Life In Reverse(98)

“Vance.” I’m practically begging now. “Are you going to kiss me or what?”

He smirks, setting me down. “I’m going to do a lot more than kiss you, Mickey.”

“Well?”

“Wait a minute.” He draws back, teasing. “You’re not using me are you? Because I don’t do one-night stands.”

I lift my chin, an uncontrollable smile tipping my lips. “That’s good. Because I’m not a one-night stand kind of a girl.”

“Oh yeah?” He matches the challenge in my eyes. “What kind of a girl are you?”

My fingertips drift over the hair at his temple, brushing it aside. “I’m a forever kind of girl.”

“Well, you’re in luck then.” He catches my hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “It just so happens I’m in the market for one of those.”





“I CAN’T BELIEVE you’re really doing this,” Julian whispers so only I can hear. “And I can’t believe I’m actually going to witness it.” Glancing about the living room of Chris’s house, we watch our dad and Ember’s mom milling around each other in a pattern of subtle avoidance. “This is kind of like an intervention, isn’t it?” he whispers again, cupping a hand over my ear.

“Yeah, complete with Twinkies,” I add, grinning at the arrangement of pastries Ember bought at the bakery. The platter at the end of the table she stacked high with golden Twinkies just for me. I f*cking love her.

Julian looks over at Ember, smiling at us as she carries another tray from the kitchen. “God that girl loves you. I can practically feel it seeping from her pores. And I don’t get it,” he muses. “I’m the charming one.” I shoot him a mock glare. “Kidding, kidding.”

Our father rounds the corner and runs right smack into Ember’s mom. He clears his throat and stares at her sweater, muttering, “Dolores.”

“Charles,” she responds, finding a spot on his shoe that needs polishing.

“Well, that was awkward,” Julian remarks, and I chuckle.

“Nothing wrong with a little awkward. Anyhow, Dad mentioned things were fine. They’re cordial now, and he’s dating that woman from work so everything is cool.” I glance up to Dad heading in our direction, his stare determined and focused entirely on me. “Maybe I spoke too f*cking soon.”

“Vance, can I talk to you upstairs for a minute?”

“Uh, sure Dad.” I glare back at a smug Julian as I follow Dad upstairs, wondering what this is all about. He makes a right into the guest room at the end of the hall and gestures to a winged-back chair in the corner.

“Sit down, son.” With a smile that doesn’t look quite right on his mouth, he leans against a nearby dresser, biting at the corner of his lip. In a span of about ten seconds, he crosses and uncrosses his arms four times.

“Dad, what is it? Just… spit it out already. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

Lifting a hand to drag it through his thick hair, he moves to the other side of the dresser to retrieve a package wrapped in brown paper. He holds it up and places it on my lap, coughing into his closed fist. A white envelope is taped to the top with my name.

My eyes flick to the handwriting then back to him. “What is this?”

“Well… when I was cleaning out the basement last week, there was a big box in the back that somehow I’d missed when I was packing your mother’s things up.” He swallows anxiously, his voice unsteady. “I found this inside. Initially, I was going to ship it to you in New York. But then figured since I was seeing you, I’d just bring it.

“Okaaaay.”

“Right.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” His eyes dart around the room before he edges toward the door.

“Dad, wait,” I call out. He turns around, hesitance spreading across his face. “Stay.” Then I clarify. “If you want to, I mean.”

“Thank you,” he utters on an exhale of breath. He takes a seat on the bed, watching me as I rip apart the paper. When all the wrapping has fallen to the carpet, I stare at the painting of my mother and me, and my throat burns.

“This is that picture,” I say softly. “The one that—”

“I took of you and your mother right after you came back from the karate tournament. You were about twelve then, I think. You were both all smiles, and she was so proud of you. I guess she decided to paint it.”

I trace over the colors and lines with my fingertip, the oval shape of my mother’s face, her steel blue eyes that resembled mine. “I don’t get how she always captured so much feeling in her paintings. She looks so—”

“In love with everything about her son,” he interjects and my head snaps up, meeting his determined gaze. “She loved you so much, Vance. The boy that you were, the man she knew you would become. And you did her proud, son.” He takes two steps to reach me, clasping a hand on my shoulder. “You did us both proud.” Clearing what I gather is emotion from his throat, he ambles toward the door.

“Hey, Dad?”

One foot in the hallway, he stops at the sound of my voice. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.” I catch his smile in the air before he disappears.