AllFreeNovel
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“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I say, reaching one of my arms out. I hold it wide, hoping my mother gets the hint. “I missed breakfast, but we’d love to share brunch with you.”
There’s a moment, time suspended in a glass jar full of sand, and I think she’ll step back. It’s my fault I let it get this far, this strained. I can’t blame the boy I was, creating stone-hard walls to protect the tenderest parts of myself, but those stone walls cut everyone out. My mother, my sister, my twin included. Then my mom melts into me, and this hug is warmer than I’d imagined. It’s nice.
“I don’t want to impose,” Mom says and her voice quiet like she needs to offer both of us an out, but I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t… if I didn’t…
“I want to spend time with you,” I say, and mean it.
“Okay,” This time Mom’s smile is warm and welcoming and real. “Would you rather make something here or go out?”
Quinn watches the exchange between me and my mother with the kind of avid interest that reminds me of someone preparing to be quizzed later. She must notice the tension ramping back up after my mother’s offer to cook. If I am passable in the kitchen, it isn’t because I inherited my non-existent skills from my mom. Vic has a meal plan and a chef from the team to prep most of his meals, but I don’t think the guy works when the team is on the road.
“I’m a whiz in the kitchen,” Quinn says. “Especially with breakfast food. Why don’t I set up in there and you guys can have your mother-son morning?” She busses my cheek like we’ve been kissing each other quick goodbyes for years, and then she’s over the threshold and inside the house. “I’ll find the kitchen, no worries.” She calls out and I duck my head so she won’t see me trying hard not to laugh. She is adorable.
“I like her.” My mom backs up so I can step inside, too.
“So do I.” It might be a bigger understatement than the time I told someone it was disappointing to have to quit hockey just as my career was starting. I’m years into not sugar-coating my feelings. “I more than like her. If we were in the same city…well, things might have been very different for us.”
“She makes you happy,” my mom nods. She reaches her hand toward me as if she wants to touch my face, but freezes, unsure. I bring her palm to my stubbled cheek and allow her to cup my jaw. Her smile flickers. “I’m glad she does. You deserve someone in your life who makes you smile. It’s been a long time since your brother or sister or I could do that.”
It’s not for their lack of trying.
I thread my fingers through mom’s and squeeze her hand in mine.
“That was never about you, or Vic, or Anna.” It had been naïve to hope they all knew that. “I put up walls to protect myself, no matter who ended up on the other side of them.” I clear my throat because this is important. This is the realization I’ve been working on for the last few weeks, maybe even longer, and I want to be sure Mom hears it. Quinn’s light had blinded me for a moment, distracting me from half my goal. “I want to do things differently now. Try to find a happy medium.”
“I’d like that too,” Mom says, and she drops her hand and her eyes as she blinks back tears.
We step into the enormous kitchen to find that Quinn already has several large pots and pans on Vic’s commercial-grade stove. I watch her move, her arms flexing as she dips a piece of bread into a large white bowl and then drops it into a sizzling pan. Her ass jiggles as she uses a spatula to stir a pan full of eggs. Her tank top rides up as she reaches for something in the spice cabinet, exposing a sliver of her soft skin. She’s moved right in and made herself comfortable, her flannel looped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and now as I stare at her I can see her doing the same in my house. Not just my brother’s. The thought is so appealing that I go dizzy for a moment.
I join her at the stove and take the spatula, commandeering the pan of scrambled eggs. They’re fluffy and golden, smelling nutty and delicious. My stomach growls, and Quinn’s lips quirk into a smile. She knows what I’ve done to work up an appetite. I know her brain has gone down the dirty rabbit’s hole because she’s blushing, redness climbing her face. I could almost blame it on the heat from the stove, except that she’d already been beautifully damp with sweat, her hair curling softly at her temples, long before the blush started. I smile back at her and wink.
I tip the eggs onto a waiting plate and turn off the heat. I reach for a paper towel and blot strips of crisp bacon as Quinn slides six perfect pieces of French toast onto a large platter. My mother starts coffee and pulls a bottle of fresh orange juice from the fridge. I marvel at how perfectly synchronized we all are. Every time I look Quinn’s way, she snaps her eyes away as though I won’t know she’s been staring. I can’t fault her. I am happy to stare until she looks my way, too. And if our eyes catch and it feels like being struck by a bolt of lightning? Rooted to the spot as heat explodes out from my chest? Well then, that’s even better.
“You have to tell her,” my mom says, her voice just above a whisper. At least she has the grace to wait for Quinn to excuse herself to go to the bathroom.
And I know. I planned on it this morning before the clock conspired against me. At first, my cancer diagnosis hadn’t been relevant. It’s personal, private information that a stranger has no business knowing. But Quinn isn’t a stranger any longer. She’s a woman I want more than I thought possible, even if she lives in a different state. Even if we have no future, she’s still someone I consider a friend, someone who’s worthy of knowing this secret piece of myself. But there’s also Quinn’s dad.
This is a loaded situation, not something to spring on her. I’ve seen her fears and her heartache with her father being sick. What would it do to her to know that I had been too? Would it help? Show her I have insight? Empathy? Would it hurt? Would she decide that fear outweighs anything else we might have been building to? And I’m still leaving. I told myself I’d share if the moment presented itself and it hadn’t. This was something I need to share in person, but the truth is I’m terrified. I’ve already lost so many of the people who matter to me because of cancer. I don’t want to lose her too.
But I’m going to anyway. Whether I share this piece of me or not, I’m going to lose Quinn Cooper the minute I get back on that plane to Chicago.
The problem with secrets is that the longer we put off sharing them, the easier they became to avoid.
Logically, I know most people wouldn’t fault me for holding this piece back. Emotionally, I also knew that Quinn’s feelings on the matter are tied to her dad. Logic sometimes has no place in how we feel when it comes to people we care about. She could be furious with me for holding this back. Enraged I kept it a secret. What if she assumes it’s because I don’t trust her? As insulting as I know it is to assume what she can and cannot handle, it’s worse to think she could misunderstand.
“I will,” I tell my mother, “I just haven’t found the right time.”
“Sweet boy.” she lays her hand over mine, her palm warm from the coffee mug she’s been holding onto. “There’s never a right time to tell a woman that you’re in love with her.”
The car ride back to my house is subdued. I offered to take an Uber so Erik could spend more time with his mom, but he insisted on driving me, claiming I’m on his way to the hotel. It’s a blatant lie—nothing is on the way to his hotel—but I appreciate the gesture. I appreciate the extra time together, too. I hadn’t meant to infringe on his time with his mom. I hadn’t even thought about it until we were half-way to Vic’s McMansion. I tried to bow out, letting them have their time together, but that hadn’t worked. I could read the tension between mother and son from across the driveway and they’d still teamed up to keep me in the house.
They don’t hate each other and they weren’t angry—I studied them to be sure that Maria wasn’t mad I’d shown up—but there was a hesitation when they talked. A disconnect. As if both mother and son had things they wanted to say and do, but something held them back. Both were muted, the vibrancy of their personalities dim under the bright kitchen lights.
“Is everything okay?” I ask as Erik flicks on the blinker and turns onto my street.
He nods, his mouth set in a grim line I’m not used to seeing. I might not have known Erik for long, but I know this isn’t him. Erik might be reserved, but there’s a curve to the corners of his mouth, a laugh in his hazel eyes. Now he looks almost pale in the driver's seat, his golden skin ashen. It’s better than green, but…
“Are you going to be sick?” I ask, and he shakes his head.
