2
Trinity
I pulled my SUV into the driveway of my new rental. Well, technically, it was my father’s rental, but I liked to think of it as mine. It was a decent-sized three-bedroom house that sat in a quiet cul-de-sac about ten minutes from campus. I shifted the car in park but didn’t attempt to move. I stared out the window at my front door, still confused about the man I'd just met less than twenty minutes ago. We talked about Pop-Tarts.Pop-Tarts, for God’s sake.I had on zero makeup. My hair was a train wreck after unpacking for two days straight and I hadn’t gotten my shipment of contacts in yet, so I wore my glasses that probably needed a new prescription. But I knew he was gorgeous. You didn’t need twenty/twenty vision for that. Thick, dark hair. Pale blue eyes, broad shoulders, and his hat was backward.I almost fainted from that alone.He oozed masculinity. Confidence. And his scent. I had to force myself not to inhale too deeply when I showed him the coupons. Like I was some cat mom showing off herchildren.
I was mortified.
He was exactly the kind of man I’d avoided since high school. Good-looking. Confident. He was probably an athlete based on his build, which was strictly ano-go zonefor me. My reasons were rooted deep and probably stemmed from childhood trauma, but it was a rule I didn’t break. Not anymore.
Actually, what I needed to do was focus on the reason I had just uprooted my entire life. Finishing my Master’s degree was my top priority, not a good-looking man who swapped Pop-Tart preferences with me. This was Texas. Everyone was friendly. He was being welcoming.
I closed my eyes, about to kill my ignition, when my phone rang.Momflashed across the screen and I cringed. Things had been a little tense since my move, and the last thing I wanted to deal with was her salty attitude, but the other part of me won over. The part that knew just how hard it was for her to let go. So I clicked the green icon.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Getting settled?” she asked.
The sound of her peloton whizzed in the background. Mona Strickland was an avid exerciser and proud vegan, so it was no surprise she’d be pedaling like her life depended on it in the middle of the day.
“Yes. Just got back from the grocery store.”
“And your father? Has he shown his face to help yet?” Her tone took on the same one it always did when she mentioned Rodney Maxwell.Disdain.
The inevitable conversation I dreaded took only seven seconds to appear. Her timing was getting shorter with each phone call.
“Not yet.” I unclipped my seat belt. “He’s coming by this evening to help get the last of everything sorted. Check the security system.”
I could hear her scoff through the phone.
“He’s too busy with his hussy of the week to help his own daughter? Typical.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Mom, he’s been married to Jodie for five years. She’s not a random groupie at this point.”
“Well, we both know what she is. A money-hungry blonde with enough Botox to freeze the Frio.”
“You have Botox,” I deadpanned. “And lip filler.”
“Trinity. I have a respectable amount.” I could hear the slowing of the machine as I stretched my arms above my head. “There’s a difference,” she added.
“I think you would like the house.” I aimed for a change of subject because she could go on for hours about hisnew familyif I let her.
Going down that road only brought on more hurt and insecurity for me. So a detour was necessary.
“I would like some pictures of this house. I want to make sure he didn’t put you in some slum while he sits in his mansion.”
I fought the urge to hang up. To literally just scream outget over it.But I knew the reasons for all of her bitterness came from hurt, not anger. They split at the beginning stages of my father’s NFL career. He was one of the top picks in the draft, and when he signed with his first team, my mom got pregnant with me. I was sure there were a multitude of things that were the cause of their withered relationship, but my mother had no issues telling me everything he did wrong. How he didn’twantto be a father. For the longest time, I believed it. A small shred of my heart still did. Especially when he only called on holidays or birthdays. Sometimes he missed those altogether.
I was six when they called it quits, and I was hoping by my ripe age of twenty-three, we would have moved past this back and forth, but apparently, I set the bar too high.
“It’s a really cute house. A nice, quiet neighborhood,” I assured her. “Let me get these groceries in and I can FaceTime you.”
It was silent for a moment before she responded. “Okay. But call after eight. I have a dinner date with Marcelo and he mentioned Italian.”
“All right, Mom.” I pulled the latch with an eye roll, swinging my door open. “Have fun.”
“Call me.”
The line clicked and a wave of guilt sucker punched me right after the whoosh of relief I felt at getting off the phone. I was fully aware I had no boundaries with her. I knew her call would rattle me. I’d have a lot less anxiety if I filtered them. But she needed me, and I couldn’t find it in my heart to desert her even more than I already had by making this change.
