Muffin Top

by Avery Flynn

  …

  “Hey Muffin, can I have a quick word before you go?”

  The perma-grin she’d been wearing since she walked into the living room and had seen Frankie standing there with a corsage faded away. Muffin. She fucking hated that nickname. It hurt a little each time her dad said it.

  “Sure.” She looked at Frankie, who was hot as hell in jeans and plain devastating in a suit. “Do you mind if I stay back here for a second?”

  Frankie winked and gave her hand a squeeze before scooping Gussie up from the floor and walking with the dog out onto the front porch. Once he’d cleared the door, her dad turned to her, the serious expression on his face giving her no doubts that this wasn’t going to be a very fun conversation.

  “I know I’ve said it before, but are you sure this is just friendly?” her dad asked.

  “Enough.” Tension tightened her shoulders until they ached. “He’s just a friend, Dad, it’s nothing serious. Why do you keep fixating on this?”

  “Maybe it’s because I’ve been there.”

  And everything she’d stuffed down, all the promises not to let someone in like her dad hit her right in the feels. Unlike those who’d only read about it in books, she’d never seen the romance in unrequited love. She’d seen it from too close up as she watched her dad interact with her mom and seen how he had to rebuild himself after her mom had left—again.

  “Believe me. I’m not the kind of girl someone like him goes after for the long term. Really, I’m not sure that there is a type of girl for him for that.”

  Her dad gave her a considering look. “So what, this is just for fun?”

  Okay, this wasn’t an awkward conversation to have with her dad even if he was a sex therapist. Nope. Not at all.

  “Yep, just for fun,” she said as embarrassment burnt her cheeks.

  And please God let that be the end of this conversation. Unfortunately for her, the big guy upstairs was busy with other things at the moment, because as she moved closer to the doorway and a quick exit, her dad cut off her escape.

  “You know, when I first met your mom, it was like that.” He picked up a framed picture of Lucy from the bookcase near the doorway. The shot was one of the few that were pre-divorce, showing the three of them (her and her dad holding dripping ice cream cones) at a park. “It was fun. Then things happened so fast, and I thought I could change her, make her want something more than just fun. It’s hard if not impossible to change other people, but you can change yourself for the better.”

  The sadness in her dad’s voice cut through both ventricles of her heart with an efficiency that left her breathless. Even after all these years, even after everything her mom had done to him—to them—he still loved her. And that’s why this had to be just fun between her and Frankie, because if it was more then there was only misery at the end. If she’d even thought they had any hope, Frankie’s story about his dad would have extinguished it.

  The reality of all that sparked an anger inside her she couldn’t explain, but it burned hot and bright and immediate, so she lashed out at the closest person just like she had in high school.

  “Frankie and I are not you and Mom,” she said, her voice dripping with resentment and fury.

  Her dad’s professionally neutral expression never slipped. “I know that, Muffin, but—”

  “I wish you would stop calling me that.” God, she hated it. Had always hated it. Weren’t fathers the ones who were supposed to love their daughters no matter what?

  “Muffin?” A divot of confusion made a deep V in his forehead. “It’s short for Muffin Top.”

  “I’m well aware of what it means and why you call me that.” She inhaled a breath to slow her racing heart and tried to block out all the times the word Muffin or Muffin Top had been used against her at school, each syllable edged with cruelty as if she didn’t realize that her body shape—the one she was so beyond apologizing for, not that she ever should have in the first place, but the world did a real job on a woman it deemed undesirable—didn’t fit society’s ideal. She’d never gotten that cutting denouncement from her dad, but that didn’t mean his choice of nicknames didn’t hurt. “Still, it would really be nice if you’d stop.”

  “But I’ve called you that forever, and it describes how I feel about you so well.”

  And that was a Mack-truck level whack to the gut. “What?” She gasped. “Disappointed by my size just like Mom had been?”

  “God no,” her dad said, his voice cracking with emotion as he reached out to her, taking her hands in his own. “I started calling you Muffin Top because it’s the best part of the muffin. And as time went on, I shortened it to Muffin. It was never about your size.” He pulled her in for a tight hug that she felt all the way down to her bones. “Lucy,” he said, his voice shaking with sincerity. “I love you no matter what you look like because you’re my daughter—and the best one I could ever imagine anyone having. I’m so sorry that the nickname I started using before you could walk has sounded like a dig at your size. I’ll stop using it. Now. Today. Right away.”

  And there went the tears, washing away all of that built-up resentment about her most hated nickname. Her friends in elementary school had heard her dad use it and picked it up, too. And it had followed her straight through high school. Hell, people in this town still referred to her as Muffin Kavanagh. And she was sure they used the nickname for a very different reason. That didn’t mean it was her dad’s fault, though.

  “Dad, you don’t have to.”

  He took a step back, keeping his hands on her shoulders, and looked her straight in the eye. “I never want to do anything to make you second-guess what an amazing woman you’ve become. I’m so very proud of what you’ve done with your life. I know I wasn’t always the best father—”

  “Dad,” she broke in. “You were great.”

  And because he looked like he was about to argue the point, she wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her head against his neck, breathing in the woodsy-sugary scent that she always associated with him.

  “What do you think of Sweet Pea? No, that’s food again. What about Lulu?”

  Chuckling, she took a step back and used the back of her hand to wipe away the wetness on her cheeks—thank you, world’s best waterproof mascara—and gave him a smile. “How about Lucy?”

  He opened his mouth, shut it, and then gave her a chagrined look. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re not my little girl dancing around in the kitchen anymore, are you?”

  Again, a giant thanks going out to whomever invented waterproof mascara because she was about to lose it again. Here she had been dreading coming home because she couldn’t help but fall back into those same patterns and face the same demons she had while being a half-bratty, half-lost fifteen-year-old and all her dad saw was the fourth-grader in pigtails jamming out while she emptied the dishwasher. Going home again wasn’t without dangers—she looked at her dad, gazing at her with such love and hope that she gave in to the tears—but it wasn’t without rewards also.

  “I may not be dancing in the kitchen, Daddy, but I’ll always be your girl.”

  And she would. Some things a person didn’t outgrow, but the real blessing of getting older was finally learning which old hurts to hold onto and which ones to let go.

  “Have fun tonight,” he said, giving her a tight squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  By the time she stepped out onto the front porch, her eyes were dry, her makeup repaired, and her spirit lighter than it had been in a long time.

  “Everything okay?” Frankie asked as he handed Gussie over to her dad and walked her to Scarlett, where he held open the door for her.

  God, how to answer that? She had a million possibilities but, looking up at Frankie as she got into the passenger seat, there was only one that seemed to fit this moment. “The only thing that could make it better is if Constance decides to stay home.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll decide not to come,” Frankie said w
ith a grimace.

  “It doesn’t matter.” And it really didn’t.

  That’s what she’d been missing all this time, and it was past time that she realized it. The conversation with her dad, though, helped settle some of the emotional flotsam and jetsam that had been swirling around inside her for as long as she could remember.

  Sure, that girl who’d walked through the halls of Antioch High School still lived inside her. However, she had grown up, learned to stand up for herself, and had prospered with a great job and amazing friends. Coming home again didn’t change that. If Antioch hadn’t changed while she’d been away, well, there was nothing she could do about it. But she wasn’t giving up all she’d gained just because she’d crossed the city line.

  “What’s that smile about?” Frankie asked, pausing the motion of closing her door.

  “I’m just happy.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of his ornery mouth. “Then I say we let the good times roll.”

  “Best idea ever.”

  “I don’t know.” He lowered his voice and gave her a heated look. “I kinda like the one you had last night. I’m looking forward to a repeat. I have made plans of the hotel variety.”

  There went her panties, because there was no way she wouldn’t spend the night thinking about exactly what he had in mind and hoping like hell it was the same naked, orgasmic things making her pulse speed up. However, judging by the singe-your-eyebrows-off heat level of the kiss he gave her before shutting her door, she didn’t really have to wonder. She just had to be patient. That man did love to draw things out, and she had a feeling the dance was going to be one long act of foreplay.

  Who knew, maybe she could sneak him behind the football stand and have her wicked way with him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The school gym had been transformed into an updated replica of the Under the Sea prom that had been held Lucy’s senior year. At least, she assumed it’s what it had looked like, with the mermaids and starfish decorating the walls, the blue and white balloons, and fish-shaped confetti scattered across the registration table.

  “So what song are you two gonna sing?” Haven Sheraton asked as she handed Lucy her nametag. “For the last event in the decathlon, I mean.”

  Oh shit. She whipped her head around and stared at Frankie, who was giving her a mouth-open look of pure horror that matched hers. With all that had had gone on, it had totally left her mind.

  “Sing?” she managed to get out.

  “Yeah, you remember how Constance loves to sing,” Haven said with a wistful sigh. “I thought she was gonna be on Broadway before all of that other stuff happened.”

  As the panic of it really being time to break out the karaoke started to abate, she remembered how Constance would stroll the halls of Antioch High School surrounded by her friends as she sang everything from the Broadway classics to the latest hits. Even as a teenager, she’d been confident that every dream she’d ever had would come true.

  “So, it’s karaoke time?” Frankie asked without the usual humor in his voice.

  “Exactly,” Haven said before leaning forward and lowering her volume to a mere whisper. “Good luck, a lot of us are rooting for y’all.”

  Lucy probably would have spent the next five minutes staring at Haven with a blank expression if it hadn’t been for Frankie, who steered her away from the registration table and over to a corner outside of the gym doors. As people streamed by, she finished processing her what-the-fuck-people-are-rooting-for-us moment and realized that Frankie “Mr. Confidence” Hartigan looked like he was about to puke on his shoes.

  “Oh my God.” She pressed her palms to his cheeks, checking for a temperature. “Are you okay?”

  “I gotta remind you of something.” He glanced over at the people passing by as if they were aliens on the hunt for a new human skin suit. “I can’t sing.”

  She let out a relieved sigh, and the worry yanking her shoulders up to her earlobes eased. “Me either, that’s okay. We’ll suck together.”

  “No.” He shook his head and visibly gulped. “I. Can’t. Sing.”

  That’s when it hit her. The man who could probably talk the devil himself into giving Frankie a pass on an eternity in hell was petrified of singing in front of people. Like scared-out-of-his-mind-to-the-tenth-degree petrified. If he didn’t look like it was the end of the world, she would have laughed. This was not the moment for giggles, though. This was serious. And for what? A stupid crown? Totally not worth it.

  “No big deal,” she said and brushed her lips across his cheek. “We’ll skip the event.”

  He narrowed his blue eyes at her. “Then Constance will win.”

  A few days ago, even the idea of letting her old high school nemesis win would have been among the worst things possible. Now? Well, reality had run one helluva check on her life and had given her a new perspective. That old shit didn’t matter. She had a good life, great friends, and was about to spend the night dancing with a man who made her do the happy sighs, if only for a limited time. All of that was way better than nursing old grudges and hurts.

  “It’s no biggie,” she said. “I’d rather spend the night dancing with you.”

  “Are you sure?” Frankie asked, the tone in his voice telling her just how unsure he was of her answer.

  “We head back to Waterbury in the morning,” she said, keeping her voice as light as possible and leaving out what that meant to her and how much she was going to miss him when they got back to their real lives. “I’d rather squeeze in all the fun and memories I can tonight rather than get caught up in some stupid high-school level competition.”

  Whether he realized what she was holding back or not didn’t matter in the next moment because that’s when he kissed her, taking away whatever worries she harbored and sweetening the bittersweet reality that all of this was ending soon. And what a kiss. Damn. The man really should teach a class, with her being his star—and only—student. By the time he pulled away, she was breathless and flushed.

  “We could just spend the night doing that,” he said, his gaze dropping to the deep V-neck of her dress. “Think we can get access to the library? I’ve always had a thing about getting up a hot chick’s skirt in the stacks.”

  “You’re horrible,” she said with a giggle.

  He gave her another quick kiss. “And you love it.”

  Damn her mutinous body, she did. It was going to be years before she worked that fantasy out of her jilling off rotation. And since going through those gym doors looking like a woman who’d just considered having a quickie in the library wasn’t on her to-do list for this week, she took a step out of kissing range. “I’ll be right back.”

  Thank God the girl’s bathroom was right across the hall. Ignoring the curious looks from the people she’d graduated with—and one woman holding up a half-filled wine glass in a congratulatory toast—she hustled into the bathroom. All it took was one look in the mirror to have her reaching for her purse. Her red lipstick had definitely traveled during that knee-knocking kiss. She was just pulling out a makeup removing sheet, a must-have for anyone who, like her, was addicted to red lipstick, when she heard a noise coming from one of the stalls.

  She paused and cocked her head to the side, listening closely. There it was again. It sounded like a sniffle. No, more than that. It sounded like one of those soul-wracking swallowed sobs that only followed the worst kind of trouble. There was no way she was slinking out of here without making sure the woman hiding in the stall was all right.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  There was a moment of silence, followed by the door opening and revealing a red-eyed Constance with her trembling chin held high. “I’m fine.” But her voice shook when she said it, and she was clutching tear-soaked tissue in one fisted hand as she walked out of the stall. “And if I wasn’t, you would be the last person on earth who could help.”

  Something inside Lucy snapped at that snark, whatever residual fear of the high schoo
l mean girl fading away into nothingness. It was like having a titanic-sized burden she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying for years disappearing.

  “What is your problem, Constance?” she asked, curious despite it all. “I mean, I understand being a bitchy girl for no reason in high school, but don’t you think it’s time to grow up? Life is too damn hard to add all of this bullshit drama to it.”

  The other woman glared at her in the mirror. “Like you’d know about life being hard.”

  Was she kidding? That had to be a joke. “I think I know more than most folks.”

  “Really?” Constance snorted in disbelief and tore a length of brown paper towel from the dispenser and put it under the automatic water faucet. “You got to leave Antioch.” She pulled the damp paper towel from under the flow of water and wrung out the excess moisture. “You got to go have a life outside of this small town.” She patted the towel against the red puffiness under her eyes as she continued to glower at Lucy. “You got to be something other than that woman who peaked in high school.”

  Of all the whiny complaints. The woman who had made Lucy’s life hell in high school was bitching about those years being the best of her life and the fact that they ended? What a crock of shit.

  “You could have gone, too,” she shot back. “Nothing was stopping you.”

  Constance balled up the paper towel, holding it in her white-knuckled, fisted hand. “Just a little thing called chemotherapy treatment, and when that didn’t work, a double mastectomy at nineteen. Yeah, I had nothing but choices—of course, mine were of the cancer-treatment variety.”

  All the air got sucked out of the room by the mere mention of the C-word, and it made Lucy’s lungs ache. Okay, she hadn’t expected that—hadn’t even heard a whisper about it. It wasn’t an excuse for how Constance had acted in high school, but if she had the mastectomy before twenty, she must have been diagnosed when they were eighteen and still in high school. God. She must have been scared out of her mind.

  “I didn’t know,” Lucy said. “I’m sorry.”