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“Don’t upset your mother.” His father’s eyes bore into him.
Lance sat back in his chair. “Upset her how? Why is it so hard to talk about your daughter? My sister?”
His father’s nostrils flared. “Don’t talk to me about losing a—” His eyes widened as if he caught himself. Then Lance’s father lowered his head.
“Losing a what, Dad?” Lance wanted him to say it. Would his father stoop that low?
“He didn’t mean it.” His mother always interjected on his behalf. “He means that if you want to visit your sister, that’s your choice.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.” His father threw his napkin on the table, not bothering to excuse himself.
“I guess that’s my cue to leave.” Lance’s own chair scraped the floor as he stood.
His mother reached for his hand. “He didn’t mean it. We’re working through things in our own way.”
“It would be easier if we did it together.” It had been a little over a decade, but he wouldn’t voice the thought. Lance kissed his mother’s cheek and said goodnight to Glenda. Once outside, he looked at the night sky, clear from the rain that had poured earlier. Stars sparkled and a cool breeze fanned his skin.
He’d been through this before with his father. Tomorrow at the office, they would get back to work. His father may hint at an apology, but they never talked things out. Lance settled into the driver’s seat of his car. He needed to go home. Too bad he found no comfort there either.
***
“I still don’t understand how you got caught in the rain,” her mother said.
Chantelle shivered as her teeth chattered. Her mother made a cup of chamomile tea. She sipped the hot liquid, while resting crossed legged on her mother’s couch.
“I didn’t know it would rain.” She took another gulp, loving the warmth spreading through her body.
“I hope you don’t catch pneumonia.” Her mother planted her hands on her slim hips.
“I won’t. It’s only a chill.”
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Her mother took a seat next to her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Mom, I’m warming up and—”
“Not that. I mean, seeing Lance again. How do you feel about profiling his wedding?” Her mother’s eyebrows etched together.
“Why would that bother me?” She swallowed her favorite tea, dropping her eye contact to her cup.
“Chantelle?”
Setting her cup on the coffee table, she wrapped the throw blanket around her shoulders. “I can handle it, Mom.”
“Do you remember the day you came home when he first asked you out?” her mother asked.
Chantelle remembered. She rushed to tell her mother the news that her crush and friend, Lance Taylor, had asked her for a date. Her father had only told her one thing.
“Make sure he treats you right,” he had said in his protective fatherly voice.
Now, as she sat in her mother’s living room, Chantelle’s eyes diverted to her lap. She had been working on a chance like this, grateful to Brenda for recognizing her writing skills. Her skin crawled at the thought of her previous editor, who told her she’d only succeed by her good looks.
In her eyes, beauty was a curse. She was so much more on the inside than what others deemed exquisite on the outside. The first person to see her heart outside of the family had been… Lance. Chantelle blinked.
“That’s all in the past,” she said, settling into the back of the couch.
“If you say so. If you think you can do it, I believe you,” her mother said. “Get some rest.”
