And when he crash-landed, he’d be back in the same place he’d been before.
Alone.
Lonely.
13
Bellini
“Pour yourself a drink, honey,” my mother said when I got home the next night from the bar. She was downstairs, lying back against her pink couch where she could put her feet up. She had been watching a romantic comedy.
Outside, it was dark, and snow was coming down hard. We had strings of lights in front and back, colorful and bright, so we could see the snowflakes. Inside, the gas fireplace was on, candles were lit, my four cats were curled up beside us, and Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, my mom’s favorite, was playing.
“Very funny, Mom,” I said. “You know I do not drink.”
“Still?” she asked, but we both knew she was kidding.
She knows I don’t drink. She has—at most—two drinks a day, often none. And one of those drinks is always wine. Fine wine. She likes the good stuff.
She petted Claws and said, “Your momma likes to be sober all the time.”
“Alcohol makes my mouth feel like it’s on fire,” I said, digging into the chocolate cake, “and you know I don’t like the slightest chance that I won’t be in complete control of my faculties.” Mrs. Books took that moment to jump up on the mantel. She looked at me for praise. “Nice jump, Mrs. Books!” She meowed. Cats are part human.
“I cannot believe a daughter of mine uses phrases like ‘complete control of my faculties.’ It’s like you speak in a foreign language, filled with proper primness.”
I handed her a piece of chocolate cake. It was seven layers, made by Aunt Emmie. For fun, there were seven candy canessticking straight up on top. I love Aunt Emmie. She knows I love candy canes.
“How are you feeling, Mom?” I jumped up and grabbed Petunia. She was climbing up the inside of the Christmas tree, and it was tilting. She meowed in protest as I straightened the tree.
“I believe that my body is going to forgive me for giving up my uterus.”
“Forgiveness is important.” I put my hands together as if in prayer, attempting to appear holy. “I try to be forgiving.”
“Oh, me, too, bless my heart,” my mother said, also clasping her hands together in a holy fashion. “Bless your heart, too.”
We laughed. We both have a hard time forgiving sometimes. In fact, it’s rather a family trait. Our personalities tend to be slightly vengeful.
She asked about my day at the bar. I did not tell her I was tired to the bone and starving, as I worked without a break, and that I still had more work to do. Running the bar is her life. She knows exactly how much energy it takes.
“Logan rarely comes to the bar,” my mom said. Petunia tapped her hand, as if she wanted a bite of cake. “He’ll come in now and then with friends, like Beck and Colt, or he’ll take his work team to lunch, but he never comes in as a regular.”
“Oh.”
“I’ve never seen him with a date in there.”
I nodded.Stab me in the heart with a candy cane and give it a twist.
“But…” she paused.
“Yesss?”But what?I thought, my breath catching. I dropped my fork onto my plate, suddenly not starving. Did he date? Did he have a series of dates? A series of girlfriends?
“I think you should be friends again, sweet cakes. You’ve been gone for years. You two were so adorable together. Likehoney and bees. Like ice cream and chocolate. Like Bellinis and cheese. Like sexy bras and lacy lingerie from Lace, Satin, and Baubles.”
That was my favorite lingerie shop, too. Too bad I hadn’t bought anything there in many years. Hadn’t needed to.
“You two were like snuggles and cuddles.” Her voice was soft.
The bravado, huge personality, and bawdy laugh do not come home from work with my mother. She is herself at home, and my mother has a serious side. She has to. She didn’t grow up with money, and she’s worked forever. There has been no man there to “save” her.
