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“I wouldn’t know,” I say with a shrug. “He didn’t mention his dad.”
“You spoke to him? I really wish you hadn’t done that, Emily. There’s really no need to drag that kind of garbage back into our lives.”
I clamp my jaw tightly shut and feel the tips of my ears growing warm, the way they do when I get mad. It’s not fair for her to hate Peter because of something his father did. Especially when he’s the total opposite of that horrible man. If she would just give him a chance, I know my mom would really like Peter.
“You know he’s nothing like his father,” I say, taking care not to come across as too angry or defensive.
But my acting skills are clearly lacking, because she fixes me with a strange look I can’t read. I take a sip of my water for no other reason than to have something to hide behind.
“I never liked the way he was with you,” she says.
I nearly choke on a gulp of water and end up spluttering like a fool when I say, “What do you mean? Peter was always great. To both of us.”
“Oh, please. He knew exactly what he was doing—stringing you along like his own personal pet. You forget that he was a lot older than you—”
“Two years isn’t a lot older, Mom.”
“And a blind person could see it, the way you were always fawning over him. Even now, you’re coming to his defense like it’s second nature.”
“Wh—? I never fawned. I don’t fawn.”
“I’m just saying, it was a good thing we cut them out of our lives. You were too young to understand it, but they’re toxic, you hear me? The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Emily.”
No, I refuse to listen to these things in relation to Peter.
“He was never like that,” I say. “There was no stringing along or—”
“It’s done.” Her voice rises above mine in that stern tone of authority she gets when she means to win an argument. “Let this run-in be what it was and leave it at that. The less we have of those hateful men in our lives, the better.”
I give up. There’s so much hurt and hatred still left in her, even after all these years. Perhaps she’ll get over it. Or she won’t and she’ll live out the rest of her life hating them both, blaming them for what happened to our family. And if that’s the case, where does that leave me? I can’t predict the future, but for now I’m convinced that keeping quiet about Peter and me is the safest option.
That short meal with my mother managed to ruin the rest of my afternoon. My last two classes go by in a blur, and her face when I mentioned Peter is still all I can think about as I set off along University Drive in the direction of the softball field. I always park over at Clark no matter where my classes are on any given day. It’s the one parking lot where I’m guaranteed to find a space.
I’m walking alone since Heather and the gang finished up earlier. They wanted to wait, but my last class was scheduled to end a whole hour later than theirs. And after being my personal escorts all day, I didn’t think it would be fair to ask that of them. Besides, it isn’t that long of a walk anyway, and I’m sticking to the road where there’s always a lot of traffic at this time of day.
Also, Peter will be there.
It’s the main reason I didn’t want my friends with me. Peter had insisted on leaving work early to follow me as I drive back to his place. Just to be sure I’m not being followed by any creepers. There’s something about having private protection from the chief of police.
I really wish my mother knew him the way I do. Or did back then, anyway. Although, from what I’ve seen, he’s become even more of a sweet, caring man. It honestly feels as if no time has passed and things between us are just the same.
For the most part, anyway.
I have to admit it was kind of strange sending him that text when my class ended. Even though I’ve been texting that old number off and on over the years, this time I knew for sure he’d be on the other end. This time I wasn’t texting him as a friend or step-sibling, but as a lover. The idea is so wild, my brain still catches on the word. Lover.
How many nights did my teenage fantasies leave me breathless and aching for him in my childhood bed? And later, years after he was out of my life, how many times did my thoughts drift to him as I slid my hand between my legs?
“Emily!”
Hearing my name so suddenly makes me jump, and I suppose being startled triggers that familiar anxiety in me because my stomach twists into a sickening knot. I’d been walking in such a daze I hadn’t noticed a car slow to a virtual crawl on the road next to me. I don’t recognize the car, but the driver must know me so I bend down to peer through the open window and get a better look.
Just my luck. It’s Trevor.
“Hi!” He smiles and waves, a little too enthusiastically.
I err on the side of politeness and smile back. “Hello.” It’s fake and stiff, but whatever, he nearly bulldozed my best friend earlier today.
“I don’t know if you remember me,” he says, raising his voice so it can carry over the sound of the traffic around us. “I’m Trevor. I used to be in Organic Chem with you until I changed majors.”
