Breathless Page 6

  “Maybe we should go now,” I said, grabbing my wallet and stuffing it into my pocket. “Yeah. That would be best.”

  My mom was chatty the entire drive to the mall. Normally, we would sit in awkward silence. I would scour my brain the entire time, hoping to find some way to fill the empty space. There was no need for that today. She was rambling on about everything from the new Thai sit-down restaurant near the food court to a nightmare patient she tended to yesterday morning at the clinic.

  Once inside, she dragged me from store to store, forcing me to try on at least a dozen shirts in pretty pastel shades that made me want to vomit. Soft and girly seemed to be the fashion trend this spring, and I wasn’t biting. But, she was insistent—despite our recent dispute and my resulting grounding—on treating me to something new. I settled for a pale gray blouse with nominal frill and a pair of dark denim slacks. I had a sudden interest in at least making myself presentable, and I saw this as an opportunity to tweak my wardrobe in the direction of sophisticated chic. I couldn’t say why I cared, but I thought it was a look that would appeal to Chaseyn. He had a dark edge, but he was laid back and casual. Think James Dean in color.

  “Chaseyn will love that,” my mom said, reaffirming my thoughts as though she were reading my mind.

  I just smiled, and tossed a second blouse on the counter. Another one that I was sure would impress Chaseyn. Addie would, of course, be impressed too, but her opinion was secondary in this equation. The notion wasn’t lost on my mom, who laughed at my sudden interest in enhancing my appearance. I felt my cheeks get warm. My mom wrapped one arm around my shoulder loosely and ruffled my hair with the other. She hadn’t done anything like that since before my dad had died. It felt weird but good. I couldn’t suppress the huge smile that was forming across my face as I quickly raised my right arm and tousled her hair in much the same way. She had forgotten that, unlike when I was eight and could barely reach the top of her shoulders with my fingers outstretched, I was now two inches taller than her and could easily repay the unwanted favor.

  “Hey,” she shrieked, running out of the store into the crowded mall. I grabbed my bag and chased after her, hands raised in the air in a threatening manner. I had been dreading spending the day alone with my mom, but to my surprise, we were having a great time. Circling each other in outside the door, we each got in a few good tickles before calling a truce.

  “Let’s eat,” my mom stated, and she guided me toward the food court. She didn’t have to say anything for me to know that we were going to put the Thai restaurant she had been rambling about earlier to a massive taste test.

  “Anything you want,” my mom said as we perused the menu. “Today is a special treat.”

  She didn’t have to say any more for me to know that she was having more fun than we had enjoyed together in years…since Brad. Even longer…since my dad. The past week had been flurry of unusual activities. From Chaseyn’s first day at Evergreen High School to my grounding, so much had happened in the past six days. Despite the immediate tension between my mother and I following Friday night’s shakedown, we had grown immeasurably close since. Chaseyn seemed to be the common denominator. Something we could both agree on.

  “So,” my mom began so teasingly that I feared what would come from her mouth next. “Do you like him?”

  “Ugh,” was all I could manage to say in response. Over the years, I had closed off my emotions from my mom. While things were going great today, I wasn’t about to open the floodgates. This type of talk was strictly reserved for Addie, and occasionally, Stella, Britney, Lainie, and Chloe.

  “What,” she asked genuinely. “I’m not embarrassed to say that I like him.”

  “Mo-om,” I begged. “Please…”

  “Well, I just wanted you to know that I think he seems like a very nice, respectable young man, and I approve of your seeing him. And, you decided to wear the bracelet today, so I can only assure you feel the same way. That’s all I’m going to say.”

  She pinched her thumb and index finger together on her right hand and dragged them across her lips—the international symbol for zipping a mouth and ending a conversation. I took the opportunity to change the subject.

  “Let’s try the fried noodles.”

  Nodding, my mom smiled and signaled to the server that we were ready to order.

  The next few minutes were spent in awkward silence as my mom tried to recover from her earlier attempt at igniting an intimate conversation about my extracurricular interests. Finally, we settled into an easy discussion about potential scholarship opportunities and my top choices for continuing my academic career. After stuffing our mouths with the final few morsels, we concluded that the food was every bit as good as it was touted to be. We dabbed our lips with the stiff cloth napkins and continued on our way through the rest of the mall.

  Walking out of the restaurant, we passed a woman teetering on the top of five-inch heels. My mom and I wandered aimlessly for the next few minutes, debating the practical uses of stilettos. Though we made every effort to determine the need for such intolerable pain, we failed to find a justifiable reason to submit our feet to such torture. As our conversation came to an inevitable end, we stopped dead in our tracks and uttered the same word in unison.

  “Shoes,” we said loudly, looking at each other and then the storefront before us. At least the conversation had led us some place other than a dead end in our afternoon.

  I could go months without ever stepping foot inside a fashion boutique. The need for new clothes was limited when you had a less-than-stellar social life, but even I would be remiss to pass up a shiny new pair of shoes. There, in the window, was arguably the most spectacular pair of ballerina flats my eyes had ever had the good fortune of being set upon—the perfect accessory to my new jeans. Before I could even set foot inside the door—I was still contemplating the unfortunate truth of the enormous price tag on the nearby plaque—I could hear my mother asking the sales associate if he had them in a size seven.

  “Mom,” I hollered, an air of disappointment in my tone at the realization I could not afford the hefty sum. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She simply waved me off and followed behind the clerk as he motioned to a nearby bench.

  “They’re way out of my budget,” I told her once I had caught up. “I’m just going to look around for something else.”

  At that moment, the associate appeared with an open box. He pulled paper stuffing from the toe of the right shoe, before handing it to me for assessment.

  “Just try it on for kicks,” my mom insisted. I hated disappointment. If they looked good, I was just going to feel badly when I had to leave them in the store. But, I decided to humor her anyway. The day had been going so well that I didn’t want to ruin it with my spoilsport mood.

  “Oh honey,” my mom sighed, first looking at my foot and then up at me sweetly with wide eyes. “You have to look.”

  Again, in an effort not to ruin the mood, I positioned myself in front of the full-length mirror. My eyes lit up, and I understood my mom’s reaction. The last pair of shoes that caused such a reaction were the red patent ones my dad had bought for my first picture with Santa when I was five. Judging by the faint smile across her face, I was sure my mom had recalled the same memory.

  “We’ll take them,” my mom said before I had a chance to even put on the second shoe. I ran over and hugged her. Something I hadn’t done in more years than I could count on one hand. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I choked them back before she could see. We had made major headway today.

  Collecting our bags, we decided to leave the mall before we could do any more damage to our pocketbooks. We had spent more than enough of our hard-earned dollars for one day. For the second time in as many days, we would head to the grocery store together to assemble the contents of our dinner. Only this time, we would be cooking for three.

  The thought of Chaseyn joining us again tonight hadn’t escaped my mind for even one second today. Every moment, I
was painfully aware of the fact that in just a few short hours he would be subjected to another round of relentless questioning by my all-too-nosy mother. Last night, I knew she was practicing a certain level of self-restraint as she fished for information about his family. Tonight, I feared, she would be more driven to ascertain personal details.

  Wheeling the buggy through the narrow aisles, I searched for oregano and garlic, while my mom sought out noodles and ground beef. She would attempt to win over Chaseyn with her award-winning pasta sauce—a secret recipe that had been in the family for generations. Jameson women were only made privy to the entire ingredients list after their eighteenth birthday. I had to admit, it was impressive, and I was moderately anxious for the day all would be revealed. Until then, I settled for participating in gathering the obvious components.

  I returned to where we had agreed to meet and found my mom chatting with the man who was standing behind the meat counter—likely the butcher. They were laughing at something random, and I couldn’t help but notice how she touched his arm playfully. Was my mom flirting? Just a few years ago, such an interaction would likely have sent me into a tantrum right there in the middle of the store, but today, I just smiled. Over the past two days, my mood had lightened considerably, and while we still needed to make major adjustments to our jilted relationship, I was starting to see her in a new light. She deserved happiness. I couldn’t expect her to sit around and pine over her lost love while I forged a new friendship—and hopefully more, I was quickly realizing—with Chaseyn.

  Mid-sentence, my mom straightened to perfect posture and said a stern goodbye to the man with whom, just a moment ago, she had engaged in a friendly chat. “Kevin” was embroidered in bright red letters over the breast pocket of his white coveralls. It was a good, solid name; the name of a hard-working man who garnered respect, I imagined. His smile dropped at her dramatic change in behavior. Suddenly, I realized the problem. It was me. She had seen me coming in her peripheral vision.

  “Mom,” I said, trying to sound overly happy, approving. “Who’s your friend?”

  Earlier, she had worked hard to seek answers from me about Chaseyn. Now, it was my turn to repay the favor. Her back turned to the counter, and she rolled her eyes at me. I winked in response.

  “Lia, this is Kevin. Kevin, this is my daughter,” she said reluctantly.

  “Lia! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Your mom has told me so much about you,” he said, extending his hand to take mine in a firm grasp.

  What had appeared to be an innocent exchange between two strangers quickly turned into an uncomfortable situation. If he had heard about me, it indicated that my mom and Kevin had spoken before. I wondered what else they may have done before—dinner. A movie, perhaps? Was that why she had been out late so many nights recently? Had she been lying to me about working double shifts? I was sad at the thought that she felt she needed to hide her happiness from me. At the same time, I knew I would no longer be on house arrest. If she had been lying to me, she had no right to keep me confined.

  She looked at me and shrugged.

  “Kevin, would you like to join us for dinner,” I asked shamelessly. Two could play at this game. I gave my mom another wink, turned on my heel, and walked away. She had plenty of explaining to do later, but for now, I would leave them alone to discuss the details.

  My mom was both giddy and furious on the way home. On the one hand, she was relieved that I was more open to her having a relationship than I was when she was with Brad. She was incredibly excited about the opportunity for Kevin and I to get to know each other. She rambled on about what to wear and how little time she had to prepare herself and the meal. My mom was pretty. Much prettier than most women her age, and Kevin wasn’t shabby either. I tried to convince her that she would look fabulous in a paper bag, and judging by the way Kevin looked at her, he would be satisfied just being in her presence. It was refreshing to see her so uninhibited. Cleverly, or so I thought, I offered to make the secret sauce, but she was paying more attention than I had realized and shot down the idea before I was even finished saying the words.

  I tried to throw some heat in her direction, asking her why she lied to me and kept their relationship a secret. She flashed me an apologetic look and simply said that she couldn’t stand to put me through another episode like she did with Brad. She wanted to scope out the situation first to be sure Kevin was one of the good guys. She also admitted that she was more than a little bit concerned about how I might react. I wanted to be mad, but I knew she was right to have these feelings. We had such a fun day that I decided not to put a wrench in things by coming down too hard on her. At the same time, she reprimanded me for sticking my nose in her business. I pointed out the obvious, that she was doing the same to me with Chaseyn, but she reminded me at least a dozen times that as the parent in our relationship, and she had the authority to take such actions. I was simply the child.

  Once we were safely inside the house, my mom put me to work chopping vegetables, boiling pasta, and spreading garlic butter on a loaf of bread before popping it in the oven to warm. Meanwhile, she dashed around like a madwoman, primping and pressing in preparation for Kevin’s arrival. I ran throughout the living room with a feather duster, doing my best to make it look relatively tidy. There was little time left for me to dress, but my mom looked stunning in the red silk blouse she had bought earlier during our shopping day, and a pair of dark, wide-legged jeans. I ran up to my room and tossed on one of my new blouses and a pair of jeans. I pulled my tousled hair into a slick ponytail, applied a dab of blush to each cheek, and swiped a sheer gloss across my lips. I hoped Chaseyn liked the fresh-faced look. It was all I had time for.

  Chapter 11 - Dinner Guests

  We sat nervously poised on the edge of the couch waiting for our guests to arrive. At precisely 6 p.m., there was a light rap on the door. My mom nudged my ribs with the point of her elbow. I took the hint and crossed the room quickly. A slight smile creased the corners of my lips when I peered through the peephole to find a thick mane of jet black hair—save the one icy stripe—filling the empty space. Gauging my reaction, my mom understood who had arrived first and excused herself to the kitchen under the guise of checking on our culinary efforts. I knew she was giving us a moment alone, and I opened the door to greet my mysterious acquaintance. I could hardly consider him much more than that. I had only known him six days, after all.

  “Hi,” he said, a hint of his exquisite accent escaping his plump lips.

  “Hi,” I said, looking down at my feet shyly. I wasn’t sure what to do next. I had never had a boy to dinner before. Not like this anyway. Sure, Rob had come over with Addie, and my grade school best friend, Justin, had come over a few times, but this was different. Though I had trouble admitting it earlier to my mom, I really was starting to like Chaseyn.

  “Can I,” he motioned inside with his hand, initiating the first move.

  “Oh, of course,” I said, a flush rising in my cheeks. I stepped aside so he could enter the main room. “Do you want to sit down?”

  Almost as soon as I said it, I felt stupid. Why would he want to stand around? Of course, he would want to sit down.

  “Actually, I was hoping to help out,” he said, surprising me. “Is there anything I can do?”

  He handed me his jacket and began rolling back the sleeves of his gray dress shirt. It was hanging loose over a pair of faded jeans. My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t know much about him, but it was obvious that he was sincere, thoughtful. I couldn’t imagine any of the other boys in my grade making a similar offer without someone forcing their hand. Before I could realize what he was doing, Chaseyn gently entwined his fingers with mine and guided me toward the kitchen. I looked up to catch him gazing intently down at me, his fair skin glowing in the pale moonlight that crept through the living room shades. I hadn’t noticed—my mom and I had been so nervous—we had forgotten to turn on a light; we had been sitting in darkness. I smiled, and followed the lead of the
lovely stranger who held my hand in a firm embrace. We glided together, our feet moving in perfect unison.

  “Why don’t you stir the sauce,” I said, passing Chaseyn a wooden spoon.

  “Lia, he’s a guest. Don’t you put him to work,” my mom snapped with a loving chide.

  “No, Mrs. Jameson, it’s fine. I asked to help.”

  My mom’s eyes opened wide in awe, and she sent a look of true appreciation my way. Chaseyn dipped the spoon into the sauce, then lifted it slowly to his lips, one hand placed slightly beneath the spoon in an effort to catch stray drippings before they could splatter on the floor below. His lips barely touched the savory concoction before he let out a gloriously smooth purr of approval.

  “Hey,” I teased. “Did I say you could do that?”

  He looked up from beneath his brow, grinning wickedly as he took another taste.

  “Did you make this,” he asked. “You don’t strike me as the domestic type.”

  “Is that an insult,” I asked, hands on my hips to feign anger.