by Kylie Scott
Nothing from him.
“And it would be amongst discussing our other issues, of course.”
“Such as?”
“Well . . .”
“I’m waiting,” he says, voice on the verge of cranky. This is clearly a difficult topic for him.
“There’s my penchant for being judgy to be considered,” I say. “I can be quite the highfalutin bitch when I set my mind to it, as you’ve noticed on several occasions.”
He snorts. “You’re not so bad.”
“And then there’s my trust issues. We could work on those.”
With a heavy sigh, he draws a line with his fingers up and down my spine. “Anna . . .”
“It’s just a thought.”
“I know.”
I search my mind for the right thing to say and come up empty. Probably because it’s like two in the morning.
“I thought we weren’t rushing things between us,” he says. “Couple’s therapy not even a week into our roommates-with-benefits relationship seems like a hell of a leap.”
“But it could take months to actually get in to see a good therapist.”
A grunt from him.
I just let the silence linger. Right up until I can’t. My mind is going a mile a minute. “The psychologist in the hospital that I talked to really helped me get things sorted out. To manage my expectations and adjust to the new way of things. To overcome the trauma of it all.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.”
“Yeah.”
“But the dreams will go away eventually,” he says. Not even sounding convinced himself. If anything, he seems tired, hurt, and defeated. “I don’t need anyone messing around with the inside of my head.”
“It’s coming up on a year since the accident,” I say in a gentle voice.
“That’s still a ways off.”
“It’s not that far.”
“Hmm,” he says. “I don’t know.”
“Just think about it. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Totally,” I say, shuffling up and around until I can nuzzle the side of his face. “I am more than open to bribing you, baby.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Like, I’ll share my skincare routine with you.”
“Wow,” he says in a flat voice.
“Right?” I smile. “That shit’s taken me years to get down and here I am just offering it up for free.”
“I cleanse and moisturize.”
“Yeah, but do you chemically exfoliate before applying a serum, eye cream, hydrating gel, and moisturizer mixed with facial oil for enhanced hydration?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“There you go. Amateur.” It’s official. Nibbling on Leif’s neck is now my new favorite thing. “I wonder if a therapist would think our attachment was unhealthy due to us meeting through the accident and everything.”
“Where the hell did that come from?” he asks, back to sounding cranky again. Whoops.
“I don’t know. Just a random thought.”
“That’s it. We’re not going to therapy,” he says. “We each have enough hang-ups without that sort of negativity entering into things.”
“They might not say we’re unhealthy. You never know. I was just overthinking things.”
“Mm.” He says nothing for a moment. “Do you worry about that? About our friendship being unhealthy?”
“I didn’t really until now.”
Which is when he rolls me beneath his big body with minimal effort. “New household rule, Anna. No coming up with new problems until we’ve dealt with the ones we have already, okay?”
“That makes sense, I guess.”
“I know you’re a worrier, but we have to keep things in check or we’re both going to get overwhelmed.”
“Okay.” I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Maybe I should just not say everything that goes through my head.”
“I like you sharing. Just . . . take it easy. All right?”
I nod.
“Good. Thank you. And now for the sex.”
“Again?” I whine and pout just because. Makes it hard not to giggle when his mouth latches onto one nipple and his hands starts creeping between our bodies, making for my vagina.
“You’re the one who wanted to get her experience levels up,” he says. “Don’t blame me. This is all your own damn fault. Like there aren’t other things I could be doing with my time right now.”
“Fine. But I’m very tired. Don’t blame me if I fall asleep.”
Which is about when he bites my breast. The man has teeth. Fortunately for him he also has a tongue to soothe the sting. Neither of us have any nightmares again that night. Though, to be fair, we don’t actually get much sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
“What is that look for?” I ask, stirring a spoonful of sugar into my coffee.
Mom continues giving me a sly smile. As if she’s super pleased with herself or something.
“Mother, explain yourself.”
She crosses her legs, getting comfy at the quiet corner table we scored at a busy café. We’ve already visited Clem and her boss, Iris, at Braun’s Books. Both Mom and I now own a healthy selection of romance novels. Considering it was Clem who gave Twilight to Leif to read to me while I was in a coma, the least we can do is support her awesome local indie bookstore. It’s been a nice day with beautiful warm weather. Perfect for wandering around town. I can’t remember the last time we did something like this. She and I spending time out and about that’s not related to the accident or some family gathering. Just being together. At least I don’t have to worry about her stabbing me in the back or anything like that. Mom is a much safer option than most.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she says. “I just happened to be talking to Leif the other day is all.”
“I find it so disturbing that you two are friends,” I say.
She frowns. “Why?”
“Because he’s half your age, male, and a tattoo artist. For starters.”
“Nonsense,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Our differences just mean we have more to discuss and offer each other in the way of new experiences and altered perspectives.”
“Right. What does Dad say about your friendship?”
She gives me an amused glance. “What possible business is it of his who I’m friends with?”
“Actually, you have a very valid point there.”
“Our marriage is fine. He would hardly imagine I’m about to run off and have a wild fling now, would he?”
“I guess not,” I say. Though she does seem to be enjoying the attention of an older male not so covertly watching us from across the room. Everyone likes to feel attractive or special now and then, I guess.
“Admit it, you just don’t want to share your friend with me.”
“That makes me sound like a six-year-old fighting over a Barbie doll,” I say, somewhat put out.
Mom just looks at me.
“Fine. Be friends with him. I don’t care.”
“Thank you for your permission, dear,” she says, lips pursed. “There’s a special sort of bond that comes with someone willing to sit for hours at my unconscious daughter’s bedside and read to her. I have a lot of respect for that boy.”
“Man.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do,” I say. “Carry on.”
“He was in a great deal of pain what with his arm, and he still managed to display more of a caring nature toward you than your husband managed in months of getting in the nurses’ way and generally feeling sorry for himself.” She pauses to frown at the memory. “At any rate, I was delighted to hear that you and Leif are doing so well.”
It’s been two weeks since he and I became intimate. Bed friends. Roommates with benefits. Sexual partners. Whatever. We work together, sleep together, and eat most meals together. We’re also having an insane amount of fun in and out of the bedroom. Proving that we can actually spend tim
e apart, he’s having lunch with his family while I have a Sunday afternoon visit with my mother. While he did invite me to lunch at his parents’, I demurred. It’s too soon. Too big a step. What if they didn’t like me? Ryan’s mother only tolerated me at best. Though I’m not sure anyone would have been good enough for her golden boy. What if Leif’s parents met me and hated me and told him he’d be better off without me? I wasn’t ready to set myself up for failure in that way. To add that sort of strain to things. Besides which, Mom wanted to see the condo and where I work. It’s been nice to catch up with her. Until now.
“Wait,” I say. “What’s that meant to mean? ‘Doing so well’?”
“Well, that you’re together.”
“He told you that? That we’re together?”
“Hmm?” Mom delicately takes a bite of her cookie before pressing the paper napkin to her lips. “Of course not. Rest assured, he doesn’t give away any of your secrets. He’s not stupid.”
“Then why would you think . . .”
“Know, dear. I know that you two are now together,” she says. “And that’s because I could hear it in his tone of voice when he talks about you. The boy was practically gushing. It was so sweet.”
“The boy is over thirty years old.”
Mom just shrugs. “I do find it interesting that you’re not denying that you and he are now involved.”
“What would be the point?” I take a sip of coffee. “You’re already convinced you’re right.”
“That’s because I am right.”
“I’ve neither confirmed nor denied.”
“You don’t need to. I already know.”
I smile despite myself. “Yeah, well, it’s not serious, so don’t get carried away and start planning another wedding.”
“Look at that smile. You’re happy and it’s beautiful to see. As for planning anything, I wouldn’t dare,” she says in a sassy tone. “And I’d imagine you’re taking your time and getting to know one another, which is wise and good. There’s no need to rush into anything.”
I just nod.
“Just enjoy yourself. You haven’t been single for a long time. There’s all these opportunities and possibilities available to you right now.”
“The ink on the divorce certificate is still fresh. Whatever would the church ladies say?”
She clicks her tongue. “Everyone has an opinion, Anna. Doesn’t mean you need to listen.”
“True.”
“Good Lord, you admitting I’m right about something. Pinch me. Am I really awake?”
I give her the look. “At least I come by my sarcastic tendencies honestly.”
Mom laughs.
“How’s Dad?”
“Alive and well. He’s off playing golf.”
“Of course he is,” I mumble. “Does that ever bother you, how much time and effort goes into golf?”
Mom sits back in her chair with her legs crossed, rocking her foot back and forth. “No, not for my part. We both have our own interests, which is good. Otherwise we’d have nothing to talk about. We heard all of each other’s stories a long time ago. Not that I have any particular interest in hearing about his golf game, but I’m glad it makes him happy and opens him up to a new social group.”
“Okay.”
“Your father and I have always done our best communicating in bed.”
My brows shoot up. “Oh, God. You did not just tell me that.”
“One thing I’ve learned is that you have to choose what kind of relationship you want,” she continues. “If you send them off with a smile then there’s a better chance that they’ll rush on back to you when they’re done with whatever. Oh, and the second thing I learned was to pick your fights. If you want your voice to be heard, then use it wisely.”
“I basically agree with those. But what about venting in general? Are you just supposed to shut up and play the good wife and never say a thing?”
“No. That’s different.”
“Ah.”
“It’s interesting, isn’t it, looking at how people relate,” says Mom. “I always say, you have no idea what makes or doesn’t make a relationship work unless you’re one of the people in it.”
“That makes sense.”
Back and forth rocks her foot. “Don’t lose your nerve just because of one failed marriage. Your Aunt Peggy didn’t find Mister Right until her third try.”
“And you mocked her for it.”
“Did I?” Mom frowns off into the middle distance. “I don’t remember that.”
“It was mostly done behind her back.”
“Hmm,” she says. “The years may have softened me some. So has almost losing my only child. If anything is going to teach you grace and how not to sweat the small stuff, it’s that. But I’ll have you know that I also took Peggy in and let her sleep in our spare room for months at a time when marriages one and two fell apart. I’m not totally terrible.”
“I never said you were.”
“You wouldn’t believe how many long-winded discussions we had over a bottle of wine late at night after you’d gone to bed.”
“Family is complicated.”
“Well, that’s true. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a little teasing now and then. Or with venting.”
“This conversation has gotten unexpectedly deep and probing.”
“Is that a problem?” she asks.
“No. Just a bit surprising. Why did we never talk this openly before?”
She contemplates this for a moment, stirring the spoon around in her coffee once again. “Maybe Ryan and Celine didn’t leave much room in your life for other people.”
“Hmm.”
“Or maybe I was busy with my own things and didn’t make enough of an effort with you.”
“Maybe we both needed to make more of an effort,” I say.
“Maybe. Perhaps you were also a little wary of me. I heaped a lot of expectations on you when you were younger. I was harder on you than I should have been because you were a girl. A lot of it was about me and the way I grew up. What type of a parent my own mother was to me. It was only when I saw how it was hurting you that I realized and stopped. But time teaches us all to calm the heck down some. To be kinder to yourself and others,” she says with a gentle smile. “I’m sorry I wasn’t always the best mother, sweetie. I learned from my mistakes, but that doesn’t change the fact that mistakes were made. I’m sorry they hurt you, and I want you to know I love you more than anything.”
“I love you too, Mom, and neither of us are perfect. Thanks for all you’ve done to help me get back on my feet.”
“When I thought I lost you in the accident, I’d never been more terrified.”
“It was no one’s idea of a good time, that’s for sure.”
“Still, no one could blame you for being a little defensive right now. A little on edge. But try not to let it become a habit. None of us are perfect. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
I sigh, wishing that it were that simple. Today’s been wonderful, but I still feel like I’m always just one breath, one moment, away from collapsing into that brittle, messy piece of work left over from the accident. I don’t know why some times it hits harder than others. Guess healing comes in bits and pieces. It stops and starts and takes you by surprise. Leif would understand all this. But then, Leif always understands. And right in this moment, I’d give anything to have him here to hold my hand. And that sort of weakness scares me.
I swallow hard. “You’re very wise, Mother.”
“Sometimes.” She takes a sip of coffee. “At least we’re open to being wrong and doing better. That’s a good thing. Most people never even get that far.”
“I love you, you know?”
“I know, sweetie. I love you too. Drink your coffee before it goes cold.”
It’s getting on toward sunset by the time I arrive home. Coffee turned into a glass of wine, which turned into dinner. Mom and I had a great time. Maybe it takes a while before you see y
our parents as being real people. Someone other than your designated caregiver and eternal judge. Someone capable of making mistakes and having regrets. Instead of just being the person who has to listen to you moan and groan and drive you places and who will hopefully take you in if everything in your life hits the wall. What it says about me that it took me so long to see her as a real live functioning entity separate from being my maternal figure probably isn’t good. But at least I got there in the end. Mom and I are more than just mother and daughter now. We’re friends too, and that’s beautiful.
I also managed to calm my roll and find my inner peace once more. Everything is okay. Everything is going to be fine. Probably. And that’s about as certain as life gets, in all honesty. Things happen. Sometimes they’re unexpected and painful and horrible. But I can’t go through life just waiting to get knocked down again. That’s not living. I will be brave and not cower in constant fear of the pain and turmoil life can throw at me. I swear it.
“Anna?”
I turn to find Ryan stepping out of his car. His expression, at first hesitant, soon turns into the usual set-jaw study of entitlement. We stand underneath the dogwood outside the condo building, staring at one another. And I am not smiling.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I thought we could talk.”
The man looks rumpled. His polo shirt is creased and his chino shorts are no better. Quite the change from his usual immaculate presentation of all-around great guy. It’s kind of weird that I used to find him attractive. I mean, he is fundamentally an attractive person. People used to tell me how lucky I was, back when we were married. Gosh, your husband is so handsome and all that. Guess I just can’t see it anymore. Overlaid on the classic chiseled-jaw features are so many memories. Mostly recent and bad. None that I feel the need to deal with right here and now. Or ever.
“No, we’re divorced,” I say. “There’s nothing left to say.”
He shoves a hand through his hair. “Anna . . .”
“Divorced means I am no longer legally required to listen to you.”
And he actually looks to heaven at this. What a dick. What did I ever see in this guy?
“I’m not being unreasonable or irrational, Ryan. So don’t give me that look. Your dedication to being the actual worst is amazing.”