Wild, Crazy Hearts

by Melissa Foster

  “I remember, Mom. I got the talk about bananas and doughnuts, when everyone else got the birds and the bees.”

  Nana threw her head back with a laugh. “That’s brilliant! And visually accurate, too.”

  They all giggled.

  “Some conversations are sticky and need to be carefully navigated.” Her mother pointed to the molasses cookies. “Think of those as molasses discussions.”

  “Those are the discussions that make it hard for you to remember to root for Team Trindle,” Nana said.

  “Those are the ones Brindle normally runs away from, and her next move is to make Trace jealous,” Grace added. “You can’t do that anymore, Brin. You’re having a child together. You have to be able to talk to him about everything.”

  “When Graham and I hit sticky situations, I get quiet, and he gives me time to cool down,” Morgyn said. “But, Brindle, you’re not good at cooling down, so maybe you can tell Trace you need space instead of just walking off.”

  “That’s a great suggestion,” Grace said. “And try going into another room, or just walking a few feet away if you’re out somewhere, so he knows you’re not abandoning the discussion. Or even better, take him with you away from the group.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” Morgyn said. “Then you’d have his full attention.”

  “And the added benefit of a private makeup make-out session,” Brindle said more to herself than to anyone else.

  “Brindle…” Her mother gave her a half smile, half be-serious look.

  Brindle sighed. “We’re getting better at that. Not the makeup make-out part, but trying to cool down and talk things out. We’ve both been making the effort to do it.”

  “It’s not easy, is it?” Nana asked.

  “No, but it feels good afterward,” Brindle said.

  “She means makeup sex,” Morgyn clarified.

  “We all like makeup sex,” their mother said.

  “Ew!” Grace, Morgyn, and Brindle said in unison.

  Grace held up her hand and said, “Mom, please…”

  “That’s not a visual I need,” Morgyn added.

  “Wait,” Brindle said. “I just realized that we’re talking about communication, but we’re shutting our own mother down. That’s not cool. Sorry, Mom. While I don’t want to think about you and Dad like that, I like knowing that when I’m fiftysomething I’ll still have makeup sex.”

  “It never has to end.” Nana picked up a frosted sugar cookie and said, “That’s where these come in. Because some conversations need a different type of help. When you want to do something different or go someplace and you have to lay the sweetness on thick to get your man’s attention.”

  “Oh, that’s never a problem.” Brindle picked up a sugar cookie and dragged her finger through the frosting. She held up her sugarcoated fingertip and said, “All I have to do is crawl into his lap, whisper certain things in his ear, and…” She sucked the frosting off her finger. “Voilà! All is good.”

  Grace covered her face. “Oh my gosh.”

  “What? It works. Some types of conversations are easier than others.” Brindle picked up a black-and-white cookie and said, “Is this representative of when we’re right and they’re wrong?”

  Their mother shook her head. “It’s more like when either party thinks their point is right, not just us. We’re not always right.”

  “Yeah, I kind of hate that,” Brindle said. “It’s easier when I’m right.”

  “How do you handle it when you’re wrong?” their mother asked.

  “Usually I take off,” Brindle said with no small amount of shame. “But sometimes, if I’m not too mad, there is another way to make my stubborn cowboy realize he’s wrong, or forget I was wrong.” She pulled her sweater off her shoulder, pushed the V-neck open wider, and gave them her best seductive glance, excited to share her expertise and not feel ashamed of it. She spoke in a sultry tone as she said, “First, I run my hand along his thigh, because a thigh stroke is just sexy enough to get his attention off the conversation and onto me. And then I usually go with something like, How about we discuss it in the bedroom? We usually have much better discussions after sex.”

  Her mother sighed and patted Brindle’s hand. “Okay, honey, that’s what we’re trying to move past.”

  “Wait,” Morgyn interjected. “I’m learning something. Give us a second.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Grace said. “I think there’s some value in going with a sexy coupling and discussing things afterward. Where did you learn these techniques?”

  “I don’t know. I was born with them, I guess,” Brindle said.

  Grace’s brows knitted. “We have the same parents, and I didn’t get those skills. I had to really reach outside my comfort zone to be the aggressor with Reed. And boy, he loves it.”

  “Reed has been gaga over you forever,” Nana said. “Whatever is in your comfort zone has definitely been working, too.”

  “Yeah, but this is good stuff,” Grace said. “The thigh stroke? I didn’t even know there was such a thing. I want to know how my little sister was born with knowledge I wasn’t.”

  Morgyn bit into a cookie and said, “Me too. Mom…?”

  Their mother was humming, twirling her hair around her finger, and looking the other way.

  “Did you teach Brindle?” Morgyn asked.

  “What?” Their mother’s cheeks turned crimson. “No, I didn’t teach her that. But she must have paid more attention to me and your father during certain developmental years.”

  “You did the thigh stroke?” Grace gasped and waved her hand. “Don’t answer that. Just tell me where you learned it.”

  “I don’t know. It came naturally to me,” their mother finally said.

  “Some girls are more seductive, while others are sweet and sexy,” Nana said. “Take my Lindsay. That girl’s got spunk, like Brindle, though she doesn’t flirt much, which is a shame. But my Sophie is all sugar and sweetness, which works for her. She and Brett couldn’t be happier.”

  “Well, I’m going to try Brindle’s tactic next time.” Grace crossed her arms, and Brindle could practically see the gears churning in her sister’s mind. “This could be fun.”

  As much as Brindle loved knowing her sisters wanted to be more seductive, she knew what she’d described wasn’t the right way to do it. “Wait, you guys. Those tactics are what got us into this communication pickle in the first place. Trace and I have been working on moving past tactics and pussyfooting around, or letting things stew between us. We’re trying to face things head-on and talk openly about our feelings even when it hurts. It’s really hard. Words hurt, which is funny, because that’s what parents teach their kids from the time they’re little. But it hurts less than stewing and doing backhanded things in retaliation. I kind of think emotional, verbal diarrhea is the way to go.” She splayed her hands and said, “Like being naked. Show your cellulite and your freckles and all your sexy curves and learn how to navigate the hard ridges of masculine hips and thick thighs—”

  “Slow down, hot pants, or I’m going to need a drink and a cigarette after this talk,” Nana said.

  Brindle shook her head to clear images of Trace’s body from her mind and said, “Sorry. Sometimes my mind just goes to other things.”

  “Big, hard things, apparently,” Grace said with a smirk.

  “I can’t help it! Look at my boyfriend!” Brindle said. “You guys, I just called Trace my boyfriend. I like that. But getting back to my point, I think talking honestly trumps using other tactics. Trace and I have gotten closer on so many levels since we decided to try to talk things out, and it’s happened fast. We talk about everything now. He even asked about the play we’re doing in drama club. It feels good to have a deeper relationship. I think I’ve always wanted it, but I was so afraid that we’d lose something in the transition.”

  “Love like yours can’t be lost, honey. It can grow and change for the better, but only you and Trace can figure out what direction things move in,”
her mother said. “I don’t think you needed this talk after all. It sounds like you and Trace are already figuring out what works for you.”

  “As good as that feels to hear,” Brindle said, “I did need it. I wasn’t sure I would fit into coupledom sisterhood like you guys do. But now I don’t feel so far off the mark.”

  “Brindle, you always figure out how to handle things in a way that’s right for you,” Morgyn said. “You just do it on your own timetable.”

  Grace nodded in agreement. “And you’ll always fit into whatever sisterhood we’re in. You’re Brindle Montgomery, and none of us is dumb enough to try to exclude you.”

  Brindle made a slapping motion in Grace’s direction, and they all laughed.

  “But you are going to be a mother,” Nana reminded her. “Certain responsibilities come along with that, such as feeding your child. From what I know about you, you and ovens are not on very friendly terms.”

  “And you’ll need to either learn to clean or hire a housekeeper,” their mother added.

  “Ugh, I know. On a more exciting note, did I tell you guys I have a sonogram next week? Trace is coming with me to see Dr. Bryant.”

  “That’s one benefit of living in such a small town,” Grace said. “In Manhattan you’d see a lab tech you’ve never met before.”

  “That’s true,” their mother said. “I’m sorry Dr. Bryant fled her old life because of a nasty divorce, but I’m glad she landed here. Our town needed a female obstetrician.”

  Morgyn sipped her hot chocolate and said, “Will you find out the sex of the baby?”

  “We haven’t decided yet, but we’re leaning that way,” Brindle answered.

  “See how easily Brindle got our minds off of cooking and cleaning?” Grace said. “She really is good at distractions.”

  Caught! “Can we please table those topics for the next meeting of the married minds?” Brindle asked. “I’m not sure I can handle that much knowledge in one day.”

  “I’d say you did pretty well, considering we didn’t even get to the everything cookies.” Morgyn picked up a cookie that looked like a pie chart. “These have eight different types of cookie dough, they take forever to make, but they’re so worth your while.”

  “They’re for times when you need to pull out all the stops and just deal with it,” her mother said.

  “That’s my new go-to cookie.” Brindle picked up an everything cookie and bit into it. White chocolate, chocolate chip, oatmeal, cinnamon, and more sweetness than she could define spread over her tongue. She wanted to dive into a vat of them and eat her way out.

  “And when you just want to tear your man apart.” Grace picked up a gingerbread man and bit off the head.

  “I’m Team Trindle all the way, so there will be no more biting off heads.” Brindle couldn’t resist embarrassing them all by saying, “But licking and sucking…”

  As her sisters and mother covered their blushing faces, Nana put her arm around Brindle and said, “Now, you’re in my sisterhood, too.”

  Chapter Twelve

  THURSDAY AFTERNOON TRACE grabbed his toolbox from the back of his truck in the elementary school parking lot as Jeb and Shane climbed from their vehicles. Trace’s gaze fell on Brindle’s shiny red MINI Cooper. It was rare to see a MINI Cooper in Oak Falls among the masses of pickup trucks and SUVs, but it suited his girl perfectly, since she was one of a kind. She’d been mighty proud when she’d bought the used sports car. She’d driven straight to his place and they’d gone out for a drive—and they’d ended up pulled over on a dirt road, christening the front seat. She’d ridden him hard, and he’d loved every minute of it. But she couldn’t exactly cart a baby around in that little car. He’d checked the safety rating on it when she’d bought it, and it was high, but putting a baby seat in the back would be a pain in the ass. At some point they’d have to think about upgrading to something more family friendly. Something sporty but big enough and safe enough for her and the baby.

  Jeb sidled up to Trace and said, “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m just wondering how Brindle would feel driving something a little bigger once the baby comes.”

  “Just don’t get her a minivan,” Shane said. “She’s too hot for a minivan.”

  Trace set a narrow-eyed look on Shane and said, “Stop checking out my girl. Let’s go.”

  They headed into the school and made their way down the halls to the all-purpose room where Brindle was teaching drama club. In all the years Trace and Brindle had been together, he’d never seen her in the classroom. Their relationship hadn’t been the type where he could show up and bring her lunch to catch an extra twenty minutes together, no matter how much he might have wanted to. She’d made an off-the-cuff comment a while back about Trace helping with sets. He’d given her the choice of continuing to hang out in the evenings, which usually ended horizontal, or using their time together to work on sets for the play. She’d chosen the former. But now that she was truly his, he wanted it all. He wanted to be the man who filled all the gaps in her life, whom she could count on to build sets, care for her when she was sick, and satiate her every sexual desire.

  He heard Brindle’s energetic, confident voice before they reached the entrance to the room, and he held out his hand, indicating for his brothers to hang back for a moment. He peered into the room, wanting to see her in action without causing a disruption. Brindle sat on the floor with about thirty elementary-age kids. She looked hot in the mauve sweater, dark jeans, and leather boots she’d worn out with him at JJ’s many times. But sitting with her back pin straight with a reassuring expression as she patiently addressed each child’s question, she was the epitome of a professional teacher. Brindle spoke in a careful, purposeful tone he had never heard before.

  He had no idea how she could be a sensuous siren one minute and a caring and reserved role model the next, but seeing this side of her brought his mind to their baby. He’d been thinking a lot about parenthood and imagining Brindle as a mother, holding their sweet baby in her arms. She was his wild one, but he’d seen her with Sophie’s baby, and he knew she’d be a nurturing mother. As he observed her reminding the children of the importance of keeping their grades up if they wanted to be in the play and her expectations of their supporting their friends even if they were competing for the same role, he realized that his wild girl didn’t take her position over those young, moldable minds lightly. That gave him an even bigger sense of pride toward the woman who he knew would guide their child in all the right ways.

  He imagined a stubborn boy who had Brindle’s stormy eyes, or a little girl with Brindle’s sassy mouth. He didn’t care what they were like; he’d loved their baby from the second she’d told him he was the father. And the truth was, even if he weren’t its father, he’d have stuck by them both and loved them just as much.

  “Next week we’ll hold auditions,” Brindle said, bringing his mind back to the moment. “Remember to take a few minutes to read through the character list and descriptions after you finish your homework each night.” Her eyes moved slowly around the circle, slowing on each of the children. “Think about which character you want to play. Natalie has included an audition sheet for each character. Those are the lines you’ll need to memorize. It’s important that you’re prepared and you give the audition all that you have.” She glanced at the studious-looking brunette teenager with dark-framed glasses sitting to her right and said, “Natalie, do you have anything to add?”

  As Natalie spoke to the children, Shane whispered, “How does it feel to see your baby mama in action?”

  “Really fucking good,” Trace said softly.

  Jeb leaned closer to Shane and said, “How many students at the high school do you think call Brindle a TILF?”

  Trace glared at him. “Enough with the bullshit.”

  Jeb and Shane chuckled.

  “Dude, all high school guys have a thing for teachers,” Shane said. “Remember Miss McClintock?” Miss McClintock was a buxom blonde transplant f
rom California who’d thought she’d wanted a more rural lifestyle. She’d stuck around Oak Falls for only two years, but it was enough time for her to become a teenage spank-bank legend.

  “Okay, I’ll see you all next week,” Brindle said as she rose to her feet.

  There was a flurry of commotion as kids gathered their papers and backpacks and put on their coats. Natalie helped the kids as Brindle talked with a few other children.

  “Thank you, Miss M!” a lanky, towheaded boy called out.

  Two curly-haired girls gave Brindle high fives. Kids called out thank-yous, and Brindle responded to waves, telling the kids to have a good week. A redheaded boy tugged on her sweater, frowning up at her as he said something Trace couldn’t hear. Brindle crouched beside him, looking him in the eyes as she said something that made the little boy light up. Trace wished he could hear what she was saying. The little boy hugged her, then darted across the room and joined the other kids as Natalie guided them toward the parents standing by the side door to the parking lot, waiting to pick up their children.

  “Hey, Mustang,” Trace said as he and his brothers walked into the room.

  Brindle turned with surprise in her eyes, and a smile spread across her beautiful face. “Hi. What are you guys doing here?”

  Shane pointed at Trace. “Just following the boss.”

  With a quick glance to make sure the last child was out the door, Trace leaned in for a kiss. “We’re here to help build sets for the show.”

  Her eyes bloomed wide. “Oh. Wow. That’s so sweet.” She wrinkled her nose, lifting her shoulders adorably. “The thing is, we won’t be ready to start building them for another few weeks. We’re usually into rehearsals by now, but we started the whole process a month late because of my trip, so we decided to move the play to after the New Year. But I love that you want to help. I can’t believe you’re really here. It’s kind of weird seeing you in the all-purpose room.”