Chapter 14 Mel #2
“Good memory. Except most people have added more to their lives than hay, dirt, and moonlight.”
A tight, dry laugh escaped him before he considered me.
“NHL head coach,” he said, and pursed his lips. “You didn’t even like or know anything about hockey.”
Where was this going? And why did it matter?
“I do now,” I said with a shrug. “Working with the team will do that.”
His brow lifted. Another hit. He didn’t know about my job.
Why did I ever doubt this plan? The second Sean drove off, Vince popped out and still fell two steps behind—NHL boyfriend and an NHL job. Game, set, and match.
“What a time you picked to show up,” I said, stepping onto the first porch step.
Vince’s jaw tensed. “You were always quick to shut me out once your mind was made up.”
I paused on the next step, my heart thudding in my chest.
“It takes practice. And for the record, I didn’t shut you out. You picked your New York job over me.”
Without another word, I turned and climbed the rest of the stairs.
Movement in an upstairs window—Sam’s—caught my attention.
She leaned forward, an elbow on the sill, and gave a tiny salute before I disappeared inside.
Nothing like your sister catching your ex’s ambush and your fake boyfriend’s heroic exit in one live-action moment.
I woke up late the next day, but it didn’t matter because it was Sunday. I reached for my phone, sent a couple of pictures of the party to Erica, then fell on a video she sent me of her ranting about humidity and temple tours. That made me smile.
Sam came into my room and lay near me.
“I’m going to miss this,” she said softly.
“Me too.”
She grinned and lowered her voice. “The new guy’s upscaled the old. Atta girl.”
“Not funny, Sam.”
“Okay, then. His swoony performance yesterday was freaking unreal. People were straight-up turning their heads when he walked by. And Mom was busy figuring out if he was an expensive rental.”
“I’m pretty sure she tried to scan his barcode at one point.”
We chuckled.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look that way,” Sam went on more seriously. “Just…you. Not holding it together for everyone else, no tight smile for Mom. You actually looked relaxed around her for once.”
I turned toward her. “And that version of me was fake.”
“Yes, except it wasn’t.”
I let out a sigh. “Whoa. A full-on early-morning emotional diagnostic.”
She nudged my leg. “Look. Mom never figured out how to make herself happy, so you became the contingency plan.”
I swallowed.
“Now that she’s moved back home after the financial fallout...it’s as if she’s trying to outrun time in wedging you into that hole even faster.”
Her words felt so raw.
“I’m leaving in three weeks,” Sam added. “If you didn’t have Sean in your corner, someone who actually seems to have your back, I’d seriously be pissed. I’d probably drag you to Baltimore with me.”
I turned to the ceiling and stared at it, but there was no cheat sheet on how to handle Mom there. The reality stared me in the face—clueless.
“That’s a lot before caffeine, Sam.” I finally broke the silence.
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
I tucked the blanket around my shoulders. “You’re not wrong, but still, low blow using Sean as an Exhibit A.”
“You brought a fake date with championship-biceps, a public service specimen for single women everywhere. What am I supposed to do?”
I huffed a laugh. “Fake has done a damn good job of feeling real.”
“You deserve something that feels good, with no pressure attached.”
After saying that, Sam finally left my room.
The party was over, but the fallout lingered in paper plates, half-empty cups, and the house was waiting to be cleaned.
Later, Dad went to meet an old friend who might have a lead on a job at a golf course. That left the three of us (Mom, Sam, and me) cleaning up the debris of yesterday’s drama.
The scent of stale soda and barbecue clung to the air as we stacked chairs and scrubbed counters.
We were halfway through when Mom broke the silence. “I’ve never been able to read you, Mel,” Mom said without warning.
My grip on the sponge tightened. “Is that a new observation?”
“The head coach of a first-division hockey team?” She sounded bemused.
She was processing this out loud, still recovering from her plan to spring Vince and being blindsided by my own punch move.
I forced a light tone. “Yep. He’s good at what he does.”
Mom blinked, then narrowed her gaze. “How old is he, anyway? A coach of that level can’t be young. People dye their hair all the time.”
Sam dropped the trash bag she was tying and cackled. “Really? Are we seriously playing ‘Guess the Grays’?”
“Stay out of this, Samantha. You have no life experience to add here,” Mom said.
Sam held up her hands. “Copy that. But for the record, I can spot a good distraction when I see one.”
I caught my reflection in the kitchen window. This wasn’t how I imagined things would go. Bringing Sean here was to close the chapter with Vince and put an end to Mom’s scheming.
But this was retaliation in a new form.
I might have won a small battle (Vince), but the war (Mom) rolled on. Her questions weren’t about concern; they were control dressed as curiosity, and that was a no.
“We have bigger fish to fry,” I said, turning to her. “Like your future. Dad’s working on things, following up leads, but we still haven’t heard what you want to do.”
Her mouth pressed into a line. She didn’t respond, and went back to scrubbing the counter, slower this time. The air thickened, but at least there were no more Sean-poking commentaries. My pulse had room to slow, no longer jittering at whatever might come next from Mom.
Later, I finally relaxed on the swing chair on the back porch, afternoon sun warming my skin, tired from a full day of cleaning.
The house was quiet, birds chattering overhead, muscles softening into the cushions as the breeze drifted in.
For five glorious minutes, no one was asking about my relationship or reproductive status.
My phone lit up.
Sean: “Hey, can we talk?”
My heart jumped.
I hit call, the porch fading around me as his voice came through.