Boys and Toys

by Cara Lockwood

  Liv lay her cheek against Porter, feeling thankful to have him. Still, as her own anger against her parents faded, she felt a pang of loss. “I just wish I could make them understand,” she said.

  “Why not try to talking to them again?”

  “They don’t answer my calls.” Liv sighed.

  Porter thought about this, his dark eyes somber as he thought through the problem. “Why not try to talk to them in person? Thanksgiving is next week. You’re welcome to spend it with my family, but I know you’d really rather spend it with yours.”

  * * *

  Liv knew Porter was right. Jordan had said the same thing—that she ought to go talk to them. So she borrowed Jordan’s car one weekend and drove out to her parents’ house. She rang the bell, but found the house empty. That’s when she remembered that the weekend before Thanksgiving was always the soup kitchen at the church. Her parents volunteered there, helping the less fortunate.

  She drove down the main avenue of Oak Park, lined with giant oaks and maples, their leaves bright orange and red. Colored leaves fell to the ground, and stacks of them stood in yards as neighbors raked. She saw children jumping into leaf piles and remembered doing the same thing when she was little. Sometimes she wished she could be a kid again, be as her parents saw her. Things were much simpler then.

  But she couldn’t go back in time, and she wouldn’t, really, if given a choice. She drove to the huge stone church with the tall steeple and impressive stained-glass windows at the end of the street. She’d been coming here her whole life. Her parents had always been somewhat religious, but their fervor had increased in recent years when they switched to a more conservative church. The big red doors of the church were unlocked, and Liv walked into the main sanctuary, not quite sure she remembered where the soup kitchen was. Walking by the pews, she stared down the long altar, and then eventually sat down, bowing her head in prayer for her parents’ forgiveness.

  * * *

  “Olivia?” It was her mother’s voice, from somewhere behind her. Liv turned to see her mother wearing a black-and-white checkered apron, her white oxford rolled up at the elbows, looking as if she’d just come from the soup kitchen.

  “Mom! I wanted to talk to you.”

  Her mother hesitated, glancing back over her shoulder. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and came over, sitting down in the empty pew next to Liv. “I’ve got a minute,” she said. “How are you? Did you...take the job?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “I see.” Her mother seemed to absorb the information and consider it. “Your dad will be angry.”

  “I know. But how about you, Mom? Are you still mad?”

  Her mom let out a long sigh. “You know, I was for a while. But the interesting thing is, I talked to Pastor Jake. And he seemed to think that maybe this is one way he helps couples stay together. Like you said.”

  “What do you think?”

  Her mother patted her hand. “I think that all I wanted was to raise a strong daughter who was tough and knew her own mind. That’s why I was so hard on you, you know.”

  Liv thought about all the times her mother had made her do her homework over again, or made her practice her ballet recital steps, or insisted she do things a different way.

  “You once made me redo a Valentine,” Liv exclaimed, remembering her tiger mom’s stern face, demanding she start all over with a new piece of red construction paper.

  “You misspelled the word Valentine!”

  “I was five!” Liv said, remembering, her mother shaking her finger, demanding better.

  “How else would you learn to spell ‘Valentine’? You know what I always said.”

  “‘Do it ’til you get it right.’” Liv quoted her mother easily, since she’d heard the motto nearly every day growing up.

  “My mother was worse, you know,” Lian said, remembering her own childhood. “She was born in China, and she didn’t even let me play on playgrounds! Said it was a waste of time when I could be learning something useful. She grew up very poor. She wanted us to be survivors.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Liv knew her own mother had an even stricter upbringing, but she didn’t know it had been quite so strict. Her mother hardly ever talked about it. Never wanted to talk about it.

  “Complaining is for the weak,” she said and shrugged. “That’s what my mom taught me. So I never wanted to burden you with my memories.”

  “Mom...that is tough.”

  “At least I let you play on playgrounds.”

  “Thanks for that.” Liv smiled. She felt as though she understood her mother better than she had in years.

  Her mother looked thoughtful as she patted Liv’s knee. “I’m glad you know your own mind. I’m glad you’re strong and independent and make your own money. Do you know how many of my friends have kids living on their couches? Eating everything in the fridge? So many have failed to launch. But not mine. You’re a survivor, a hard worker, and I’m proud of you, Olivia.”

  “You are?”

  “I am.”

  Liv turned to her mother, whose arms were open wide, uncharacteristically open for a rare hug. Liv wrapped her arms around her mother and felt her embrace.

  “Why don’t you come for Thanksgiving?” her mother asked. “Bring Porter, too. I like him. He’s clean-cut and respectful.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me to date him.” Liv couldn’t believe her ears.

  “I’ve come around to the idea,” her mother said, shrugging. “He’s a lawyer with a steady job. He has good manners. You could do worse.”

  “What about Dad? Will he want me there?” Liv asked.

  “You leave him to me,” her mother said, squeezing her tight.

  * * *

  “Don’t be nervous,” Porter told her, as they stood on the porch of her parents’ house. Liv carried a pumpkin pie she’d bought at a local bakery on the way. She wore her most conservative black sweater set, her hair up in a prim bun, but makeup firmly on. Subtle and neutral, but there all the same. She’d decided she wouldn’t be two different people anymore, pretending to be what her parents wanted. She was who she was.

  “I am, though. What if Dad kicks you out?” Liv’s stomach was a knot of butterflies. Her mother had said she would take care of her father, but could she really? Could she convince him?

  “He won’t.” Porter put his hand at the small of Liv’s back. She took strength from his touch. Whatever happened, she felt she could handle it with Porter by her side.

  The door swung open and her mother stood there, smiling.

  “There you are. Come in.” She opened the door wide. Her father stood in the living room, sipping a Coke. When he saw her, he gave her a stern nod. He eyed Porter a minute, the hint of a frown crossing his face, before he settled into a neutral expression. Liv felt her stomach tighten. Was this going to be a disaster? Would it be a Thanksgiving that ended in a screaming match and tears?

  She held her breath as her father approached, stiffly at first.

  “Olivia,” he said. “Porter.” He nodded his head at both of them, his face still stern and expressionless. Liv wished she knew what he was thinking. It was impossible to know. Another butterfly lurched in her stomach, even as she held her chin high. Porter squeezed her hand for support. Liv squeezed his fingers back. She wasn’t going to back down, whatever happened.

  “Thanks for coming,” her father said at last, his expression softening somewhat. “I’m sorry, Porter, about the way things ended the last time you were here.”

  Surprised by the apology, Porter raised his eyebrows. “No hard feelings at all,” he said. “I completely understand.”

  Her father nodded and then looked at Liv. “And your mother feels I owe you an apology, too.” Liv froze, waiting to hear what came next.

/>   “Do you feel that you do?” she asked her father.

  He paused, staring at the liquid in his glass, waiting so long, Liv felt that she would die from suspense.

  “Yes,” he said, slowly. “I do. You were right that I had no business telling you what to do. You’re a grown woman now, and I have to accept that.” He met her eyes, and Liv saw they were wet with tears. Surprised by the sudden show of emotion, she felt her heart swell with relief and also with a little guilt.

  “I never meant to disappoint you,” Liv said. “I never meant to do that to you or Mom.”

  “You haven’t disappointed us at all,” her father said. “I’m proud of you, Olivia. I always have been. You’re strong and you’re smart and you could teach your old man a thing or two about business, I’m sure.”

  Liv laughed anxiously. She didn’t know if she wanted to teach her father about selling dildos. That was taking things a bit too far.

  “Whatever you do, we’ll support you,” her father said. “I’ll try to let you have more freedom. But you know, to me, you’ll always be my little girl. I’ll work on it, though.”

  Her father opened his arms and Liv went to him, hugging her dad, feeling tears sting her eyes.

  “Thanks, Dad,” she said, feeling such relief that her father wasn’t mad at her anymore. That he was letting her be who she had to be.

  He pulled away first, swiping at his eyes, trying to hide his tears. He looked at Porter. “Now, you’d better take good care of her, young man,” her dad warned. “Or I will fire you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Porter said, giving her dad a mock salute. “I promise that it will be my pleasure taking care of Liv.”

  Liv glanced up at Porter, his handsome brown eyes on her, and felt her whole body grow warm. She knew he meant take care of her in every possible way. She blushed, even as he pulled her close and gently kissed the top of her head. “And she’ll take care of me, too,” he murmured into her hair.

  That was when she realized being with Porter wasn’t about living her parents’ lives at all. That, that no matter what she did—even if she married a lawyer and settled into the suburbs—she’d still be herself. Being adult meant making her own decisions, and she chose Porter. He offered the perfect blend of naughty and nice. He was right for her, and she knew it.

  “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” her mother said, joining the group. Her father rolled his eyes.

  “Easy for you to say,” he grumbled.

  “Come on now, dear, I need help in the kitchen.” Her mother pulled her dad away.

  Liv watched them go and then craned her neck to look at Porter. He flashed her a white smile.

  “See? I was right. Being honest was the way to go. Just like the Boy Scouts. Always tell the truth.”

  Liv gave Porter a playful punch. “You were never a Boy Scout! So how do you know?”

  “You got me there,” Porter said, pulling her close. He sneaked a look at the closed door of the kitchen and then dipped down to kiss her. She rose up to meet him, her feet light and her heart swelling with love.

  Porter pulled away just as her mother bustled out of the kitchen.

  “Well, what are you doing just standing around? Let’s eat,” she declared.

  “After you,” Porter said, bowing to Liv. She grinned and took his hand, feeling a strong premonition that this would be one of many shared Thanksgivings to come.

  * * * * *

  About the Author

  Cara Lockwood is the USA TODAY bestselling author of eleven novels, including I Do (But I Don’t), which was made into a Lifetime Original Movie. She’s written the Bard Academy series for young adults, and has had her work translated into several languages. Born and raised in Dallas, Cara, now divorced, lives near Chicago with her two beautiful daughters. When she’s not writing, she keeps busy running 5K races for charity, kayaking and scuba diving. Find out more about her at www.caralockwood.com or follow her on Twitter, @caralockwood.

  Books by Cara Lockwood

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  Boys and Toys

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  ISBN-13: 9781460334386

  BOYS AND TOYS

  Copyright © 2014 by Cara Lockwood

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