Don't Let Go(36)

I felt the old heart tug. “And the pillow brigade?”
She grinned. “My protection against the evil forces.”
I laughed, heading around the kitchen bar to the coffeepot. “I remember the days when you’d come jump in bed with me after a nightmare.”
“Don’t think I didn’t consider that.”
It was an easy morning, no animosity, no drama, no attitude. Why did I want to go and ruin that with parenting? I rounded the kitchen island to get the coffee going, knowing full well she hadn’t been that helpful.
“So, what are you reading?”
Becca held up a copy of The Great Gatsby.
I raised an eyebrow. “On purpose?”
“For school,” she explained. “Supposed to be done by Monday.”
I chuckled. “And you started it—?”
“This morning,” she said on a sigh that lent itself much better to the attitude I knew would be coming.
“Ah. Good luck with that.”
I got the coffee gurgling and just stood there, not quite knowing where to begin. Yes, I did. Of course I knew where to begin, I just didn’t want to begin. I was operating on no sleep and too much drama and wasn’t in the mood to dive off into a battle of wills. Not that there was anything saying I couldn’t wait to battle it out later. I didn’t have to kick off the morning with it.
I perched on the armrest of a sofa, not wanting to invest in complete comfort till I had my steaming mug in my hand.
“So, how was your night?” I asked. “Didn’t get to talk to you last night.”
She raised her eyebrows, mocking me. “Yes, I beat you home, missy.”
I chuckled and rubbed my eyes, remembering the drama of bringing Hayden home and how he kept hugging and apologizing at the door.
“Yeah. Regular party animal.”
“Did you and Aunt Ruthie have fun?” she asked, deterring off of herself.
I opened my mouth and closed it again. “Sort of,” I said, finally. “At times.”
“What does that mean?” Becca said on a laugh, setting the book in her lap.
“Well, the night had its moments,” I said. “Good and bad.”
She gave me another haughty look. “Sounds like you were a party animal.”
I shook my head and laughed quietly. “No. Not those kinds of moments.” I wasn’t about to tell her that her dad got stupid drunk and tried to brawl it out with my high school boyfriend, or any other highlights for that matter. “What did you and your friends end up doing?”
Becca shrugged and picked her book back up. “Went to a movie, walked around the mall, just stuff.”
Just stuff. Love that.
“Get anything at the mall?” I asked, knowing how to find the details if I wanted to.
“Yeah, that little kiosk by the food court with the leather stuff and jewelry? They had bracelets two for one, so I couldn’t resist.” She grinned and held up her wrists to show off two beaded and braided leather strips. I got up to look closer and smiled.
“Cool,” I said. “Very you.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” she said, smiling to herself.
I kissed her forehead and messed up her hair before I headed back to the kitchen for my coffee, batting around my options. On the one hand, I didn’t want to ruin a good mood. On the other, being a parent sometimes just had to suck.
“Are we donating to the clothes drive this year?” she asked as I came back in.
I sighed, feeling that familiar Winter Carnival annoyance like a fly buzzing in my ear. Only this year, more so. I attributed that to Noah’s return, stirring up things I’d pushed down for years.
“Do you have clothes you want to get rid of?”
“Only so I can make room for new,” she said with a cute little grin.
“Well, as long as your priorities are in place.”
“I was asked to help with a float this year,” she said. “Lizzy’s mom and dad are doing one with their four-wheelers, like I think they are connecting them or something.”
Of course they were. The Cleavers. On four-wheelers.
“Oh, cool, that’ll be fun,” I said, pretending it would be.
“Why haven’t we ever done that?” she asked. “We could have done something with Dad’s truck.”
Because I’d rather be buried alive. “I don’t know, Bec, I guess we never jumped on it in time.” How old would she be before that excuse stopped playing? “Go through your clothes and get me a bag if you want to donate.”
She shrugged. “Okay.”
I sank onto the couch next to her with my coffee, sitting sideways to face her while pulling a pillow on my lap. Comfort moves. She put her book down again, looking at me questioningly.
“So, I heard that you have a new boyfriend,” I said, a small smile in place, hoping to nail that let’s-talk-girl-stuff ambiance.
The change in her eyes, however, told me I didn’t. Or that girl stuff wasn’t a place she wanted to go with me, at any rate. I saw the walls come up.
“Did you?” she said, her voice edgy.
“Yes, and don’t be mad at Ruthie,” I said, tugging on her oversized T-shirt.
“Of course not,” she said. “Why would I be mad when someone lies to me? Can’t imagine.”
“She’s looking out for you, Bec,” I said. “She felt that I needed to know what was—”
“If I wanted to talk to my mother about it, I would have,” she said, tossing her book on the coffee table. “I thought I was talking to a friend that I could trust.”