“Love you back. And I look forward to it.” I exhaled a long breath and ended the call.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Mom’s nose crinkled.
“You didn’t. What’s up?”
“If you have no appointments today, would you like to take a walk into town with me? Do a little shopping? Only if you can.”
“I don’t have anything scheduled until later on in Seaford. I’m free as a bird to take a walk with you.”
My heart cracked a little when she beamed at me. “I’ll grab my purse, and we can go in a few minutes. Unless you’re in the middle of something.”
“Nope,” I said, heading over to my still-cluttered kitchen table to stuff my phone into my purse.
My mother was beautiful. Tall with deep chestnut hair that only had a few sparkles of gray and light hazel eyes. We resembled each other except my skin was a richer olive tone and my hair was thick and curly, courtesy of my Puerto Rican father. The wide curve of my hips and love of all things cheese and wine came both from my dad and my mother’s Italian side.
After I locked my side door, I followed Mom upstairs.
“Are your pills up to date?” I asked, glancing at the counter where her pill box for the week usually was.
“Yes,boss.Filled in for the week with another week’s worth up in the cabinet.” She squeezed my shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
A pang nudged at my stomach as my eyes lifted over the dry-erase board. Mom’s latest dosage of insulin was listed in a red box, originally drawn by my father, along with the name and dosage of her blood pressure medicine in his handwriting. She’d never erased it, claiming it served as a good reminder even if it was a little painful to see. When I was a teenager, she was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. My father immersed himself in everything he could find about the condition and usually set up her daily medication. It was his love language to look after her—and us—in little ways like that.
Now, Mom was on her own. Or was until I moved back. Other than being a little sad, nothing about her seemed overly concerning, but I had the need to be close to her anyway. I told myself it was to watch over her, but living in my parents’ house brought me the comfort I’d needed, even when one was missing,
Helping Mom navigate her new world without her larger-than-life husband soothed some of my grief, but nothing would ever help the guilt.
“Anything you have in mind?” I asked after I followed her out the front door.
“Cookies,” she replied with a sly grin. “Helen told me that Tyler had a nice assortment of sugar-free cookies this week—before you give me crap about eating sweets.” She raised a brow at me as we strolled down the block. “It’s a bit of a walk to his bakery, but it’s a nice day.” She bunched her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug, and I couldn’t help the roll of my eyes. “And you haven’t seen it yet. I know you’re curious.”
She lifted a brow before we continued on.
“I did say I wanted to see it. I’m glad he’s doing well,” I told her honestly while I kept my gaze straight ahead.
When I saw Tyler a couple of weeks ago, I welcomed the familiar rush that ran through me. Whenever I stepped into a room, his proverbial hackles would shoot right up, and I admittedly took an inappropriate amount of joy in pushing him. He’d cut me a scowl, those dark-and-stormy eyes searing into me, and a shiver would roll up my spine.
When I finally put in some effort to get along at his grandmother’s party, he regarded me as if I was about to stab him in the throat.
Looking at it from the outside, especially through Tyler’s perspective, I was a spoiled only child with an overbearing personality and a constant need for attention. I couldn’t argue with some of that, but the truth was that I neededTyler’sattention, regardless of how I’d get it.
I wanted to be the only thing he noticed. If he was playing with a toy when we were little, I was jealous of the toy. Atoy.I’d knock it out of his hands, and it was game on. Inevitable fights gave way to constant bickering.
I didn’t yearn for confrontation and seek out fights with others like I did with Tyler. So if he rejected my peace offering, I had no one to blame but myself.
I didn’t always have to be in the spotlight, but for some reason I had a lifelong obsession with being inhisspotlight.
And I was, but for all the wrong reasons.
“Here it is,” Mom chirped as she pointed to the large, blue awning.Hey, Batterwas printed in large, white letters next to a baseball diamond with cupcakes for the bases. Despite all the fights I’d had with Tyler at his games, the memory of him in his uniform was a favorite. We’d gone to different schools since we didn’t live in the same district, but I always made an excuse to go to his games despite—but really because of—him making it clear how much he didn’t want me there.
His strong legs and tight ass filled out those fitted white pants to perfection. I loved watching him run the bases almost as much as when he swung at home plate, his broad torso twisting as he swung, a crack echoing when he made contact.
He was poetry in motion, and my eyes would be glued to him every at bat. Morgan caught me once or twice but never uttered a peep about it.
I followed Mom inside, a couple of girls at the counter looking in our direction when the door chimed. The shop wasn’t huge, but every inch of space was filled with something. Cookies lined the front display, cakes and loaves of bread were stacked on shelves against the wall. We headed to the end of the short midday line as I drooled over everything.
“This place is great. He’s done so well,” Mom told me in a loud whisper.
