up from the neckline of her lightweight sweater.

  I grinned, imagining her out of that thing, out of her skintight leggings and combat boots. I thought about my mouth, exploring every inch of her. Tasting her. Feeding on her. I let out a low groan at my own imagination, and she eyed me questioningly.

  “Well, um … I guess if Dev doesn’t mind,” she said reluctantly, glancing over at me apologetically, and with the slightest sigh of disappointment, I shook my head. Because I didn’t mind. Well, maybe just a little.

  But I had the rest of my life to feast on her body. I could wait a few more hours.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kylie

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized, for what had to be the twentieth time, as Devin steered the truck toward my mom’s house.

  It was always imperfect timing. In the moments when I was truly blissful, Mom had to call. And it wasn’t that I didn’t adore my mother, or that I didn’t want to hear from her. It was that, since my father’s death, she served as the reminder of the life I had tried to leave behind, when I moved to River Canyon with Brooke. I abandoned her in that house, knowing very well she would die there with the memories suffocating her. I just couldn’t let it drag me down too, and I hated myself for it.

  It had tried to help her. I invited her to have dinner with Devin and me. I invited her to the coffee shop, to the movies, to lunch and to go shopping. On the few times she accepted, she spent the time walking in a daze of sorrow and loneliness.

  I eventually stopped asking.

  “Why do you keep apologizing? I love your mom,” Devin assured me. I just sighed, staring out the window, tapping my knuckles against the glass.

  “This isn’t how we should be spending our first night as a couple,” I said, unable to stop myself from smiling at the thought of us being a couple at all. Finally.

  He reached across the center console to take my hand and interlocked our fingers. My heart jolted at how perfect we fit. “Okay, is it ideal? Not really, but when was the last time she invited you over for dinner?”

  Truthfully, it had been months since I’d even seen my mother, and our conversations were had mostly through texting. I nodded as I said, “That’s a good point. And we don’t have to stay long. We can eat and get out of there,” I threw in, because the last thing I wanted was to dwell too long on how Dad’s boots were still by the door. Not today.

  Devin squeezed my hand. “It’ll be fine. And hey, it’ll make your mom happy that you finally got yourself a real man.”

  I snorted lightly, but my heart warmed to the possibility that she might find it in herself to be genuinely happy about something again. Maybe she’d even appreciate the surprise, maybe she’d find some hope for our future as a family. I mean, maybe it was jumping the gun a little, but never before had there been a possibility of a son-in-law or grandchildren in my mother’s future. Not with Nate, not with anybody else, but I knew with startling clarity that if Devin had asked me to marry him right then and there, I would have said yes.

  I squeezed his hand and I smiled.

  This is a good thing.

  ♪

  The last time I had stepped foot in my childhood home over six months ago, the house had been no different than the night she’d found my father dead in the basement den. Even down to the empty bottle of beer placed on the dusty old rug in front of the couch.

  I stopped saying anything about the condition of the house years ago, when I realized it would only lead to an argument. I knew if I kept pushing, one, or both of us, would shut the other out permanently and I couldn’t allow that. So, I kept my mouth shut, and my visits less frequent.

  I told myself it was better for us both, and I was never sure I believed it.

  But on the day that Devin and I finally became a couple, I walked through the same door I had walked through every day until I was almost twenty-four, and into a house I no longer recognized. Devin noticed it too, immediately turning to me with a look of both shock and something dangerously close to worry.

  “Hey kids!” My mother hurriedly moved from the kitchen into the living room to plant a quick kiss to my cheek. “Kylie, don’t you ever get tired of the purple hair?”

  I would’ve responded with something equally obnoxious, as mothers and daughters sometimes do, but I was too busy gawking at the woman I had known since before birth.

  “God, Devin, did you get taller since the last time I saw you?” She stood on her toes, looping one arm around his neck. He met her halfway, kissing her on the cheek as she reciprocated.

  “Nope, still five-two,” he quipped, and she smacked his chest.

  “If I asked your mother, she’d probably tell me you were never five-two,” she said with a pursing of her lips. Was she wearing lipstick?

  “If you asked my mother, she’d also tell you she’s twenty-nine,” he responded with a smug grin.

  “Oh, we’re the same age then!” Mom chirped with a laugh, hurrying back into the kitchen. “You know, you really should have your parents over sometime. God, I can’t even remember the last time I saw them! It’d be so nice to—”

  She prattled on and I tuned her out as I grabbed Devin’s bicep. I pulled at him until he brought his ear to my mouth and I hissed, “Is this the fucking Twilight Zone?”

  His eyes widened as he said, “I know, right? I didn’t want to say anything because she seems good, but …” His gaze wandered the room and they landed on the brand-new end table. “The book, KJ,” he mentioned in a low voice.

  The modern, glass-topped table still housed the Tiffany-style lamp, but my father’s book was missing. The book she had left there, with the bookmark tucked between pages one and two, after I’d thrown it and lost its place.

  All of those years, and all of those moments I had begged her to put it away, back on a shelf or in the fucking garbage can. At the sight of the barren tabletop, gleaming translucent under the spinning ceiling fan, I wanted to take them all back. My lower lip quivered uncontrollably as I wondered where it went. If I could put it back where it belonged without her noticing.

  “Kylie,” Devin said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. “It’s okay. This is a good thing.”

  “I know,” and I sniffled against him. “I know that. It’s just … it’s just a lot to take in, and I don’t know why she’s …”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, and he kissed the top of my head. “Come on. Before she realizes she’s still talking without an audience.”

  I led the way into the kitchen, relieved to find the same cookie jar shaped as a cow on the counter.

  At least some things hadn’t changed.

  “Can I help with anything, Mom?” I asked, watching her bustle around, taking her in.

  The last time I saw her, her hair had sparkled silver and white. Now, it was all a warm chestnut brown, healthy and shining under the recessed lighting in the kitchen ceiling. She wore a peasant-style top that I never would’ve imagined her wearing and a pair of skinny jeans that honestly made her legs look incredible, and the flats on her feet were a bold shade of red.

  But the most disconcerting thing of all? She wouldn’t stop smiling.

  It wasn’t as though my father’s death had brought her to lose her sense of humor, or the ability to smile, but the lau
ghs had been infrequent and short. The smiles were tense and fleeting.

  This woman? She was glowing.

  She turned to me, her blue eyes glistening in a way they hadn’t in … well, I’m not sure they’d ever glistened like that. “I have everything taken care of in here, honey, but you know what? You two can set the table.”

  I nodded. “Are plates still—”

  “Kylie, you know where the plates are. They’re where they’ve always been,” Mom said with a light laugh and a shake of her head as she opened the oven.

  “Well, I just wasn’t sure because—”

  “I’ll get the plates. You grab the glasses?” Devin said, flashing me a stern glare that told me to keep my mouth shut. Reminding me that this was a good thing, that her sudden change should be welcomed.

  I nodded, silently heading to the cabinet and immediately noticing that the old Coca-Cola cups my father had collected, were no longer lining the middle shelf. My heart clenched around shards of glass, puncturing those old wounds and tearing them open as I reached for three etched tumblers. They were new, with a vintage look and they felt wrong in my grasp.

  My feet shuffled into the dining room and I placed the glasses on the table and slumped into one of the high-backed chairs, holding my face in my palms.

  Devin put the plates down on the table and pulled out the chair beside me. I heard him sit, then felt his warm palm on my knee. “Are you going to lose your shit?”

  “I’m really, really trying not to,” I said, my words muffled by my hands. “But it’s just … I mean …” I uncovered my face, dropping my hands to my lap and looked to his surprisingly calm expression. “Where is his stuff? Where did it all—" My words were cut off by the sudden lodging of a boulder in my throat and I squeezed my eyes shut, talking myself through deep breaths.

  “We can leave,” he offered, squeezing my knee.

  “Leave? You just got here!” Mom said cheerfully as she entered the room with a steaming casserole dish in her hands. She took one look at me and my sickly expression and her face fell for the first time since we got there. “Honey, are you okay?”

  Devin gave her a forced smile. “She had some Chinese for dinner last night that might’ve given her food poisoning.”

  “Oh no,” Mom pouted. “Do you need something? Pepto?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m fine, really,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I think I’m just hungry. We’ve been out all day and I haven’t eaten anything yet.”

  Her face lit again. “Well, I made your favorite,” and with a swoop of her arm, she lifted the lid off the casserole dish, making the grand reveal. “Cottage pie!”

  “It looks good,” I said honestly, already beginning to salivate. “Dev, can you grab us drinks?”

  Mom waved a hand in protest before he could stand up. “Devin, don’t let her boss you around. You sit, I’ll grab a bottle of soda. Root beer okay?”

  “Uh, yeah,” we both responded, and she was on her way back into the kitchen.

  We sat silent, processing for the ten seconds it took her to grab the bottle and come back into the dining room. She plopped heaping servings of cottage pie onto our plates, before sitting herself down, smiling at us in a way that made me feel on the spot.

  “So, how have you both been? How’s work?”

  “Work’s good,” Devin said, immediately diving into his food.

  I nodded. “Yeah, the shop is going really well. You should come by and hear Devin play,” I said, scooping up a forkful of mashed potatoes and meat. “It’s been a while.”

  “I was thinking about it! It’s a bit of a hike for me to come down during the week, but—”

  “You could stay at our place,” Devin tossed in.

  Mom shook her head adamantly. “No, no. The last time I slept on that couch of yours, I was making an appointment with the chiropractor the next day, remember?”

  “You don’t have to sleep on the couch. You could take—”

  “I will not kick one of you out of bed,” she insisted, shooting him a hard stare. “I’ll just stay at that cute little bed and breakfast. That’s still there, isn’t it?”

  I nodded, ignoring the way Devin had his eyes narrowed at me. “Well, it’s been there since the 1800s, so yeah, I can’t imagine they’d tear it down now,” I said sarcastically.

  She rolled her eyes with a light laugh as she shoveled more food into her mouth, then she gasped and dropped her fork, causing us to both look at her with alarm. “Oh my God! I forgot the biscuits!” She bolted up from the chair and hurried into the kitchen.

  Devin leaned against my chair. “Perfect timing. So, are we not telling her for a reason, or what?”

  I sighed, putting my fork down on my plate. “I’m not really hiding it. I’m just—"

  A loud clunk came from the kitchen and I whipped my head toward the doorway. “Mom? You okay?”

  “Damn this cabinet! This fucking door has been hanging by one hinge for the past week and it chose this moment to break off entirely.”

  Devin pushed from the table and stood up. “I’ll fix it,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans as he walked into the kitchen.

  “No, you sit and eat. I’ll call some—”

  “The hell, you are,” he cut her off. “If you call someone in here to fix this, they’re going to charge you an arm and a leg for something I’ll do right now for free.”

  She huffed through her nose. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a pain—”

  “Stop,” he said gently. “It’ll take me five minutes and I actually have some hinges in the truck right now that I think will fit.”

  Mom sighed, resigning. “You’re a sweetheart, you know that?”

  “I try. I’ll just do this quick.” And before Mom and I could protest, he walked through the house to the front door.

  He was leaving us alone on purpose.

  My mom walked back into the dining room, wielding a basket of buttermilk biscuits. “I feel bad. He didn’t have to fix that stupid door now.”

  I shifted in my seat. “I know.”

  “Well, anyway,” she tapped the tips of her fingers together like some maniacal villain as a small smile spread on her lips, “I have some news.”

  I swallowed. This was it. Whatever weird phenomenon was going on, she was going to tell me what it was all about. The whole reason for the impromptu dinner gathering, no doubt. And to quell my own anxiety, I countered with a grin as I said, “So do I. You go first.”

  A nervous version of my mother took over. Her hand fluttered to her hair, sweeping several strands off her forehead. She tapped her manicured nails together. I couldn’t remember the last time she had her nails done—had she ever? Had she ever put this much of an effort into herself when my father was alive?

  Was she even able to?

  Oh God, the pain seared through my heart.

  “I, uh … God, Kylie, I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  She held her hands together, pressed to her lips, and I heard the front door open, the clanging of tools in a metal box. Devin entered the kitchen and dropped the toolbox to the floor. I turned around to see him kneel, he looked up to catch my eye and I grimaced. He responded with a slight raising of his eyebrows.

  “Kylie?” Mom asked.

  I flashed him my “help me” eyes. He smiled encouragingly, and I turned back to my mom. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve been seeing someone for a few months.”

  I stared at her, unsure I heard correctly.

  “What?”

  Her smile tightened. “I’m seeing someone,” she repeated.

  My stomach rolled violently around peas and chopped carrots, ground sirloin and potatoes. I stared at the lump of food still on my plate, and I forced myself to breathe. I welcomed the interruption of Devin’s electric screwdriver, filling the kitchen and dining room with a therapeutic, mechanical buzz for all of two seconds before moving onto the next screw.

  “Kylie, I know this is—” The screwdrive
r was working again. She sighed, resigning herself to resuming her meal while Devin removed the old hinges from the cabinet.

  “Sorry,” he called from the kitchen.

  “It’s fine,” she responded with laughter working through her words. Then she asked me, “Are you okay?”

  I nodded for a split second, before I shook my head. “Actually, I’m feeling a little nauseous.”

  “O-oh.” Her sympathy blanketed her face. “Are you sure you don’t want some Pepto?”

  With a weak smile, I slowly stood up from the table. “No thanks. I really think I just need some air,” I told her, and walked through the kitchen with Devin’s eyes on me every step of the way. I opened the back door and stepped onto the deck, walking to the railing. Pressing myself against it, clutching the splintered wood in my hands, reminding me so much of those shards of glass, stabbing my palms.

  There was a new bistro table, set up under a new umbrella and I resisted the urge to cry.

  My parents never had a bistro table. They never sat outside.

  As predicted, Devin came to join me, closing the door behind him. I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting him to leave me alone. Wanting him to wrap his arms around me.

  “Hey,” he said, approaching me from behind until he was so close, I felt the heat radiating off of him. “I fixed the door.”

  I shut my eyes to the yard. “Thanks for doing that for her.”

  “Of course.” Strong arms wrapped around my middle and he bent to put his chin to my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I opened my eyes, directed them to the sky, searching for something. A sign, maybe. “I just don’t think I ever expected her to say that.”

  “Really?”

  I tipped my head against his. Temple to temple. “I guess I should’ve expected it. I mean, she looks good, right? But I just thought … I thought maybe she was just taking care of herself, not impressing someone.”