Rock Chick Rescue (Rock Chick #2)(31)

“I forgot to tel you, Eddie’s here,” I said.

Her eyes got wide.

“You brought a man home last night?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It isn’t what you—”

“That’s great!” she cried.

I closed my eyes.

My mother.

I opened my eyes.

“Mom, it isn’t what you think. It’s a long story, I’l tel you later.”

“You have a lot of long stories lately, none, incidental y, that you’ve actual y told me.”

I didn’t have time for this. It was morning and Eddie was there.

“Mom,” I whined, sounding like a six year old, “Eddie’s here!”

Mom looked at me for a second, nodded and turned, al business. “Right. I need to use the bathroom then you can help me get my bra on and I’l get dressed.” We took care of Mom first and I left her to the dressing bit. I used her bathroom and her face soap and tore her brush through my hair. I stared at myself in her mirror. I was wearing the LA Dodgers nightshirt that my sister sent me. It was huge and shapeless and came down to about mid-thigh. Eddie had already seen me in it, which wasn’t exactly devastating but I wished I’d been wearing some cute, girlie pajamas or a nightie.

I didn’t know what to do, if I got al dol ed up before appearing in the common areas of the apartment, I’d look like I was trying too hard. But the Dodgers nightshirt lacked panache.

Who was I kidding? It was me who lacked panache. I’d just have to go with it.

By the time I was out of her bathroom, Mom was no longer in her room so I went into the hal way and the main bathroom door was open. I ducked in quickly, brushed my teeth and came out, hearing voices coming from the kitchen.

I took a calming breath, squared my shoulders and forged ahead.

I walked in the kitchen, trying to look cool and casual, as if I had guys over al the time and didn’t feel like an idiot in my Dodgers nightshirt.

Eddie was sitting at the table. He’d topped the jeans with a tight, red t-shirt and had a mug of coffee in front of him. He looked up at me when I walked in, his eyes moved the length of me and I could see the dimple come out. I didn’t know what to make of that but decided to consider it a good thing.

Then Mom spoke and my attention swung to her. “Hey dol face. Don’t worry, Eddie and me introduced ourselves.

I’m making him eggs.” She threw one of her gorgeous smiles at Eddie then her eyes turned back to me, “You want coffee?”

Mom was standing at the counter, her wheelchair positioned by the table. She’d put on a lilac t-shirt dress that had peach flowers embroidered on the v-neck. It was essential y a modern-day muumuu. It was easy to put on because, if she stood up, gravity did a lot of the work and it was stretchy so she could shove her bum arm through. It was simple and inelegant, but with her coloring, it looked smashing on her.

“Thanks Mom. In a second.”

My brain was beginning to kick in and worry was starting to envelope me.

I turned to Eddie and said, “Can I talk to you a minute?” I didn’t wait for him to answer, just turned around and walked into the living room. I heard him fol ow me.

I needed somewhere private to talk and looked around.

The living room was no good, Mom could hear (and she’d be listening, for certain). The dining room was part of the living room and I couldn’t take him to Mom’s bedroom.

I sighed huge and took him to my room.

My room was boring. My old apartment was part of a big Victorian mansion that had been sliced up into apartments decades ago. It had al sorts of wonky rooms, wood floors and I’d made the most of it with fun little knickknacks, Christmas lights covered in flowers, that kind of stuff. I hadn’t had time to make this new space fun, not only my room but also the entire apartment, al my old stuff was stil in boxes in the corners. The space was boring and depressing and, looking at it through what I imagined were Eddie’s eyes, kind of embarrassing.

He fol owed me into the room and didn’t even look around. He was watching me.

“Can you close the door please?” I asked.

He did as I asked and when he turned back to me, I launched in.

“Listen, Eddie, Mom doesn’t know Dad’s in town and I don’t want her to know. They don’t get along and it’l just upset her. In fact, I don’t want her to know any of what’s been going on. She had a stroke eight months ago and I don’t want her troubled with this. If she knew about al this stuff, she’d be worried sick, her blood pressure would get out of control and I don’t even want to think….” I paused, not wanting to get upset, took a breath and finished, “So you can’t say anything.”

I waited to argue, for him to tel me I was wrong or being unfair or that I should warn her or to disagree with me in some way but instead he said, “Al right.” I blinked at him.

“Al right?” I asked.

“Yeah, al right,” he repeated.

I stared.

He was far more awake, his hair was stil messy but it suited him (in a big way) and he was watching me closely.

“That’s it?” I asked.

“Nope,” he answered.

I knew it. Here we go.

“Okay then, what?”

He took a step toward me, pul ed me into his arms and kissed me. It was a serious kiss including tongue; no brush on the lips this time and there was absolutely no need for a do-over.