To Desi’s credit—and his father’s—they both immediately yanked her metaphorical chain for that and she apologized and insisted she was joking.
Okay, I can understand someone being nervous and cracking a joke that falls flat. I get it. But she spent the entire weekend making snippy little comments about how “quaint” Maudlin Falls was, and how much money I could be making working for some accounting firm in Miami. Quips like that.
By the end of the weekend, Desi and his dad were hurrying her out of the house.
She was perfectly friendly to me when we were in Miami and visiting them there, but I could tell she wanted her son out of my hometown and back under her thumb.
For too many years, she succeeded in that goal.
After lunch, I let Desi clean up the dishes because he volunteers. “I shouldn’t be too much longer. I’ll have to make a couple of work calls, too. Then we can get your truck.”
I nod, thinking about the rings upstairs. “I’ll go watch more TV. I guess I needed a day off more than I realized.” I lean in and kiss him. “We still need to talk tonight.”
“Yeah.”
I hope I’m doing the right thing and not handing my heart to him to shred again.
I spend the afternoon mostly napping on the couch. A few times, I hear him in talking in the kitchen, and when I sneak over to the doorway and listen, it always sounds like it’s work-related.
It’s a little after four when he finally emerges from the kitchen and walks out to the living room, where I’m stretched out on the couch. “Okay, done for today. I’m all yours.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Really. I need to file paperwork in Webley tomorrow in person, then we can figure things out from there.”
“I need to work tomorrow.”
“I know.”
I sit up. “Let me go change clothes and we can head out.” A buzz of excitement fills me, tempered only a little by my caution.
This isreallyhappening.
Desi’s back.
He meets me downstairs and I notice he’s not carrying his laptop case. It’s still on the kitchen table. I lock the house behind us and follow him to his SUV.
“Range Rover, huh?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He looks a little bashful. “Bought it a few months ago. I really liked how it rides.”
“Thought your mom hates SUVs?”
His smile widens. “She does.”
We get in as I laugh over that. “So you started your rebellion even then, huh?”
“I guess. But I figured it’s my money, and I’m the one driving it. If it were up to her I’d be driving a Porsche or Mercedes so she can brag to all her friends.”
“These things are pricey. What’s wrong with that?”
“I know that and you know that, but it’s my mom. She has her own way of thinking.”
“True.”
We drive in silence for a little while and I finally reach over to lay my hand on his thigh. That was something else I missed. Whoever was driving, the other usually did that.
And he lays his hand over mine and squeezes, holding it.
