This gave Priscilla pause, and then she smiled.
“See, Mom?” Turning to me, she said, “I liked you right away. Thanks for bringing my mom to me that night and protecting her. I’m not mad at you.”
I was about to respond when she said, “Oh, and that’s not because you brought all this food. I mean it.”
“You’re a good egg, Priscilla,” I told her, watching Margo’s gaze flick between the two of us. “By the way, that’s the opposite of a punk.”
The rest of the evening went by with easy conversation and laughter as we all enjoyed ice cream sundaes made by Margo. When we were done, she helped Priscilla upstairs, and then ran back down.
Giving me a sad smile, Margo said, “I’m going to help her get ready for bed, and it may be a while.”
I winked, pulling her close. “One kiss, and I’ll get out of your hair. Deal?”
“Deal,” she said, then pressed her mouth to mine.
Our lips danced for a while, as if they’d been partners for a lifetime, yet there was still so much I had to learn about Margo.
She pulled back first, giving me a curious look. “Is it weird?”
“I don’t know what you mean, but no. Maybe we should have gone slower, but we didn’t. You can’t second-guess it. We’re here, and it looks like we have a chance at something great.”
Margo didn’t respond, only gave me one more quick kiss. “Thanks.”
“Lock up,” I said firmly, kissing the top of her head. As we walked to the door, I took her hand in mine. “Here’s to a lot more times like this.”
“The food?” she teased.
“The kisses,” I tossed back.
“With punks.”
With her final word, I was out the door.
Margaret
Monday, before the parents’ meeting at the Paula, I sat in my car, steadying my hands before tackling the task I had in front of me.
Sheila had kept the parents’ meeting at the Paula, insisting that normalcy would be a good thing. I wasn’t sure there was anything normal about my life before, now, or ever ... but here I was.
Penny had come over to keep Priscilla company while I was gone, to watch a movie together and get her anything she needed. It wasn’t a guilt-driven decision, though. Penny missed her friend and was worried for her. I hoped Priscilla could go back to school in a day or two. The girls had assured me the other students would help her get around and would carry her backpack.
I arrived fifteen minutes early on purpose—not to have a drink like I told Sheila, but to call my parents. It was a task I didn’t relish, but a necessary evil.
Imagining having to endure a chorus ofI told you soandyou didn’t try hard enough, I dialed my mom. I wasn’t even ashamed that the last I spoke with her was Mother’s Day, months before. After all, she didn’t even wish me the same sentiment when I called.
My mom answered stoically, as usual. “Margaret.”
“Hi, Mom,” I said, trying to act happy to hear her voice.
“It’s been a while.”
I wanted to tell her the phone worked both ways, but dropped the idea. No use in fighting today. Especially when I was about to drop the divorce bomb on my very Catholic mom.
“I know. Life’s been hectic. Priscilla fell and broke her collarbone and one of the bones in her arm. She had surgery and is recuperating now.”
“Oh, poor girl,” Mom said, but then I remembered that Priscilla hadn’t spoken to my mom since Mother’s Day either.
When she didn’t ask the how or when or any other details, I asked, “How’s Dad?”
