by M. E. Carter
“Oh sweetie, it’s so good to see you.” She hugs me, holding me tightly and I feel my shoulders begin to relax. There’s just something about my mother’s hugs that make everything right with the world.
I’m sure being an only child and a late-in-life baby is part of why we’re so close. I’ve heard all the stories about being a miracle baby to a couple who had given up on having a child.
That’s part of why my parents have always been great. They came to every gymnastics meet. They volunteered on the PTA. They worked behind the scenes for school programs. And they always did it with a smile on their faces. By contrast, I saw way too many moms also volunteer, but complain the whole time. It always seemed strange to me. Mine were always happily involved and other moms just weren’t.
In hindsight, I think those other moms were probably raising multiple kids, some of them on their own, and just trying to make it through the days. My parents, on the other hand, were at an age where they seemed much more chill and were able to let insignificant things go and enjoy the journey. They’re still that way.
Mom pulls away much too soon and looks me up and down. “That haircut! You are so glamorous. Are you sure you don’t live in New York City?”
“You like it?” I ask as I mess with the small hairs on the back of my head, trying to flatten them out even though they’re fine.
“I do. I never would have guessed something this short would look great on you, but you know me. I can’t visualize most things. This is why I work with numbers and not colors.”
She links our arms together, dragging me into the house and out of the heat and humidity.
“I was shocked at first,” I admit as we walk through the small living room into the kitchen where we all typically gather. “Thank goodness for apps that let you try out hairstyles first.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing.” She grabs a glass out of the cabinet to get me some water. She does it every time someone comes over. She doesn’t offer, just does. I love that about her. “You should show me how to use it. I’ve had this bun for way too long. I pine for the days when I had poofy bangs and multicolored lashes.”
I furrow my brows and run through my memories, but I have no recollection of what she’s talking about. “Wait… what? When did you have that?”
Mom hands me my water and sits down. “Long before you were born. You know this. We’ve told you stories.”
“Uh... I’m pretty sure you haven’t. I would have remembered.”
She thinks for a moment, confusion written all over her face. “Well, who did we talk to about this? Have you never seen the picture of the night your dad and I met?”
My hands go palms up and I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe?”
Mom laughs lightly. “Oh, dear. You would remember if you had. Come with me to the living room. Have I got a story for you.”
Abandoning our waters on the kitchen table, we head to the living room where I relax onto the couch we’ve had since I was a child. It’s old and frayed in places. But it’s also the most comfortable place in the house according to me. I watch as mom runs her fingers over the spines of several books on the shelf before pulling out the one she wants.
“Here it is.” When she opens it and begins rifling through things, I realize it’s not a real book. The inside is hollow and contains a bunch of pictures. No wonder I never saw it before. I never tried to read that book before.
Finding what she wants, Mom hands me a picture and my jaw drops.
“That’s Dad?”
“The one and only,” she says with an amused grin.
“But… he has a mohawk.” I look between her and the picture several times. “A spiky one.”
“Of course, he does. It was the 80’s. You wouldn’t dare go see The Ramones in concert with your hair down.”
The Ramones part doesn’t surprise me. They’ve always been music lovers. The hair, however, is a shock to my system.
I blink rapidly, still unable to wrap my mind around what I’m seeing. “But dad’s an accountant. They would never let him go to work looking like this.”
“Oh no. Never. During work hours he kept his hair down. His boss still didn’t like it. Called him a grown-up hippie, but it wasn’t against company policy so there was nothing he could do. At night, when we went out, your dad would grab the Dippity Do and Aqua Net, secure that puppy as high as he could get it, and use whatever temporary spray color he was in the mood for. That night I guess it was purple.”
I’m having a hard time wrapping my brain around all this. Especially since she has a dreamy look on her face. My mother. The most conservative dresser I know was gaga over a guy with spiky purple hair and charcoal eyeliner. I almost pinch myself to see if I’m dreaming.
“I’m sorry. I’ve… I’m still…” at a loss for words. “I have never seen him like this. Not even on Halloween.”
She pats my hand gently. “Honey, you were a late-in-life baby. You came along right when grunge was the thing and neither of us enjoyed that music phase at all. Thanks for giving us an out from those concerts by the way. Perfect timing on your part.”
I giggle. Sometimes I forget what a wry sense of humor my mom has.
“By the time that era was over and we could get on board with the musical fashion of the day again, you were in the gym five to six nights a week, sometimes until late, and we were driving you across the state to meets every weekend. We were too tired to get back into the music and concert scene.”
“It’s just so weird to think of you and dad out partying like that.”
“You think that’s strange… do you recognize the woman next to him?”
I look at the picture a little closer before I squeal, “Is that you?”
“Thirty-five years younger and forty pounds lighter,” she says with a giant smile.
Sure enough, my very youthful-looking mother is sporting bangs almost as high as my dad’s mohawk. She’s got one lace glove on and a see-through net shirt with a green bra underneath. I don’t think I can ever look at my responsible, strait-laced parents the same way again.
“This was at our very first Ramones concert,” she boasts. “We had mutual friends who wanted to go and they introduced us. The rest is history.”
“A history I have no knowledge of, apparently.”
“Not on purpose. I honestly thought you knew and just didn’t care.”
“No, I had no idea. I would have worried a lot less about you seeing my hair if I’d known about this. A lavender pixie cut is nothing compared to your giant feathered do.”
“Oh honey,” she says gently. “You were worried about us seeing your new style?”
I look up at her and see she’s morphed into concerned mom mode. This is the expression she would always give me when I had heavy things on my mind that I needed to talk out with someone I trusted. Words start tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“It’s not just the haircut. It’s the makeup and the break-up. There’s just so much happening and I feel like I’m becoming this new person. I like it, but I guess I’m afraid you won’t like the new me.”
She settles in a little, making sure to look me in the eye. “Let me ask you a question. Is the new you still kind and hard working. And maybe cares about people a bit too much?”
“Of course, Mom. Those things don’t change just because I look different.”
“Exactly.” She grabs my chin and leans in close. “You are still the same girl I know and love. The rest is just packaging.”
“I know that. I just get mixed reviews on everything right now.”
“How so?”
“My friends seem to love the new look. My job, my boss, Kevin, they seem to think I’ve lost my mind.”
My mother harumphs, lips pressed together in a hard line. “I’m not inclined to believe Kevin, or his mother, have an opinion that really matters right now.”
I hold back a smile, recognizing her mama bear instincts are kicking in. She didn
’t take the news of our break-up well. Not that the relationship ended, but the how and why of it all. “Are you still upset about the way Kevin dumped me?”
She sniffs and turns away. “I’m saying he lost his right to have a say in any part of your life the minute he took his mother’s advice and cast you aside. But that’s neither here nor there anymore.” She slaps my leg lightly, her mood shifting as fast as the conversation. “Tell me what else is going on with you.”
I bite my lip, wanting to spill the beans about Liam but afraid of doing it right on the heels of her displeasure with my last relationship. I don’t even know if I’m in a relationship right now. Sex and hanging out doesn’t always constitute a commitment.
Still, I want her to be included in the good things that are happening in my life, and Liam is a good thing. I decide to bite the bullet and see what happens.
“I met a man.”
Her eyes widen. “A man? What kind of man are we talking about?”
“What?”
“When you told me about Kevin you mentioned another guy. The word man sounds very…”
“…alpha. I know. But he’s a professional hockey player and he’s huge next to me so man sounds right.”
“Is he kind to you?”
I think back to the other night when his tongue was between my legs. Kind is an understatement. I don’t think my mother would appreciate that information, though.
“He is. He wants to hear my opinions on things and supports me when I make decisions like chopping off all my hair. He’s just… so much more than I had with Kevin. And it’s only been a short amount of time.”
“Can I be honest?”
“Sure.”
“I always knew you’d outgrow Kevin. I think he knew it too.”
This is surprising. Neither of my parents ever said anything about it before. “Really?”
“The benefit of being born to older parents is you were the only child in the room most of the time,” she explains. “You modeled your behavior after adults, while developing and expressing opinions of your own. You could hold your own about current events by the time you were ten. It’s one of the reasons you’re such an asset at your job. You know how to adjust to almost any situation.
“Kevin on the other hand, wasn’t raised to have his own thought processes. He’s stuck where he’s at because this was all he was supposed to be—a young man who was groomed to take over his family’s business at some point and to stay close to the hive.”
“You don’t think I’m staying close to the hive?”
“I think you’re your own person who has never had the chance to explore very far into the world. The curse of being born to older parents is that we’re much more conservative. Not necessarily in our views, but in trends and technology, things like that. In some ways, we weren’t able to introduce you to that side of life so you’re a little behind in knowing how parts of the world work.”
“You make it sound like I’m immature.”
“Quite the contrary. You’re almost too mature. It’s served you well, but now you’re finding another side of yourself. It seems to me that you’re finding out you’re trendier than you realized. Maybe you have an interest in makeup you never knew was there. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
If she only knew the other things I’m exploring.
“I think it might be time to get a new job.”
It’s the first time I’ve admitted that out loud and oddly, it doesn’t sound wrong.
Mom just smiles. “I was waiting for you to come to that conclusion. Like I said, you outgrew Kevin and you outgrew his family.”
I crinkle my nose and admit the other part of it all. “I’m kind of scared.”
“Good. Nothing good ever came from staying stagnant. Take a chance. Life should be an adventure. Besides, you’re young enough to fail. Do it now, when no one else is depending on you. Take the chances you’ll never get to take again.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She leans over and wraps me in her arms. “Always, baby. You’re the love of my life. Even with lavender hair.”
Chapter Eighteen
Liam
It’s been two weeks since my surgery. Probably the longest two weeks of my life. I’ve been stuck in this sling and haven’t been allowed to start physical therapy so I’ve been sitting on my ass all day every day watching television and feeling antsy. It sucks.
The sutures finally came out today and I was cleared to start squeezing a ball to build my muscles back up.
Yup. I’ve gone from hours on the ice every day, doing drills, shooting pucks, dodging opponents, and slamming into walls to squeezing. A fucking. Ball.
Irritated with the situation, I try to rear back and throw the damn thing across the room, but a searing pain shoots through my shoulder when I pull too far and the ball just ends up in my lap.
Hearing my hiss, Ellery’s eyes leave her laptop and glance over at me. “Careful. It’s only day one of PT.”
I sigh in frustration. Bored out of my mind, I look over at what she’s doing. Anything is better than yet another episode of Queer Eye at this point.
“What are you working on?”
“My resume.”
That grabs my attention. “Yeah? You need a new job?”
She opens her mouth to speak but closes it quickly and bites her lip.
“What?”
“Your number one rule is that his name doesn’t come up but I can’t tell you without saying it.”
“My number one rule is not saying his name when I’m inside you, not when we’re sitting on the couch in sweats,” I clarify.
“Oh.” She looks genuinely surprised which amuses me more than it probably should. My boredom must seriously be off the charts if I’m encouraging her to talk about her ex. “Well in that case—I don’t want to work for his family anymore. I don’t think his mom is as nice as she pretends to be and I’m ready for something new.”
I nod in understanding. “Solid plan. How’d you end up working there anyway?”
She leans forward and gently places her laptop on the coffee table before settling back against the cushions. “I guess because I was dating Kevin and they needed someone to fill that position. Seemed like a win/win at the time.”
“And now?”
She purses her lips. “Now I can’t help but wonder if the next girl he dates will get my job.”
“Oof. That’s rough. You really think that would happen?”
“I don’t know. But there’s nothing holding me there so I don’t really want to find out.”
I think for a second as I run through the list of people I know. I meet people from all backgrounds of life regularly and some of them are great people. Surely one of them would know of an opening that could fit Ellery’s skillset. In fact, I vaguely remember hearing something the other day.
“Have you applied at the administrative offices of the Slingers?”
“Your team’s office?”
“Yeah. Why not? I happen to know they have a position like that open right now.”
“A position like what?”
This is where my knowledge runs out. “Accounting or data or, I don’t know. It has something to do with numbers.”
Ellery laughs. “So maybe a cashier in food service?”
I pinch her ribs making her squeal, then pull her until she’s straddling me. She has to help me out, but the end result is still the same. “That’s enough out of you, smartass.”
She opens her legs wider, connecting us right where I want, she grinds her sweet spot into me making us both groan. My lips immediately find hers for a passionate kiss, but I have more questions I want answers to.
Pulling back, I can’t help but admire how her lips are already a bit swollen from me. “What else have you always wanted to try but didn’t?”
“What do you mean?”
I smooth out the cute little furrow between her brows. “Well, you colored your hair, then you got some red lipstick
.”
“You like when I wear my red lipstick.”
“I like you wearing it and wrapping those red lips around my cock.”
She smacks my good arm, but I barely feel it with how tiny she is.
“Then you cut your hair. What else do you want to try?”
She thinks and a blush creeps up her face. Now I’m really intrigued.
“What?” I encourage with a quick squeeze to her rear.
“I sort of made a to-do list. Like a bucket list but not quite as extravagant.”
“Oooooh. What’s on that list? Anything sexual?”
She giggles and I can’t help but enjoy seeing the smile on her face. Her being here with me is the only thing keeping me in a halfway decent mood.
“You’re the idea man on anything in the bedroom.”
“Damn straight, baby.”
She runs her fingers through my hair, not making eye contact so I know she’s fighting her nerves. But to her credit, she finally spills the tea.
“I’ve always thought about getting a tattoo.”
I’m surprised by her admission, but less so than she probably thinks. “Now we’re talking. What kind of tattoo? Where do you want it?”
She twists her lips, clearly embarrassed to tell me.
“Don’t be shy. Tell me.”
“A rib tattoo.”
I pull the hem of her shirt up and inspect that part of her body. Her skin is smooth and creamy—a perfect canvas for some art. I really want to be there when she takes this leap.
Smirking at her, I decide tonight is the night. “So, let’s go.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “What, now?”
“Why not? I don’t have anything better to do unless you count sitting here squeezing a damn ball. You have big plans or something?”
She bites her bottom lip and I can practically see the cogs turning in her brain. I raise my eyebrows in question, waiting for her answer.
Finally, she smiles and I know she’s getting some ink tonight.
“Fine,” she says haughtily. “Let’s do it.”
• • •
