“Well, I imagine I’ll need to take you back to your truck so you’ll have a way to get around tomorrow.” His eyes soften, and I can’t help but be thankful he’s making light of this.
The last thing I wanna do is talk about myself, but I’m not sure I have much choice. He could be throwing me out of his car right now, reporting me, telling me to stay away from his daughter. Instead, he wants to talk.
When I meet his gaze, he’s watching me. Waiting. My pulse jumps at the thought of what I’m about to do. A light sheen of sweat builds. But something else runs over me too—something that makes my chest a little lighter. Like I’ve been lugging around a tree-sized weight, lodged right between my shoulder blades, and this is the first sign of relief I’ve seen in years.
Pushing out a breath, I drag a hand through my hair.
Then I do it.
I tell him everything.
Blue
“Shh!” With a finger pressed to her lips, Mom pulls me closer—even though we’re already smooshed like peanut butter and jelly in this cramped closet.
“You’re squishing me!” I whisper-yell, and she shakes against me in silent laughter.
I don’t hear anyone else’s voice yet, but I do register the click when the front door shuts. Whoever just got home has to be only a few feet away from us now. I swallow, breathing hard in anticipation. I want it to be him. Ineedfor it to be. But if he went to a match, it’s unlikely.
Mom and I were draped lazily over the living room couch—hanging upside down with our feet in the air and the tips of our hair spilling over the floor—waiting for the paint to dry when we first heard a car approach. I guess Mom assumed it was Dad because, as soon as keys jiggled in the door, she shoved us into the coat closet. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“Hey,” she whispers, apparently recalling the same thing I am, “isn’t thisthecloset?”
My heart squeezes at the thought of Joshua. “Yeah, but Mom ... you know it’s probably not Dad, right?”
She doesn’t answer for a moment. Eventually, she whispers, “It’s not?” I can’t tell if she’s relieved or disappointed.
I shake my head, hoping I’m wrong. “He went somewhere with Joshua.”
“And Kimmie’s at that party?”
“Yeah.”
“So if it’s not your dad, and it’s not Kimmie ... oh, crap.”
She pushes the door open, and we both tumble out, toppling over each other and barely managing not to fall on our asses.
“Blue?” Rebecca’s setting her purse on the couch, eyebrows raised as she looks between the two of us. “What’s going on?”
“Uh, hey, Rebecca.” I gesture to my mom. “This is—”
My mom strides across the room and pulls the woman into an embrace. “Hi, I’m Susie,” she says, mid the most awkward hug I’ve ever witnessed. Rebecca looks too shocked to respond, her body stiff, arms still at her sides, but my mom continues. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”
Mom’s words are soft, oozing with sincerity. I think that’s what eventually thaws Rebecca’s statue-like pose because she pats Mom’s back—albeit still awkwardly—and says, “Wow. What a surprise. It’s ... it’s wonderful to meet you too.”
When Mom pulls away, still staring at Rebecca a little too closely, I clear my throat. Loudly. “I hope you don’t mind,” I mutter, the sudden discomfort in the room prickling my arms. “It was a spontaneous visit. It’s kinda her thing.”
Rebecca nods and smooths the bottom of her blouse. “Of course I don’t mind.” Her mouth lifts at the corners, but it’s pinched.
Mom glances at me. I try to smile reassuringly, only it feels more like a grimace.
“Well.” Rebecca clasps her hands, her smile finally reaching her chocolate eyes. “How about some iced tea then? Give us a chance to get to know each other. Maybe you’ll even tell me what you did to raise such a wonderful daughter.” Rebecca winks at me. “Lord knows, I could use some insight for my own little spitfire.”
Mom reaches for my hand. “I’d love that.”
As we follow Rebecca into the kitchen, I can’t stop my eyes from settling on the back window, just in case Joshua somehow made it home when we weren’t paying attention. I register the soft tap of glasses being set on the counter, the fridge opening, but I can’t pull my attention away.
“I actually met your spitfire this afternoon,” Mom murmurs.
