How (Not) to Fall in Love(74)
“No details, no fries.”
Mom picked me up after school and we went to a movie, then dinner, something we hadn’t done in ages. When we got home, it was clear that the estate sale lady was right about not being around to watch the vultures. Our house was almost picked clean of small items. Sold tags were on most of the furniture. I was grateful my room was off-limits, since I was bringing everything with me.
“You okay?” I gripped Mom’s hand as we walked into the kitchen, where the cupboards were open and almost bare. We’d saved a set of dishes and glasses, some pots and pans, but all the fancy china and crystal was gone.
She bit her lip as she took it all in. She squeezed my hand. “I will be.”
We watched a Hugh Grant movie, since Mom loved him, nestled on the couch together like when I was a kid. She drank herbal tea and I ate popcorn. We even managed to laugh a little when Hugh’s friends all crammed into a tiny car to race across London so he could declare his love to Julia Roberts.
“We’re going to be okay, Mom,” I whispered, as the movie credits rolled.
“I hope so, honey. I hope so.”
Lucas texted me as I was falling asleep. He’d gone to a basketball game with friends.
“How’s my girl?”
“Sleepy. But ok.”
“How’s your mom?”
“Sad. But sober.”
“That’s good, right?”
It was.
Darcy and Marilyn,
Houses built on sand collapse. Empires built on lies cannot stand. I pray for forgiveness.
–Ty
Chapter Twenty-Eight
December 6
Mom and I stood in the driveway ready to go our separate ways on Saturday. A line of people snaked down our sidewalk, anxious to get into the sale. They watched us curiously as we stood by our vehicles.
Mrs. Sandri had given us a key and told us to clean and paint, whatever we needed to do. Mom had decided to paint. She looked determined, wearing an old Tri!Umphant! T-shirt and sweatpants. I didn’t even know she owned sweats.
“Come by on your lunch break,” she said, since I was scheduled to work all day at Liz’s.
I nodded, my throat tight around unshed tears. I was so proud of her and so relieved she hadn’t relapsed. I’d been terrified she would. I took a breath and smiled. “Don’t paint the living room puke green. Or princess pink.” I crossed my eyes, making her laugh.
She did her best Fake-Bake Pam impression. “I think you know I have much better taste than that.”
We laughed and hugged each other tightly.
I was glad to be working by myself for the first part of the morning. The smell of brewing coffee relaxed me, reminding me that I was in a safe place. His Royal Hotness was my first customer, entering through the alley door before I’d unlocked the front door. Unlike the front-door customers, he greeted me with a kiss that set me on fire, chasing away my worries with his touch.
“I didn’t think you were working today,” I said, when we came up for air.
“I’m not,” he said, his eyes drinking me in like he hadn’t seen me in a year. “But I wanted to see you.” I leaned against his chest and sighed without words. He held me, running a hand through my hair. “What’s wrong?”
“The house is practically empty. It’s so hard being there when it doesn’t feel like home.”
“You’re almost out of there,” he whispered against my hair.
“I know.” I raised my head to smile at him. “Mom’s at Mrs. Sandri’s today. Painting. But I don’t think she knows how.”
“I can go by the house to help her.”
I rolled my eyes. “How many times must we discuss the hero complex? You’re not in charge of rescuing us.”
His jaw tightened. “Stop psycho-analyzing me. I happen to be an experienced painter.”
I stepped around him to go unlock the front door. “Of course you are,” I said over my shoulder, flipping the closed sign to open. “You also leap tall buildings in a single bound.”
He ignored me, instead busying himself at the espresso machine. “I have a ladder. Paintbrushes. I even have painter’s pants.”
“I have a better idea. If you really have nothing to do today, how about fixing my truck?”
His smile faded. “Is it acting up?”
“No, just the blue smoke you already saw. But I’d like to know it’s in good shape.”
He frowned at me. “Are you planning a road trip?”
“No.” My cheeks flushed under his penetrating stare.
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What are you up to, Shaker Girl?”
I turned away, filling the pastry case. “I’m not up to anything. You know I want the truck fixed. And we’ll have the estate sale money by the end of the week. So I can pay you for parts.” I shot him a sideways glance. “And labor.”
“My labor costs are high.” He took the pastry box and set it on the counter, then pulled me into his arms again. “Very high. But I’ll consider giving you a discount.” He bent to kiss me again, tasting like coffee.
The front door whooshed open and we pulled apart. His eyes danced as he looked down at me, holding out his hand. “Give me your truck key.”