29. Dexter
DEXTER
My mother’s heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she sauntered to the bank of windows to peer out at the deck and the view of Lake Norman.
I’d talked Viggo into carving a couple of jack-o’-lanterns with me to leave at the front door for trick-or-treaters last night.
Mine was a traditional smiley faced one and his had a creepy mouth and bugged-out eyes.
We’d left them on the picnic table to dry and taken the seeds inside to roast with salt and olive oil. Viggo had not been impressed.
“These are…blah, bland. Either we put more salt on them or dip them in chocolate,” he’d suggested, slipping one between my lips. “What’s it going to be?”
That question had been left unanswered. A vision of dropping to my knees and mouthing his cock through denim while he’d unbuckled his belt popped into my head. I’d blown him three feet from where my mother was standing now and—
Screech. So much for reliving that sexy moment.
I caught my reflection in the sliding glass door and tugged at the string at my neck.
I couldn’t do anything about the white face makeup or red lips, but the cape felt like overkill.
I mean, it had been surreal enough giving my mother a tour of the kitchen and walking with her down Main Street while dressed as Dracula, but like it or not, we needed to have a serious conversation.
“Your home is quaint,” she finally said, hands clasped as she moved to the island. “Lovely view.”
“Thanks.”
“The town is also quite…”
“Quaint?” I offered.
“Yes. And simple. It reminds me of a Jimmy Stewart movie. The Christmas one where he meets an angel.” She snapped her fingers, willing her sharp mind to conjure the title. “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
“I like it here. It’s a nice place, and I’ve met some great people.”
My mother hummed, her gaze scanning every inch of the kitchen with a slight curl of distaste at the corner of her mouth. “That’s nice, dear.”
“But…what? It’s not like you to hold back, Mom. What do you really think?” I challenged testily.
Mom crossed her arms and sighed. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know what to think, Dexter. As I said, this is a nice town, but it’s very small. Is this what you want for your child? A small life?”
“Mom…” I massaged my neck, dreading the uncomfortable conversation ahead.
“Before you say another word, I have something for you.” She dug through her Hermes bag and handed me an envelope.
I studied it suspiciously. “What is it?”
“A gift.”
I unsealed the envelope and pulled out a legal document. “What the—”
“It’s a lease agreement…for your donut shop.
I did some research and ran the numbers on your charming enterprise here and darling, it’s a perfect fit for home.
I still own that building on Kercheval and of course, it’ll be yours one day, but in the meantime, I’ll lease it to you at a discounted rate. ”
“Kercheval Avenue? In Grosse Pointe?”
My mother grinned broadly, obviously pleased with herself. “Yes. Come home, Dex. Be with your family. Let Gilbert and me be part of this child’s life.”
I folded the piece of paper and slipped it into the envelope. “Thank you. This is very generous.”
“I think the donut shop will be a nice addition, and the baby—”
“Mom, I’m not moving to Michigan.”
She froze. “What about…part time? You could travel between home and here and—”
“You’re not listening. Wood Hollow is home now.”
Hurt flashed across her features—there and gone, replaced by disdain. “You were raised for better than this.”
“Mom…”
“If life had worked out the way we all hoped it would, you’d have been the Tom Brady of your generation, but it didn’t, and you’ve never recovered from the disappointment.”
I shook my head ruefully. “That’s not true.”
“Dexter, you self-sabotage at every turn. The moment things start going well, you walk away. You walked out of your marriage, your job at the firm, and ignored every subsequent employment offer for…this?” She spread her arms as if to encompass the house, the lake, the town, and the whole damn state of Vermont.
“Yes. I did,” I replied calmly. “And I’m very happy here.”
“Are you? Or do you just think you are? A new partner and a child on the way is fodder for a sappy romance novel, but reality is a far different beast.” She sharpened her claws, her eyes narrowing as she moved in for the kill.
“Love doesn’t last, and children are more work than you could ever imagine.
Do you actually want to be a single parent…
like I was? No, this is worse. You’ll be isolated in the forest with a child and no family.
My God, Dexter. I’m giving you a way out. Take it. Please.”
This form of love was awkward and aggressive.
It was judgmental, demanding, and occasionally vicious.
And yet, somehow I understood this was the only way my mother knew how to express emotional connection.
Through brute force, bullying, and a measure of guilt.
It was off-putting for sure, but this was Margaret Sandringham being vulnerable, showing me that she cared.
“This is what I want, Mom. I’m happy here, and I’d love it if you could be happy for me.”
“How? Do donuts make you happy? Does flag football make you happy? Does that giant lumberjack make you happy?”
I smiled crookedly. “Yes.”
“I don’t understand. I can give you a corner shop in a prestigious neighborhood, a house nearby, access to the best schools in the area. You could commute, keep both shops, and—”
“Mom. Stop.” I leaned on the counter, locking her gaze and continuing.
“I appreciate the generous offer. I do. And I know it comes from a good place, but you don’t listen to me.
You haven’t listened to me since my concussion.
That was eighteen years ago! It’s like you think I lost the ability to think clearly, and it doesn’t occur to you to consider that I can be trusted to decide what’s right for me.
Was the concussion a terrible thing? Sure, it messed me up and stole years from me.
I woke up in a haze and made a few choices based on what you wanted for me…
like Jenn. We should never have gotten married. Admit it.”
“Okay, but—”
“No, it’s not okay. I was never going to be happy there.
I tried, though. I tried. And then I tried something new and ended up here.
Sure, this town lacks polish, but damn, it’s got a lot of heart.
I love it. Maybe you don’t and never could, but at some point, you’re gonna have to trust me to know my own mind. And maybe even be happy for me.”
She worked her jaw in anger or frustration—I couldn’t tell. “So I’m going to lose you to this place. I won’t know my grandchild.”
I threw my hands in the air. “For fuck’s sake, Mom. You’re not losing anything. I want you to be part of my life. I want you to know your grandchild. But you have to be willing to listen and accept what you might not always understand.”
“Sounds easy enough.” The sarcasm was muted by the tears welling in her eyes.
“It doesn’t have to be hard.”
She inclined her chin. “When is the baby due?”
“December fourth.”
“That’s soon.” She swiped her nose daintily. “Boy or girl?”
“I don’t know.” I plucked a tissue from the box on the counter and handed it to her. “Would you like to see the nursery?”
“Yes.”
Viggo and I had painted the nursery in a soft gray and hung animal prints on the walls. The geometric patterns on the drapery and the rug gave the room a little pizzazz. The natural woods from the dresser-changing table and the built-in bookshelf with the rainbow painted over it looked gorgeous.
“This is very…nice,” Mom commented.
“Thanks. There are a few pieces missing—a rocking chair, the bedding, and changing table essentials—but our friends are hosting a baby shower in a couple weeks, and I’ve been advised to save a few things for them to buy.”
“Hmm. And the crib?”
“It’s coming. Viggo has it in his workshop. He’s running it through safety checks or something. Probably to make sure the parts I made aren’t defective,” I joked.
She ran a manicured finger across the dresser, cocking her head quizzically. “The parts you made?”
“Yeah. I made the crib.” My grin spread across my face unchecked. “Well…Viggo did most of it. He’s incredible.”
I pointed out his woodwork contributions throughout the room, pleased on Viggo’s behalf by my mother’s awed expression.
“Oh, my. He’s quite talented.”
“He really is,” I gushed. “Viggo makes custom birdhouses and sells them at a boutique in Fallbrook and online, too. They’re insanely beautiful. I bet they’d do well at any shop on Kercheval.”
Mom nodded. “Viggo. Is this why your marriage didn’t work? Are you more gay than straight?”
“I’m just regular bi.” I leaned against the doorjamb and reminded myself that this was her trying. “My marriage didn’t work because my wife liked you more than she liked me. But Viggo is—we’re friends. That’s all.”
She scoffed, inspecting the bookcase. “I hope you’re not bending the truth for my sake on this count.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Dexter. I’m your mother. I can tell you’re half in love with the man,” she commented, pulling a copy of Goodnight, Moon from the shelf. “This brings back memories. I remember reading this to you and your brother over and over and…”
I hummed along, agreeing the book was a classic, though I couldn’t remember my mother reading to me…ever.
That wasn’t the thing that got me, though. Not even close. And the crazy thing was that I should have been thrilled we’d reached a truce and that she seemed to truly want to be in my child’s life. But all I could think was… I am in love with him.
Was it really that obvious?
“What are you supposed to be?”
“I’m a butterfly.” The little girl cradled her plastic pumpkin bucket to her chest and gestured manically at the colorful wings attached to her back. “Can you see?”
“Ah, yes. Now I see.” Viggo dropped two mini candy bars into her bucket. “Very nice costume. The best butterfly I’ve seen all night.”
She beamed, thanked him for the candy, and skipped down the pathway to meet her parents. Viggo waved at his neighbors before closing the door.
“How many butterflies have you seen tonight?” I asked, stealing a Butterfinger from the bowl.
“None. You?”
I snickered. “Same. I saw multiple superheroes, princesses, dinosaurs, and a really amazing Frankenstein.”
“I liked Dracula. He was very realistic, especially with those teeth. I wonder what happened to him?”
“He retired from the bloodsucking business,” I reported around a mouthful of chocolate.
“Back to sucking dick?”
“Very funny. Gimme one of those Milky Ways. They’re delicious.”
Viggo handed me the bowl. “I’m turning off the porch light now. Those trick-or-treaters will eat all our candy if we’re not careful.”
Ours…we’re…
I smiled as if the use of possessive grammar were an ordinary occurrence and not something that could make my heart flutter. Damn it, Mom. I wished she hadn’t called me out. It made me feel greedy—as if I were wishing for more than my share.
“Giving out candy is the idea, but yeah…that’s quite enough for kids. The rest is for us.”
We sprawled out on the sofa in the family room, my legs draped over his knees as we sifted through the Halloween treats left in the bowl with A Nightmare on Elm Street on in the background.
“You can have the Tootsie Rolls. I’ll keep the Snickers bars,” he stated.
“Whoa. That’s not fair.” I tore open a packet of M then he kissed my temple and said something in Swedish.
“What does that mean?”
He opened and closed his mouth. “Nothing. Just…I’m glad you’re not going anywhere.”
I laced our fingers and squeezed. “This is home now.”
He was home.
Viggo frowned, and I instantly knew it was the wrong thing to say.
The sentiment was too big for who we were supposed to be. Putting those words out there was dangerous. One of us—me—might get ideas, and that wasn’t okay. We knew who we were to each other, and I wouldn’t dare ask for more. No matter how much I wanted to.