“It’s you!” I reach for the doorjamb, needing its support when I see it’s Pippa standing on the other side, carrying a couple of grocery bags.
“Hey, I hope you don’t mind, but I saw the provisions the prospects set you up with yesterday, and thought you might like more options for food.” She grins, gesturing with the bags. “I’ve got fruit, vegetables, a selection of cuts of meat, cookies, and sweets for your son.” She pauses, and lines appear on her forehead. “I should have asked, is he allergic to anything? Or does he react to too much sugar, colourings, or stuff like that?”
Feeling like the world’s worst mother, I truthfully respond, “I don’t really know.”
Nonplussed, she simply shakes her head. “Guess you’ll find out in time. I got the makings for spaghetti bolognese. All kids like that, right?” Without waiting for me to answer, or give me time to explain I wouldn’t know how to put those ingredients together, as the kitchen was always my mom’s domain, she brushes past me and goes toward the kitchen. Pausing at the entrance to the living room, she calls out to Trip, “Hey, how you doing?” She then continues on without waiting for the response she’ll sadly never get from him.
Bemused, I just stand and watch as she puts items in the fridge and fills up the cupboards.
“Trip, do you want a snack?” she calls out, then, without waiting for an answer, she finds a glass, fills it with chocolate milk, puts a couple of cookies on a plate, and then hands them to me so I can take her offerings to my son in the next room.
She misinterprets the expression on my face. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. I’ve overstepped.”
I hasten to reassure her. “Not at all, just showing me up.” Taking a deep breath, I explain, “Mom never brought us snacks. I got into the habit of eating them when I was working at the hospital, but Trip’s never been spoiled this way.” I feel my face redden. “I should have thought of it myself.” My brow furrows, “How do you know so much about kids?”
She touches her stomach. “I’m pregnant, Bron. Soon I’ll have my own baby, and I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what kind of mother I’ll be. But fuck knows if I’ll get it right, and there’s bound to be a lot of mistakes made, and lessons learned along the way.”
“At least you’ve got it all planned out,” I retort glumly.
“Don’t you fucking compare yourself to me.” She places her hands on her hips as she talks. “I’m a grown woman. You were only a kid yourself when you had your baby. You’ve never been allowed to think like a mother. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Now, are you taking these to him or not?” She surprises me when she says, “If you think a snack’s not good for him, then I’ll abide by your opinion.”
As she seems uncertain for a moment, I let my actions speak for me. I take the glass and plate into Trip. He looks at my offerings, his eyes showing hesitancy, so I just place them within reach, then return to the kitchen.
Pippa’s already got ingredients laid out in front of her. “You want me to help you get the spaghetti sauce underway?”
I’d like nothing more, not having a clue where to start. I even admit the truth to her. “Mom did all the cooking herself, or ordered in. I’ve never prepared a meal before.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m a Michelin-starred chef.” She chuckles. “But I do kinda know my way around a kitchen. And this is a proven recipe I’ve tried many times before. Let’s get to it.”
Her easy smile and grin get me rolling up my sleeves and digging in.
It’s when I’m slicing the onions she discloses, “You know Short’s in a club meeting now, asking for permission to make you his old lady?” She says, “Saint told me before he went in.”
“Short shouldn’t sacrifice himself for me,” I respond.
“What are you talking about?” she asks, her eyes widening, then she sniggers. “Honey, these men don’t do anything they aren’t prepared to follow through on.”
Her company is easy, so I find myself admitting, “He deserves an old lady who’ll have a proper relationship with him, and I can’t do that.”
She looks at me sharply and takes a beat to compute what I’m saying. “You’re talking about sex?”
Feeling my face blush, I nod my head. “My dad kind of fucked me up for that.” My mouth twists as I realise what I said, and add, “Quite literally.”
Her eyes glaze. “Oh, honey, you’re trying to compare apples and oranges. What you went through was abuse, plain and simple. Consensual sex between a man and a woman who respect and love each other is a completely different beast. It’s all about pleasure and mutual satisfaction, and…” She sighs. “Probably just about the best high ever.”
My problem is I can’t understand it, can’t see that the act that was forced on me could be so different as to be described as pleasure. “I’m not wired the same way as you.”
“Yes, you are, hon. It’s just your experience means your wiring got screwed.” Her eyes narrow. “Do you like Short?”
Before I respond, my mind goes back to what I’d been thinking earlier. “Whether I do or not, it’s more whether I should. He lost his temper yesterday, and I’m worried that’s a huge red flag.”
Her furrowed brow suggests she’s taking my concern seriously, and takes a moment to respond. “Okay, I’ve not known Short long, but what I can say is I’ve never seen him unjustifiably angry, or for him to lash out for no reason. I do, though, understand a bit of what drove him yesterday. He cares for you, Bronwyn, so much so that the club warned him off you?—”
“I know the club thought I was an untouched virgin,” I interrupt, with a roll of my eyes.
“Not just an innocent in that way, but a pure person who shouldn’t be dragged into our world.” She shrugs. “These men are in a league of their own. They don’t abide by the same rules that you do, but that doesn’t mean they're lawless. Sometimes they get tied in knots by rules of their own making. They wanted to protect you from corruption.”
“And then Short found out I was already corrupted,” I interject.
