Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Lot
That shit was deranged… even for me.
The Shipmate on the boardwalk is one of my favorite restaurants. New York has exquisite food, but this seafood is heaven on a plate. I’ve known the owner, Val Vargas, and his wife, Eva, since I was a baby.
Rayne and I arrive to find her father already seated at a booth. He stands as we approach, his eyes lighting up.
“My girls,” he says, pulling Rayne into a hug, then me. “Lot, it’s so good to have you home.”
“Great to see you too, Uncle Mo,” I say as we pull apart.
He looks as handsome and debonair as ever. Even dressed casually in slacks and a sweater, he exudes elegance. Not pompous or stiff. More like Dennis Haysbert with that deep voice and quiet gravitas.
Mom walks in a few minutes later, stunning with her new cut, dressed in a winter cream sheath and gold cuff choker, smelling of lilac and smiling wide. She hugs me and Rayne. Uncle Mo stands to greet her.
He takes both of her hands in his and leans in to kiss her cheek. “Beautiful as always, Bee.”
No one calls her Bee except him.
“Thanks, Mo. You’re looking sharp yourself.”
“Just trying to keep up with all these young bucks.”
“You’ve got them beat.” She laughs, a high tinkling sound. Their hands still haven’t let go.
Dinner is a lively affair, full of conversation and laughter.
Val comes out from the kitchen to visit.
Even though he’s semiretired, he still comes here to cook on occasion.
The family seafood platter we share is an epic feast—lobster, king crab, jumbo scallops, colossal shrimp.
The shells are cracking, the butter dripping, and the glasses are filled with wine.
Uncle Mo isn’t anything like his older brother. He’s pleasant, engaged. He asks questions. He looks through my online portfolio, thinking my art speaks, that it’s not a waste of talent.
“Your father must be happy to have you home,” he says.
“I don’t know if happy is the word I’d use.”
He chuckles, but my mother sends me a look. Disappointed. She wants so badly for my father and me to be close like Rayne and Uncle Mo, but that’s a pipe dream.
“Maurice is all bark,” he says, his voice gentle. “He might not give you the words or sentiment, but he’s happy.”
“He hides it well.”
“Lot.”
“Sorry, Ma.”
I change the subject. We start talking about Rayne’s potential mayoral run. Uncle Mo beams as she lays out her plans.
During dessert, I notice small exchanges between my mother and uncle.
He always treats her like she matters. I know they have a deep affection for each other, but tonight, it has my mind assembling the various pieces.
Mom wearing her special perfume and lipstick during the day.
Her new hairstyle. Her glow. It can’t just be a coincidence that Rayne thinks Uncle Mo is seeing someone too. Can it?
When the bill arrives, my uncle insists on paying. We thank him and my mother excuses herself. I follow her to the restroom, leaving Rayne and her dad to linger over the last sips of wine.
Mom is standing in front of the mirror, applying a fresh coat of lipstick.
“This was so nice,” she says. “I’m glad we could all get together. I so enjoy Mo’s company.”
There are only two stalls, both doors ajar. We’re alone.
“Are you having an affair with him?”
She startles at my blunt question. Her eyes blink twice before she turns to me. “Why on earth would you ask me such a thing?”
“Why are you dodging the question?”
“I’m not dodging. I’m shocked by the accusation.”
“I would never judge you, Mom. I know your morals. I know how seriously you take marriage. But being with someone like Maurice… I imagine that kind of coldness could wear on you. If you turned to Uncle Mo for affection, I would understand. And if you wanted to leave Maurice, I’d support you. Completely.”
“Lot,” she says, taking my hand. “Mo is wonderful, and I love him dearly. But we are not having an affair. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s getting to know someone he recently met.
I couldn’t be happier for him. And I have no intention of leaving your father.
I’m in love with him. He’s the only man I want to be with. ”
I stare at her, speechless.
“I knew when you were younger that you wished Mo was your father. Wished I’d picked him instead. I didn’t realize you still harbored those feelings.”
“That’s not it. The hair… the perfume…”
“I’ve been feeling blah lately. It sometimes happens as you get older. I just needed a little pick-me-up. Something I did for myself.”
“Oh.” Fuck. I feel stupid. Ashamed. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not that I wanted you to be having an affair,” I explain. “I don’t think of you as someone who would break her vows. It sounds awful that I even entertained the thought. I’m so sorry, Ma.”
“Honey, this really isn’t about me. It’s about you and your relationship with your father.
You see him in a certain way that doesn’t allow you to imagine I could truly love him or that he’s good to me…
or good for me. I know he’s not romantic or expressive.
He can be harsh. Sometimes critical. He’s not your Uncle Mo.
But he loves me. And he loves you.” She squeezes my hand.
“I’m not asking you to agree with him or to change your principles or who you are. You two may always butt heads. But while you’re here, I hope you’ll both bend a little. Maybe find some middle ground. Learn to appreciate each other—differences, imperfections, and all.”
If I didn’t have to pick up Queenie from Dice’s, I would’ve gone straight home and screamed into my pillow. I’ve said some stupid, thoughtless things before, but what I said to my mother, that shit was deranged… even for me.
There was no affair. No secret looks. I’d stitched together disjointed pieces and childhood fantasies. My mom should’ve been furious. Instead, she looked at me like I was a kid who accidentally found out Santa Claus wasn’t real.
Poor Lot.
I want to scrape the night out of my head, sand it down until it’s gone, but the dreaded confrontation keeps replaying—what I said, her face, the sharp flicker of shock, then the too-sweet understanding that shamed me.
I even told Rayne. I expected some slap back from her at least, but she was the same, saying, Ah, boo. I didn’t know you still felt that way.
I didn’t want their pity. I deserved their rage.
By the time I pull up to Dice’s, I’m raw. I leave my overnight bag in the car and unlock the door with the spare key he slid on my keychain, like it belonged there. Which, of course, it doesn’t.
The porch light’s on. So is the one inside. That thoughtful shit makes me burn hotter. How dare he be considerate when I’m not worthy of even a drop of it tonight?
I just need to get Queenie and bounce before he comes home. I kick off my boots, shove the container of leftovers in the fridge, and go for the carrier. It’s empty. I go looking for her… and then I see it.
One of Dice’s Jordans, dragged into the living room like a prize kill. The leather has been chewed up, the laces shredded like spaghetti.
“Queenie!” I shout, my head about to explode.
She doesn’t show her face. She knows damn well this shit ain’t right. I took that stupid bell off her collar because the jingling was getting on my nerves, but now it feels like she’s gone stealth just to spite me.
I finally locate her little ass perched on the bedroom windowsill, grooming a paw like she didn’t just murder his sneaker.
“You ratchet little—”
“Meow.”
I blow out a breath, hands on my hips, chest pounding like a drum. Between Queenie’s bad behavior and my own, the night feels like it’s closing in on me. Everything is just too much.
I hear the front door open, and it amps up my temper. Why the hell didn’t he crate her like I told him?
He calls my name, and I stomp out like a woman on the verge. He’s standing in the kitchen, wearing one of the new work T-shirts. Black cotton hugs his broad chest, the neon logo catching the light.
I don’t speak as I move closer. Then I crash into him, mouth on his, needing him to erase the night, wipe it clean.
He kisses me back, though there’s a hitch to it as if he’s still catching up. His hands grip me, more anchor than passion. He pulls back, questions swirling in his eyes. “What’s going on, Lot?”
“This.” I attack his mouth again, already tugging at the snap of his jeans, frantic. Desperate. Dyson Jones was designed to fuck a woman right out of her mind. And right now, that’s exactly what I need.