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Well, damn, this woman took her flowers pretty seriously. How the hell was he supposed to know this was such a big deal?
He scrubbed the back of his neck and cradled the receiver between his cheek and shoulder and slid his phone from his back pocket, his fingers flying across the screen as he sent Jillian a text he was certain she wouldn’t answer in time. “Is there anything like…I don’t know, generic?” He searched his brain and cursed the fact Connor wasn’t around to give color advice. “Like wouldn’t white work?”
Once again the clerk huffed and mumbled under her breath. Before she could admonish him again for some random floral faux pas he had no idea he was even committing, his phone sprang to life blaring out the pop tune he’d assigned to Jillian.
Saved by the obnoxious, overplayed song.
Jillian: It’s dark blue. Although you asking, much less caring, is slightly concerning.
Dean typed back a “thanks” accompanied by the middle finger emoji. He cared about stuff. Maybe not dresses or flowers, but he cared about the shows she watched and what she wanted to do with her life. He cared about her dreams and her plans.
Wasn’t that what really mattered? Not some stupid wrist bouquet. Who the hell came up with that thing anyway?
“Blue,” he finally managed to blurt out the word. “Her dress is a dark blue. And she has red hair and green eyes.” He had no idea why he felt the need to add that, but it was important.
For some really strange reason he didn’t actually care about, that answer seemed to please the irritating woman on the other end of the phone. “Good, very good, I can work with that. It will be ready for pick up at five Saturday evening. We close at six, so please be prompt.”
With that she hung up and he was left to stare at the phone. This was all getting way too weird. Since Erica broke up with him after the most ridiculous fight of his life, he just figured taking Jillian to the homecoming dance he’d already bought tickets for would be the easiest option.
That was a joke.
His mother leaned against the archway leading from the kitchen to the living room, her arms folded in front of her and a knowing smirk firmly in place. “Wasn’t as easy as you thought, was it?”
Respect dictated he control his tone, but being the baby of the family did offer a few benefits. Mostly that, even though Connor liked to believe he was their mother’s favorite child, she had a soft spot for her baby, the last child she would ever have.
So he knew he could offer an eye roll accompanied by a slightly chagrined smile and not get reprimanded. “As usual, you were right. Which is kind of annoying.”
Her grin widened in response. “There has to be some perks to being the mother of four boys.”
Dean bent slightly at the waist and planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek, a well-used tactic to stay firmly on her good side. “You mean other than having bragging rights for creating four spectacular specimens of mankind?”
She half snorted, half laughed and pushed off the wall, walking toward the backdoor and grabbing her garden gloves along the way. “Yeah, fantastic. When they aren’t giving me headaches or heart attacks or backtalk.”
***
Jillian
Ten Years Earlier
“But we have a gala scheduled tonight. You’ll just have to cancel.”
The utterly dismissive tone in her mother’s voice set her teeth on edge. She couldn’t count the number of events at her own school she’d missed because Helena required Jillian’s presence at some ridiculous, over the top affair designed to make her mother look like the philanthropist of the year.
Jillian couldn’t miss this. She’d not only promised Dean she’d go, she still held a measure of guilt over the fact that the only reason he even needed someone to go with him was because of the disastrous double date she’d insisted on.
Her stomach churned at the memory of the night that ended with them both single. Yeah, she definitely needed to make this up to him.
“I’m sorry, Mother, but Dean has already purchased the tickets and I’ve picked out a gown.” She schooled her face into as cold and aloof of a mask as she could. Basically just emulating her mother. “I won’t be able to attend your gala function.”
Helena’s jaw worked back and forth in a barely perceptible motion, but one that Jillian was well attuned to. “I do not recall telling you that your presence was optional.”
A small bead of fear iced Jillian’s spine, but she straightened nonetheless, bringing herself to her full height. While Helena had never raised a hand to her, and never would, Jillian always had a need to please her mother in hopes of gaining some small amount of approval from the older woman. And to avoid the arctic silent treatment sure to follow any disappointing moments.
“I told you about this over a week ago, again last weekend, and three days ago.” She pulled in a shaky breath, hoping her mother hadn’t noticed the defect in her outward composure. “I have made a commitment, it would be unfair and irresponsible of me to break it. Besides, Bradford is home from VMI and you can,” her tongue caught the word ‘force’ before it spilled free, “ask him to wear his uniform. I am sure that will be much more impressive than having me in attendance.”
Unspoken was Jillian’s full belief that her mother loved her brother more. That she could never quite measure up to the standard Bradford had set just by being born a boy.
Rather than respond, Helena left Jillian to finish getting dressed in her room. The knot that had formed in her gut the moment her mother entered tightened a bit more. She was certain her mother would have some retribution for the entire event, most especially for Jillian’s unwillingness to back down and give Helena what she wanted.
