Chapter Thirteen #3
“You sure you don’t mind?” She glanced at me in the mirror while she put in her earrings. I recognized those earrings; Mitch had given them to her for Christmas a couple years ago. Diamond studs that twinkled against her dark hair.
“Why on earth would I mind?” I asked. I sounded grumpy. I was grumpy, but it had nothing to do with Mom and Mitch’s date night. Alex hadn’t called. Hadn’t even sent a text. I’d never been so aware of my phone, silent in my pocket, as I’d been all afternoon, waiting to hear from him.
“I don’t know.” Mom ran a brush through her hair as though it was going to make a difference.
Her hair was flawless, as usual; she’d blown it out straight this morning so that it lay perfectly tamed across her shoulders.
“I guess it feels like old times, having you home,” she said, putting down the hairbrush and picking up her lipstick. “I feel bad abandoning you.”
“Mom.” I leaned against the doorjamb to her bathroom, arms crossed, watching her apply her lipstick. “I’m almost twenty-five. I can take care of myself while you have a date night.”
Her lips curved up in a half smile, her eyes flicking to my reflection before she came back to her own. “You’re right.”
“That red looks amazing on you,” I said.
“Yeah?” She looked down, almost in surprise, at the lipstick in her hand. “It’s called Smoked Red.” She tossed the tube at me. “Try it on. If it’s my color, it’ll be yours too.”
She wasn’t wrong there; the Parker DNA was strong, and in a lot of ways I was her slightly taller clone.
I slicked some on, and despite not having any other makeup on, I could tell that, yeah, this was my color too.
I grabbed for a tissue to blot it off before handing her the lipstick back as she gave herself a final once-over.
“I love having you home, you know,” she said. “And so does Mitch.”
I snorted; there was a but coming; I could tell. “But having a kid again is cramping your style?”
“No, of course not.” But the protest was automatic. I knew it, Mom knew it. I could tell from the way she met my eyes in the mirror then dropped her gaze almost immediately, a little pink coming into her cheeks that had nothing to do with her blush.
I grinned. There was probably pink in my cheeks too. “I really like seeing you this happy.”
“Oh, honey.” Now she turned to face me, something like guilt etched on her face. “I’ve always been happy. How could I not be, when I had you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Mom.” That was all I said, but I put a lot of meaning into that one word. Namely, Yes, having a kid is all well and good, but now you have a blond stud of a man who’s making you look and act ten years younger. No way do we compete.
She gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and I wiped away her lipstick as I followed her into the living room.
Mitch was waiting there, dressed in tailored slacks and a collared shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar open at the throat.
For Mitch, this was practically a tuxedo.
Not even a walking boot could cramp that man’s style.
“Hey, Cupcake,” he said to my mom, giving a low whistle as he got to his feet. “Damn, you’re hot. Wanna just stay home?”
I coughed. “Are you kidding? Right in front of the kid?”
“Ah, you’re not a kid.” He turned to me. “Now, don’t throw a rager while we’re gone.” His attempt at authority was hilarious, and from the sparkle in his eyes I could tell we both knew it.
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
Mom picked up her purse from the table by the front door. “I think there’s some leftovers in the fridge if you…”
“Mom.” I just said the one word again, a little louder, a little more firmly. I can feed myself, this one said, and she got the message.
The front door closed behind them, and then there was silence. The television was off; there was no one clanging swords in the backyard. For probably the first time since I’d come home to Willow Creek, I was the only one in the house.
Well, not quite. From the couch Murray gave a long-suffering sigh, big eyes looking up at me.
“Me too, buddy.” I went over to scratch between his ears, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. His stare didn’t waver, and I didn’t need to look at a clock to know that it was his dinnertime. Dogs were good at letting you know.
I fed Murray and took him for a walk around the block while the sun dropped low in the sky.
It didn’t do much to make the evening cooler, as humidity lingered in the air, but it helped to not be baked under the sun.
Once he was taken care of and settled down with a nice post-walk piece of chicken jerky, it was time to take care of myself.
Despite all of Alex’s call you later crap, apparently I was on my own tonight.
I opened the fridge, staring at the contents in a way that would have made Mom yell to close the damn door already. She was right, there were leftovers. Meh. We had a fresh head of lettuce; I could make a salad. Meh again.
I bumped the refrigerator door closed with my hip and pulled up a food delivery app on my phone. Chinese maybe? Meh. Pizza? Wings?
I was still perusing options when a text banner obscured the top of my screen.
What are you wearing?