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“Saturday?” Addison pretended to consider it. It was nice that her mom wanted to include her in things, but handling six whole hours of scrapbooking and people making polite conversation was a bit much. “Um. Sorry. I have plans.”
Her mom walked back in, carrying a steaming pie with crocheted potholders. “What kind of plans? A date?” Her mom’s smile widened and Addison knew that was her ticket out of this.
“Yes, a date,” she agreed. It was sort of true. She had a date with Fox, even if he didn’t know it yet. Some would call it “stalking,” but she preferred the term “aggressive pursuing.”
“Oh.” Her mom placed the pie on the table. In contrast to Addison’s dad, her mom had aged well. Like most women over fifty, Marilyn wore her brown hair short—as if it were a societal rule. Her smile was kind but shy. Once Addison had become too old to need a stay-at-home mom, she’d gone back to work as a receptionist at a dentist’s office, so her teeth were always shiny white. “It’s been so long since Jeremy, I was beginning to think maybe you were a . . . lesbian.”
Her ex hadn’t done much for her in the bedroom. Why was it guys were either sweet outside the bedroom but tame inside, or assholes in both places? Couldn’t she find someone with a little bit of both? Sweetness and edge.
Addison rolled her eyes. “I’m not a lesbian, Mom. I’m . . .” She paused. “Wait. If I was a lesbian, what would be wrong with that?”
“Nothing!” Mom wiped her hands on her apron. “Nothing at all. It’s just something a mother likes to know.” After sitting primly in her seat, she glanced at Addison hesitantly. “Joyce’s daughter just married her lesbian girlfriend. She brought the photos to our last scrapbooking event. They were so gorgeous! All the Scrappers were jealous.” She smiled in delight. “Two wedding dresses! Can you imagine?” Her mom’s friends called themselves the Scrappers—like they were some kind of menopausal gang armed with decorative scissors and double-sided tape.
“Mom.” Addison gave her a sidelong glance. “Are you saying you want me to be a lesbian so you can make a better scrapbook than your friends? ’Cause I’m gonna tell you now . . . it’s cock for me.”
Her mother gasped and her dad choked on his food. She should’ve felt guilty but someone had to keep them on their toes. Watching too much TV and doing needlepoint for hours was going to rot their brains.
But yeah. She was into guys. And not just any guy at this point. Fox, specifically.
After that panty-melting kiss, she was hooked. He was her newest high and she wanted to ride it, and him, again. Too bad he seemed adamant about pushing her away. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take a hint, but when a man kissed a girl like that, he didn’t really mean for her to go away, did he? Not only did he have a body to die for and a swagger that could make a girl swoon, but he held the promise of the kind of future she wanted—one filled with excitement and challenge. She just had to convince him he wanted her too.
“Um . . .” Her father blinked several times, as though his mind was trying to erase what it had just heard. “I’m not sure that’s appropriate dinner conversation, but thanks for the update.”
He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin that had been folded like a swan beside his plate. But even the napkin origami didn’t disguise the two empty spots at the table. Sunday dinner without her grandparents still felt wrong.
“How are Gran and Gramps?” she asked, deciding even a painful topic was better than the current one.
Her mother sighed. “Well, you know how it is. I’ve been driving Gran back and forth every day, but she hates leaving him with strangers. It’s so busy there, and he gets upset about the noise. Without her there to calm him down he can get pretty agitated. No matter how good the staff is, they can’t soothe him like Gran can.” Tears threatened to spill from her mom’s eyes, but didn’t. Was she already becoming resigned to it?
The way Addison’s father reached out automatically and squeezed her mom’s hand was beautiful in its simplicity. As tame as her parents were, they sincerely loved each other, just as much as her grandparents did—at least, the ones on her mom’s side.
“We can still sell the house,” her father said, and her mother waved the dismissal she always did when the subject came up. “A real estate agent came by the other day and said they were looking for houses to sell in the neighborhood. Apparently, young families are buying the suburbs right now and developers can’t move fast enough to keep up.”
Her mother sighed. “I know you love my parents, too, Roger, but what about us? Where are we going to live?”
“If we invest the money, we might be able to pay rent on one of the married units at the home for your parents, and buy a decent older condo. Addison is grown up now. I’m sure she could handle it.”
Addison wanted her grandparents together and happy more than anything, but a small, selfish part of her would be sad to let go of the house where she’d grown up. She’d always thought she’d buy her parents out when they decided they wanted to downsize, but she was nowhere near financially ready for that. But even if she had the cash on hand, owning a house at her age? It seemed so . . . final.
“I guess we could get an appraisal, in case we decide to go that route.” The way her parents were gazing at each other, as though in silent communication, made her think they were getting used to the idea, which worried her. She wasn’t okay with it. Not just for her sake, but for her parents’. They had put so much time into this house. They loved it here and were close to their neighbors and would happily have lived here forever if money hadn’t gotten in the way.
If only she could get money fast. There was the car thing, but how could she even sell a boosted car? Fox knew the answer to that—but would he tell her?
Speaking of which, she checked the tracking app she’d designed for her phone. Fox was on the move, heading toward the city. Abruptly, she stood up, bumping the table.
“Where are you going?” her mother asked.
“Uhh.” She stared at her phone, itching to be on the road with him. “I have someone I . . . have to see.” Another truth. “It’s important.” On her way to the door, she grabbed her purse off the coffee table.
“Wait!” her mom cried, following her. “I made you a new pillow.” She plucked a pink puffy square from the couch and shoved it into Addison’s arms.
She winced and looked down at the gift. In purple stitching, it read I’D RATHER BE IN PARIS. It could join the other fifty needlepoint pillows on her bed, but how could she say no to something her mother made with love? She kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Mom. I love it.” She desperately needed a grandchild to spoil. Just not anytime in the next decade.
“See you next week, honey.”
She gave her mom a quick hug then flew to the door. “Love you, Dad!” she shouted on her way out.
