Mom noticed the new ink. But Sharon... she noticed the details, and she’s put two and two together. I can see it in her eyes. This is not ideal.
“It’s nothing, Mom.”
“What is it? Show me.”
“Who wants pancakes?”
“Sharon, it’s 2:30 in the afternoon.”
“Well, I need pancakes.”
Yep, she’s put it together, and is so distraught from her discovery she’s making pancakes.
Sharon’s pancakes are a way for the McKinnon family to celebrate the highs and soothe the lows. Is this a low for her? Is she upset to see the declaration of love on my chest?
“Owen. What is on your chest?”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s nothing, but you tattooed it on your body? I would imagine it means something to you if you waited to get one until the ripe old age of thirty-six.”
She lifts my shirt and spies the green four-leaf clover with a daisy in the center. Her head tilts to the side as she figures it out.
“Sharon, make enough for three, please.”
“Already on it.”
Mom puts her arm through mine and guides me to the kitchen island where I take a seat and wait. But neither of them speaks. Mom stares straight ahead while Sharon busies herself with pancakes.
“Sharon, have you been getting your fill of our sweet little Gracie?” I ask to end the awkward silence.
She clears her throat, and sputters. “Oh, um. Yes. Yes. She’s a doll.”
Sharon may be a second mom to me, and I know she loves me like a son, but she’s heard about my playboy reputation. She doesn’t want that for her daughter, I’m sure. If only she knew that my reputation may precede me, but it’s no longer applicable. Daisy is the only person my heart belongs to. Has ever belonged to.
“Sweetheart, we’re here if there’s anything you need to talk about.”
“Mom, I’m fine. Really.”
Sharon had her back to us, so when she sets her first batch of flapjacks in front of us, the concern on her face punches me in the gut. She looks like she’s had the surprise of her life, and it isn’t a good one. I don’t give a shit what most people think about me, but Sharon is one of the most important people in my life and Daisy’s. Not gonna lie, her concern about the implication of my tattoo hurts.
“Eat up,” she says, taking her spot back at the stove.
The fork in my hand shakes when I lift it to take a bite. I’m doubtful I’ll be able to stomach a plate of syrupy pancakes without them coming back up, but nobody ever turns down pancakes served at the McKinnon’s table.
Somehow, I swallow my first bite, but it’s a tough go. Like the mind reader she is, Sharon slides a glass of milk in front of me. She observes me for a moment, then her gaze briefly shifts to my mother, then back to me.
Unable to take another bite with their eyes on me, I slide my plate away. Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait.
It’s Sharon who speaks first. “Does she know how you feel?”
I nod, uncertain of how much I’m comfortable sharing. Not because I don’t want them to know. Hell, I wish there were no more secrets, and the entire world knew how I felt about Daisy. But this is her story, too. I’m not about to share it for her. Or without her.
“Does she feel the same?” It’s Mom who asks the question I know the answer to, even if Daisy refuses to believe it herself.
But again. This isn’t my question to answer.
“I love you both, but I respect her too much to discuss what there is or isn’t between us without her here.”
