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Emmie smiles. “Oh, yeah? What’s that, hon?”
My mom waves the book, her fingers hovering right to Gabriel’s perfect nose. “That’s Miranda’s man on the cover. He’s a model.”
“Lucky girl.” The nurse gives me a wink that says she’s playing along, a nice way of telling me that she knows my mother suffers from dementia. “He’s a looker.”
I don’t bother to clarify the truth. Am I dating this man? Because I honestly don’t even know for sure if I am...
She leaves and Lexi and I pull up chairs by my mother's bedside. As we chat, my fears and worries dissolve. Mom not only seems fine, she seems more lucid than usual.
A half hour later, there’s a knock on the open door. The rustling of takeout bags. Emmie’s voice, full of surprise. “Well hot damn, Ms. Montague, if he isn’t just as real as you said he was.”
I look over my shoulder. Gabriel stands, filling the doorway, his hands full of the handles of takeout bags. There must be enough food for fifty people in those carryouts. He gives me a guilty shrug. “I got Italian, but didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for.”
Emmie gives a hoot. “Gorgeous and feeds a woman, too? I tell you this man is too good to be true.”
I cringe at the words. Too good to be true. Too good to be true. The phrase repeats, intrusive and ugly.
Lexi flies up from her seat, rushing over and taking the bags from him, the scent of garlic and tomatoes filling the room. She looks pointedly at Emmie. “Yeah—something like that.” Then leaves him without a thank you.
Emmie gives Lexi a disapproving look, and leaves, mumbling, “If that were my man…”
He stands there, empty handed. Gazing at me. I stand from my seat and walk over to him. I’m not sure what to say, so I land on thanking him. “Gabriel. Thank you. For everything.”
He leans down, kissing my cheek. “If you need anything, I’m only a phone call away.”
My throat feels tight, and my eyes burn. I’m afraid I’ll cry again, so I give him a silent nod and turn to go back to my mother and sister.
He stops me, grabbing my hand, and pulls me into him. His mouth is by my ear, his breath rustling my hair. I can smell his scent—clean and masculine and familiar. “Miranda. I am so. So. Sorry.”
He releases me. Kisses my forehead fiercely. Then he’s gone, leaving me breathless, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. I want to go after him. I want to tell him to come back. But a part of me’s afraid to do that, to let myself get hurt again.
I’m shaking when I return to my family, taking the styrofoam takeout tray my sister hands me. I open the lid. Chicken Marsala. One of my absolute favorites. I wonder how he knew… my spine stiffens.
He knew everything.
Lexi dives into a chicken parm she dug out of one of the big brown paper bags. “Good riddance.” She gives a sniff.
Her harsh words make me bristle. I defend him, anger laced in my words. “You say that, but when Mom needed help, who was there for us? And when you needed nothing more than to get out of California, who sent you a private jet? And then when Mom needed us again, who made it happen?”
She gives me a guilty roll of her eyes. She knows she’s being too harsh. Still, she has to add a sassy remark. “He’s still a stalker. And anyway, I am done with men.”
“Oh yeah?” I shoot back. “I’ll say his name and I betcha blush.”
She flushes pink and closes her mouth, looking away.
I give her a frustrated sigh. Then I remember what she’s just gone through. How her heart is bitter and torn, and for good reason.
I let it go.
Mom twirls a few strands of her Spaghetti Bolognese around the prongs of her fork.
“What do you mean, stalker? What is all this?”
“He looked into her past,” Lexi says, her eyes flashing. “He had a key to her apartment!”
Mom frowns. “He sounds obsessed and possessive, not like a stalker.”
“That’s what a stalker is!” Lexi protests, taking an angry, enormous bite out of a slice of garlic bread.
“Girls, girls. A stalker is obsessed, but it’s unwanted attention.” She waves a fork at me. “Thought I raised smarter girls than this.”
“I can’t believe you’re lecturing us on this!” Lexi gives me an incredulous look, and I don’t know what surprises her more, Mom taking Gabriel’s side, or her momentary lucidity.
Mom gives a shrug. “Stalker sch-malker. Your father was insanely attracted to me, you know.”
Lexi and I share a look. I blink in surprise. I want to hear this.
“Was he?”
“Ohhhh, yes. He knew every shift I worked at the diner, and he would just so happen to be there when I opened and when I closed. He knew where I lived before I brought him home, knew what I was studying in college…” She rolls her eyes. “So I guess that makes your father a ‘stalker.’” She makes air quotes, and I stare at her, open-mouthed.
