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Authors: Rebecca Phillips
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Protective Services and have that beautiful little girl taken away from you for good. She deserves better than this, Stacey, and so do you.”
Teresa never had to follow through on her threat because Keith never came back, but it didn’t matter. My mother was so insulted by her best friend’s words, she stopped speaking to her altogether. They hadn’t exchanged a civil word since. In the years following that night, Mom had worked her way through a parade of skuzzy boyfriends, but there was never another one as volatile as Keith Langley.
Maybe this Jesse guy will be different, I thought as I wiped the kitchen table and inhaled the scent of those perfect, fragrant roses. Maybe he’ll be good for my mother. After years of kissing frogs, she was long overdue for a prince.
Chapter Seven
I showed up early at the Bruces’ house on Sunday afternoon and was greeted by Gus, their hyper rat terrier. After sniffing me for a minute, he took off in the direction of the living room, where he curled up on his bed and started gnawing on a rawhide bone. Their cat Hugo, a plump black and gray tabby, dozed on the back of the couch. The house smelled amazing, like roast turkey and onions frying in butter. I wandered into the kitchen, salivating.
“Hey there, Lexi.” Nolan’s dad stood at the counter, pouring beer into a tall glass. “How goes it?”
“It goes good,” I said. We had this exchange every single time we saw each other, which wasn’t too often. He was a field service technician for a heavy equipment company and traveled a lot. “How goes it with you?”
“Oh, can’t complain,” he said, curling his thick fingers around the beer glass. Nolan and his father were nothing alike, aside from their height. Malcolm was big and burly, his forearms thick with muscles after years of working on heavy machinery. He’d played football in college and dreamed of doing it professionally. Instead, he married Teresa, took a steady job, and transferred the dream to his sons. Nolan had zero interest in sports, but Landon fortunately inherited enough of the jock gene to keep their father satisfied.
Teresa breezed into the kitchen, tossing me a “Hi, sweetie” as she made a beeline for the oven. She opened it a few inches, peeking inside at the delicious-looking bird. Pleased with its progress, she shut the oven door and adjusted the timer on the stove.
“Can I help?” I asked, watching her dart around the room like a flea on crack. Strands of light brown hair stuck to her forehead and she had what looked like grease stains all down the front of her jeans.
“Sure.” She nodded toward the pile of produce by the sink. “Peel carrots.”
I went to work on the carrots while Malcolm took his beer and fled the scene. I felt like dragging him back and sticking an apron on him. He was one of those gruff, old-fashioned types, the kind of guy whose only contribution to a dinner like this was to sit at the head of the table and carve the meat. Nolan didn’t get along with him all that well, mostly because they had no common ground. Artistic talent, according to his dad, wasn’t nearly as impressive as a good defensive tackle.
“Where’s Nolan?” I asked as I dug around in the bottom cupboard for the cutting board.
“I sent him to the store for milk.” She dried her hands on a dish towel and looked at me sideways. “He mentioned something the other day about your mom having a new boyfriend.”
I heard that familiar undercurrent of concern in her voice, the one she’d adopted way back in the Keith Langley days. Do I need to worry about you? it said. I told her everything I knew about Latte Guy so far, leaving out the whole creepy vibe thing. For all I knew, I was just imagining that. She visibly relaxed when I mentioned that he didn’t drink.
“Well,” she said, hauling the turkey out of the oven. “Let’s hope this one’s a winner.”
Nolan returned with the milk, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed . His
Teresa never had to follow through on her threat because Keith never came back, but it didn’t matter. My mother was so insulted by her best friend’s words, she stopped speaking to her altogether. They hadn’t exchanged a civil word since. In the years following that night, Mom had worked her way through a parade of skuzzy boyfriends, but there was never another one as volatile as Keith Langley.
Maybe this Jesse guy will be different, I thought as I wiped the kitchen table and inhaled the scent of those perfect, fragrant roses. Maybe he’ll be good for my mother. After years of kissing frogs, she was long overdue for a prince.
Chapter Seven
I showed up early at the Bruces’ house on Sunday afternoon and was greeted by Gus, their hyper rat terrier. After sniffing me for a minute, he took off in the direction of the living room, where he curled up on his bed and started gnawing on a rawhide bone. Their cat Hugo, a plump black and gray tabby, dozed on the back of the couch. The house smelled amazing, like roast turkey and onions frying in butter. I wandered into the kitchen, salivating.
“Hey there, Lexi.” Nolan’s dad stood at the counter, pouring beer into a tall glass. “How goes it?”
“It goes good,” I said. We had this exchange every single time we saw each other, which wasn’t too often. He was a field service technician for a heavy equipment company and traveled a lot. “How goes it with you?”
“Oh, can’t complain,” he said, curling his thick fingers around the beer glass. Nolan and his father were nothing alike, aside from their height. Malcolm was big and burly, his forearms thick with muscles after years of working on heavy machinery. He’d played football in college and dreamed of doing it professionally. Instead, he married Teresa, took a steady job, and transferred the dream to his sons. Nolan had zero interest in sports, but Landon fortunately inherited enough of the jock gene to keep their father satisfied.
Teresa breezed into the kitchen, tossing me a “Hi, sweetie” as she made a beeline for the oven. She opened it a few inches, peeking inside at the delicious-looking bird. Pleased with its progress, she shut the oven door and adjusted the timer on the stove.
“Can I help?” I asked, watching her dart around the room like a flea on crack. Strands of light brown hair stuck to her forehead and she had what looked like grease stains all down the front of her jeans.
“Sure.” She nodded toward the pile of produce by the sink. “Peel carrots.”
I went to work on the carrots while Malcolm took his beer and fled the scene. I felt like dragging him back and sticking an apron on him. He was one of those gruff, old-fashioned types, the kind of guy whose only contribution to a dinner like this was to sit at the head of the table and carve the meat. Nolan didn’t get along with him all that well, mostly because they had no common ground. Artistic talent, according to his dad, wasn’t nearly as impressive as a good defensive tackle.
“Where’s Nolan?” I asked as I dug around in the bottom cupboard for the cutting board.
“I sent him to the store for milk.” She dried her hands on a dish towel and looked at me sideways. “He mentioned something the other day about your mom having a new boyfriend.”
I heard that familiar undercurrent of concern in her voice, the one she’d adopted way back in the Keith Langley days. Do I need to worry about you? it said. I told her everything I knew about Latte Guy so far, leaving out the whole creepy vibe thing. For all I knew, I was just imagining that. She visibly relaxed when I mentioned that he didn’t drink.
“Well,” she said, hauling the turkey out of the oven. “Let’s hope this one’s a winner.”
Nolan returned with the milk, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed . His
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