by N. N. Britt
Worry coiled my stomach.
Was I wrong to let him buy a guitar for Ally?
What if he lied? What if he was texting her something inappropriate at this moment?
Unsettled, I scrolled back to the top of the page and retyped his name, carefully checking drop-down suggestions.
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My head roared, and the wine was to blame. I took a sharp breath and typed another word into the search bar.
dante martinez sexual assault
The search didn’t return any results.
There was no history of abuse between him and any of his ex-girlfriends. The man wasn’t a pervert, just an ex-addict and a showoff.
Relief rolled through my chest.
You’re paranoid, my voice of reason said.
Right, try not to be when your kid’s room looks like a fetish dungeon.
I tore my gaze from the screen and stared at the lonely swing on the opposite side of the yard. Inside, Ally was rummaging around in the kitchen. Silverware clanked. The refrigerator door slammed. Two minutes later, she showed up on the terrace with a plate in her hands and a sour face.
I set my phone on the table, screen down. My daughter didn’t need to know her mother had been eyeing Dante Martinez. It was improper.
We didn’t speak at first. Ally was still pissed at me for something I couldn’t figure out, and I was too tired to argue. She ate quietly. Like a little bird, the tips of her hair brushing the glass tabletop. I could barely hear her breathing behind the chirping of the crickets and the low rustle of the leaves in the trees surrounding our house.
“Ally,” I said, pouring myself more wine. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
She continued to torture her chicken, eyes glued to her food.
“I’m not the enemy here. I know you think I am, but trust me, I’m not.” I took a small sip of my drink. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret later.”
She lifted her gaze from the plate and stared at me. “Is that what I am to you? A regret?” Her words sliced me open.
“God, no!” I sat the glass on the table and reached for her hand, but she jerked it back. “Where’s this coming from?”
“You don’t let me do anything.”
“What are you talking about?” I was at a loss. The fact that I’d drunk half a bottle of wine didn’t help. Fuzz filled my head. “You wanted a soundproof room. You have it. You wanted to pierce your nose. You got your wish.”
“Then why can’t I have a boyfriend?”
Ah, that’s what it was.
“We already had this conversation, Ally,” I said firmly, reclining against the woven back of my wicker chair. “You’re fifteen.”
“Everyone at my school is dating.”
“Well, you’re not everyone.”
Ally released her fork and stared into the distance, frustration gathering in her green eyes.
I liked to think of myself as an understanding mother, so I waited for her to form her thoughts into words, but she didn’t. The silence between us deepened.
“Remember we agreed that we’d always talk about the things that bother us, Bug?” I asked after a long pause.
“What’s the point if you’re not listening to me?” Ally finally responded, her voice shaking.
“That’s not true. I listen, but tattoos and boyfriends at fifteen isn’t a good idea.”
“Well, I’m not you.” She pushed her plate away and rose from her chair. “I know to use a condom.”
Shock rendered me speechless and a cold shiver zipped down my spine. I took a moment to process what my daughter had just said. By the time the information settled, Ally was long gone.
Aggressive music welcomed me as I knocked on her door minutes later. We’d been through this multiple times. She was upset and didn’t plan on speaking to me tonight.
Fine. Be that way, I thought, making my way back to the terrace to grab the dishes. My head was starting to hurt.
The noise in Ally’s room stopped shortly after I finished cleaning the kitchen. My attempt to talk to her again wasn’t fruitful.
In my bedroom, I positioned myself in front of the vanity mirror and scanned my reflection with a critical eye. My mother was a health freak. Growing up, I’d often wondered if she was secretly training me for a beauty pageant. In a way, I was thankful for the discipline she’d drilled into me, but at the same time, my hate for her had become stronger with each passing day. She’d set the bar too high. She’d turned me into a perfect young woman who only wanted the best, a young woman who never settled for less, a young woman who kept her shit together through the wildest of storms. Until one night when that young woman became tired of being flawless and snapped.
And now she was alone, with a teenage daughter, waiting for something to change.
It’s your own damn fault, Camille, a voice in my head said as I stared at my reflection.
Wrinkles.
My eyes searched for wrinkles and other signs of aging. There were none. Not yet, anyway. My hair still shone bright, my skin was firm, my breasts were full, and my waist was thin. I liked how I looked. Subtly youthful and classy. I just didn’t like that all the hard work I’d put into my body and mind would be going down the drain in a few years. I had no one to give what I had. I had no one but Ally, who was slipping away like a bird in flight.
At thirty-four, I was still single with a couple of unsuccessful relationships under my belt that had led to nothing but heartache for both of us—me and my daughter. After the second fiasco, I’d decided to stop tormenting her and sworn off dating for good.
That was three years ago.
It’s the wine. Stop with the self-pity already. You’re an independent woman who has everything under control.
Did I, though? Did I have everything under control or was I living my life on autopilot?
The latter notion terrified me.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and repeated my mantra.
I’m strong. I can do this.
Then I went to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up to a splitting headache, which had never happened to me after two and half glasses of wine in my twenties. Another subtle sign that time was finally catching up with my body.
The digital clock on my nightstand showed ten to seven. My alarm was usually set for quarter after, but the fight with Ally had kept me tossing and turning all night, and there was no point in milking these useless minutes.
I scrambled out of bed, brushed my teeth, and slipped into my running clothes. The house was warm, but not hot enough to turn on the AC just yet. The weather app on my phone, however, promised a long-overdue heatwave would kick in by the end of the week.
I felt the approach of high temperatures the moment I stepped outside. Though the fresh breeze caressed my skin, the air was thick and sizzled inside my lungs as I drew a deep breath and began my run. Sweat broke beneath my T-shirt almost instantly.
Unlike Ally, I didn’t have the need to compliment my physical activities with music. I preferred to soak in the unadulterated sounds of nature and the suburban hum of the neighborhood. I liked waving hello at the scurrying passersby, and I liked smiling to get a smile in return. The distant rumble of the freeway and the chirping of the birds made me feel connected to the city.
People were ready to leave for work as I ran along my usual route. Their cars pulled out of tree-lined driveways. Their coffee-stimulated voices meshed with the roar of engines. Six blocks later, the end of the street ribboned into a small park where I normally did five or six loops before jogging back home. This had been my morning routine ever since we’d moved into the house seven years ago.
Running cleared my mind and fueled my body. It was more than a healthy choice. Plenty of great ideas came to me during my exercise. For some, showers worked best. But for me, nothing could compare to the adrenaline rush from the wind on my face and aching ankles.
Pain reminded me that I was alive.
The crooked mountaintops stood dark and proud against the backdrop of the sky as I padded down the zigzagging path. At this hour, the park was still empty and peaceful. No strollers, no toddlers, no teenagers with their phones. No shirtless men showing off their hot bodies. The morning was innocent just like the dew that covered the grass and the sun that slowly crept up from behind the leafy tree limbs.
By eight thirty, I was showered and dressed for work, and my coffee waited for me in the kitchen. Dream Bride didn’t open for business until ten, but Mondays were always busy and I liked to be there early.
Purse slung over my shoulder, I stood outside Ally’s room and contemplated. She was self-sufficient and had been taking care of her own meals and laundry since she turned thirteen, but her words from last night weighed on my shoulders. I felt like a failure of a mother, and the thought of leaving without saying goodbye rattled me.
After a long moment, I willed myself to knock on her door. “Ally, I’m going to work.”
No answer.
“There’s fresh orange juice in the fridge.”
Silence.
“Ally?”
“Okay. Bye,” a sleepy groan finally responded.
Well, at least she’s at home and not at some guy’s place having sex with a condom, a voice in my head said with a bitter laugh while I walked outside.
Seeing Harper’s Jaguar parked in his usual spot at the rear of the building when I arrived at Dream Bride puzzled me. Mondays were his day off.
Grabbing my purse and my coffee, I slid from my car and hurried toward the entrance. As always at the beginning of the week, the back lot buzzed. Delivery trucks lined the alley behind the shopping center and plagued the air with thick clouds of exhaust fumes.
Inside, soft music played in the background. I dropped my purse in my office and headed to the main floor, where Harper was fussing over the lingerie section. He wore his usual—fitted dress slacks and a suit jacket. A silk scarf was wrapped around his neck, and today, his color of choice was burgundy. Very bold. Ready for war. However, his face—specifically the dark shadows beneath his baby blue eyes—told a different story. Take away all the layers of fashion statements and attitude, and he was anything but a warrior. More like a wreck.
Knowing how sensitive Harper could get, I chose to tread lightly. “Good morning.”
He continued to mess with the bras. “Morning.”
The fact that he deliberately left the word “good” out of his greeting didn’t go unnoticed.
“It’s Monday,” I said in a sing-song voice, strolling through the racks of chiffon and lace. The displays had been dusted and organized. The windows had been wiped clean. Old flower arrangements had been replaced with fresh ones. My mother would be proud. Although she only showed up here once a month for our team meeting, her name was still on the paperwork.
“I’m aware.” Harper dodged my lead-in, but the crack in his tone was evident.
“Why are you here?”
He paused and absently stared at a stack of lingerie.
“Come on.” I approached him. “Don’t do this to me. Ally’s already pissed at me.”
The song playing in the background stopped, and for a second, it was so silent inside the store, you could hear a pin drop.
Finally, Harper spun to face me. “You always know how to guilt me into telling you everything, sweets.”
“I’m not guilting you. I just don’t like you like this.”
He arched a brow.
“Sad, Harper. I don’t like you sad,” I explained.
“Sweets”—he rolled his eyes—“I’m not sad. I’m fucking furious. I’ve wasted two years of my life on a lying sack of shit.”
Oh no! My heart skipped a beat. I knew what was coming next.
“Lucas cheated,” Harper confirmed.
“Seriously?” Shock and disappointment tightened my chest. “How did you find out?”
“He happened to leave his phone unlocked.”
“I’m so sorry.” I had a sudden urge to hug him, but Harper didn’t like to be touched unless he initiated the physical contact first or the person was his lover. I’d learned that the hard way right after we met in high school. He hadn’t come out yet and someone had painted his locker with horrible homophobic graffiti. Later that day, I found him crying behind the bleachers and tried to console him the way I’d learned from my own mother—with an embrace. He freaked out and didn’t speak to me for three days.
“I was hoping at least one of us would get married before we’re fifty,” I joked bitterly.
Getting married wasn’t on my agenda at all, but Lucas seemed like a decent guy and I’d been rooting for Harper. Apparently, we were both wrong.
“And you know what?” Harper’s face took on a truly furious expression. “Asshole attempted to lay claim to Tallulah.”
“No way!”
“I had to drop her off at my neighbor’s on the way here.”
“That’s insane!” Now I was feeling just as hurt as my best friend. Tallulah was his cat, not Lucas’s. The cheating piece of shit had some nerve.
Harper drew a deep breath and braved a smile. “I think it’s time for a break.”
“You don’t need to be here today. You’ve worked seven days straight. Go home.”
“The last thing I want to do is watch that asshole pack.” He reached for my hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Sweets, I need to work.”
Our gazes locked and I saw it then—the despair that filled his eyes, the despair he’d been trying to hide since I got here. I knew the feeling quite well. I’d gone through similar turmoil several times in my life. Once after I told Ally’s father I was pregnant, and then when my girl was six, and again when she was twelve.
Breakups hurt. They smashed our hearts into a million pieces, leaving us hopeless and hollow.
“Okay.” I gave Harper a nod. “But I’m buying you a Frappuccino.”
“Sure,” he agreed.
“Venti.”
“You want to send me into a sugar coma?”
“I want to see you smile.”
As if on cue, Harper’s mouth stretched into a grin, all his perfect white teeth on display.
“Now we’re talking.”
We moved to the office and he went over a few boutique-related things while I powered up my laptop. My gaze flicked over to my phone that sat on the desk. Ally never texted me anymore unless she needed something, and I wasn’t certain why I expected to see a message from her.
Our fight was bothering me.
Harper picked up on my frustration just as quickly as I’d picked up on his. “What did my goddaughter do this time?” He hovered as I filled out the online order form.
Friends for nearly twenty years, we could read each other with ease. He’d even joked once that if he were straight, we would’ve been married by now with three kids.
“She’s fifteen.” I glanced up at him. “Hot mocha for Renn?”
“Definitely.”
I hit the Submit button.
“Back to Ally,” Harper said. “She break curfew again? Want me to talk to her?”
I shook my head and leaned back in my chair.
“Spill,” Harper insisted.
As much as I didn’t want to get into the specifics of yesterday’s guitar shop meeting this early in the day out of fear of losing my work mojo, I needed to talk to someone. I needed to hear words that would solidify the stupid decision I’d made. The decision I’d been seduced into by a charming smile of a rich, handsome man. “She’s upset I don’t let her date,” I began.
“You know you’re going to have to let her go out with boys eventually, right?”
“I know.”
“Or girls,” Harper whispered. He straightened and walked around the desk to face me. “Have you considered it? Maybe that’s what’s eating her.”
“I have.” I heaved out a heavy sigh. “And honestly, this may make me a horrible mother, but I would have been glad—” Because girls couldn’t get her pregnant. “But she did say ‘boyfriend,’ and I think there’s someone specific.”
“You can’t keep her locked up until she’s thirty.”
“Last night, she told me she wasn’t like me and knew to use a condom.” I couldn’t fathom my fifteen-year-old daughter having sex. We’d had the talk when she was twelve and agreed she’d wait until she was eighteen, but this summer, something had changed and I struggled to understand what exactly had triggered her outbursts.
Harper smiled at me sympathetically. “Oh, sweets, I’m sorry. Why don’t I come by this week and chat with her?”
“She’s become a spoiled brat.” Deep in my heart, I hated myself for thinking of Ally like that, but I called things as they were, and my daughter had turned into exactly that—a whiny, ungrateful stranger who lived in my house. “Yesterday, while I was getting my nails done, she snuck out to that shop on Mulholland where she always hangs out with Pauline, and some guy, who’s apparently a big deal rock musician, bought her a six-thousand-dollar guitar.”
Harper’s eyes widened.
I could feel my emotions starting to get the best of me. “And you know what?” Exasperated, I tossed my hands in the air. “I let him. I let a random man buy her an expensive gift because I felt bad for her.” And because he charmed me into it with his sweet words and brooding looks. “I felt bad that she doesn’t have a father. I agree to her demands every single time. It’s the only way I know. Depriving her of more things when she doesn’t already have what almost every child has seems unfair.” My mind spun in thousands of different directions. “I thought it was going to make her happy. But instead, she’s giving me the silent treatment.”
“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself, sweets. Few women could do what you’ve done. Ally is an amazing kid. I think she’s just going through a phase most girls her age go through and she might feel a little too self-conscious talking about it to her mother.”