“I can’t believe we did it in a doctor’s examination room.” Jay rakes his hair into place.
“It’s those fucking stirrups.” H points with his head at the examination table. “God, the things I thought about when we first walked in.”
I pat his chest. “Maybe next time.”
We’re dressed as fast as possible. Because I’m scared I smell like sex, I douse myself and H and Jay with hospital-scented hand sanitizer. Jay found some rubbing alcohol that he’s sprinkled around us like it’s perfume. So while smelling like a surgeon’s table, we finally emerge from our room and avoid eye contact with the nurses.
I’m feeling close to boneless and glad I have H and Jay holding my hands as I walk, hoping this quickie can tide me over while both H and Jay’s parents visit us.
Perhaps overly gleeful from my orgasm and sentiments of love, I walk back to the waiting room and stop as soon as the door opens, my heart turning to ice in a second.
There, standing tall over Jane with a stern expression, is my mother.
“Oh, shit,” I whisper.
31
“Mother, hello.” My voice is a fraction of what it was just five minutes ago, even when H and Jay and I were whispering to each other. I sound like a little girl, and I hate it. Wincing, I notice that H and Jay are looking at me, but I can’t even gauge their reactions, too afraid of what I might find.
I hate myself when I’m in my mother’s presence. Even with Fran, Greta and her husbands, Jane and her boyfriends, even with H and Jay standing beside me, I’m changed into a terrified little girl, ready to cry if my mother says something unkind.
My mother inhales for a full seven minutes. Or what feels like it, at least. In that time her nostrils flare, her cheeks darken with red, and her glacial blue eyes laser in on H and Jay.
Jane stands, holding her hand out. “I—I told her you were here. I—I—” Then all of the men with her stand, a couple putting their hands on her tiny shoulders.
It’s then I realize that my entourage and mother are not the only people in the waiting room. There’s a woman with a full stomach trying to read a thick book, but obviously looking at the scene that is my life. And there’s a young couple. They look all of fifteen, and maybe they are. Their mouths are open when they look at The Ice Queen.
My mother turns on my sister-in-law. “Really, Jane, it’s not like you’re in trouble with Deidra Alexandra.” She pivots back toward me. “Is she? Tell Jane she did a good thing by telling me where you’d run away to. It’s the least someone could do was tell me where my own daughter was hiding.”
“She’s not hiding,” H says quickly and begins to block my view of my mother with one of his shoulders. He’s defending me. Within a heartbeat Jay is doing the same.
But it makes my mother laugh mirthlessly. “Oh, really? She’s not hiding?” She points her head at the men standing in front of me, effectively concealing me. “Then is it you two who have hidden her? Kidnapped her?”
H’s father stands, his face red, shaking his head. “Kidnapped! Who the hell is this woman? H take Dee out to the car while I deal with her.”
I clasp a hand over my heart. God, even H’s father is defending me, while I can hardly squeak a word.
“No.”
Everyone turns to me, and I realize I have actually said something. Something I should say to my mother more often, but instead I’m saying it to everyone but her.
My mother slowly crosses her thin arms over her chest. She’s model thin. Always has been. And most models have this appearance of being dainty to the point of delicate. Not my mother. She’s a Viking empress, ready to pillage with her words at a moment’s notice.
I swallow as I brace myself for it.
“Deidra Alexandra, may I have a few words with you in private?” Her voice is calm, not even cold. It’s fluid and pretty. But I know when she gets me alone, she’ll—well, I never have to be alone with her again, do I? I’m an adult. I can do whatever the hell I want to.
I squeeze between H and Jay and smile at my mother, the woman I’ve been terrified of all my life. Both terrified and worshipped, which I know sounds odd, but she’s my mother. No matter what she did, how scared I got, I always loved her. Always.
Even now as I shake my head, I know I love her. But I’m no longer a slave to that love. “No, you may not.”
My mother’s light blue eyes bulge as I’ve never seen them before. It’s almost comical if I didn’t feel a tiny bit sorry for her.
“I’m sorry, Mother, but I have plans right now. And I—”
“Plans?” A bluish vein becomes noticeable on her forehead.
Honestly, I didn’t and don’t have plans. Other than to keep her at a distance.
“Plans?” My mother’s voice is high-pitched now. “Like aborting my grandchild?”
Fran flies into motion, standing in front of the Viking empress. “Keep your voice down, woman. Give your daughter the dignity she deserves by keeping your voice down and keeping private issues private, for God’s sake.”
It’s then I realize my mother’s made a huge blunder. Something she’s never done before. Only my brother knows about the things my mother’s said to me over the years—from eating too much to eating too loudly, from the size of my chest to the size of my brain, from how gullible I am to how moronic, and so much more. But she always hid what she said behind closed doors. She might seem intimidating to others, but they’d never suspect her of telling me I should eat less or I’d never find a good husband. And because people thought her a good and caring mother, I’ve always wondered if I was crazy for being hurt and crazy for my thwarted self-esteem.
But now she’s being unkind and irrational in front of people. H’s jawline is about to come unhinged because he keeps gritting his teeth. Jay’s shoulders are hiked. Even bubbly Greta is glaring at my mother. And Jane is slowly shaking her head, looking at me and then to my mother, as if she’s finally adding it up.
I sigh. I didn’t mean to make this as melodramatic as it’s turned out. Well, I wasn’t expecting my mother. But as Monty Python says, “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.” And, god, this is terrible timing, but I laugh as I think of actor, Michael Palin bursting into the waiting room, wearing red robes and saying the famous line. My mother was her own little Inquisition throughout my upbringing. But I’m no longer a prisoner.
I don’t know if it was meeting H and Jay that saved me, not only from a snowdrift, but from my desperation regarding my mother and love. Or maybe it was a bit of saving myself. It could be both. All I know is that I don’t have to do any more tricks for my mother, I don’t have to pose as someone else. I don’t have to be anything other than myself.
“Mother.” I take another big breath. “I’m leaving now, and my name is Dee.”
I grab both H and Jay’s hands and head for the door.
Oh, but the drama doesn’t end there.
Nope.
Everyone begins to follow me. Fran’s on my heels, asking, “Is everything okay with Baby?” Even Fran is calling my child, Baby.
I smile while glancing over my shoulder. “Yes.”
She sighs. “I’m so glad. Did you get a confirmed due date?”
“Deidra, who are all these people?” My mother’s voice echoes down the hallway. Why she’s following me, I have no clue. Even though I might feel more grown up now, walking away from her might be perceived as a tad juvenile and silly. And my mother would never put up with me acting childish. But still, she’s somewhere behind me.
I can hear Jane say, “That’s Fran, one of Dee’s best friends. That’s Greta, Dee’s other best friend, and her husbands.”
“Husbands?”
“Yes.” Jane’s voice is monotone, stiff. “You already know Paul and Gabe, and this is Chris, my other lover.”
I’m a little surprised to hear Jane being so frank with my mother. But I’m really enjoying it, even if I can’t see what’s happening.
“Other lover.” This time my
mother’s voice is shaky. Not a question.
“Yes. And those two men, holding hands with your amazing daughter, are H and Jay, your daughter’s lovers.”
My mother’s quiet.
“Or did you know that already?”
“Oh, I paid a private investigator to watch her, all right?” My mother’s sounding defensive, which is a first.
H stops and turns, but I usher him to keep walking to the parking lot as we’re storming through the small hospital.
“But she hired a PI to spy on us,” H growls.
I shrug, not sure how to handle that tidbit of information. I’m a little moved she cares so much, but I wonder why. Why now? Is this only because she cares about my baby?
“I knew she was living with two men.” My mother’s loud enough I can easily hear her, but I wonder if she wants me to, if all this is aimed at me. “I—I—what is this thing with having a relationship with more than one man? At once?”
“’Tis wonderful, yeah,” Greta speaks up. But I’m pretty sure, by the tone of her voice, she’s goading my mother more than anything else.
Finally, the sliding door whooshes open, and I’m marching back through the parking lot.
But I can still hear my mother ask, “…something in the water? I mean, my goodness, why does every woman have more than one man?”
“Yes.” Jane’s voice is flat. “I spread my cooties in the water in the hopes that every woman would find herself in a plural relationship.”
“Jane.” My mother’s back to being stern. “You know what I mean.”
I’m about to stop the ongoing conversation, to throw some sort of wrench into the discussion, but a loud voice stops me in my tracks.
“Just hold on here,” Moe says, her voice shaky. “Just hold on.”
I turn in time to see my mother point at tall Moe. “And who are you?”
Moe tilts her chin up, even if it is quivering. “I’m Jay’s Aunt Moe.”
My mother closes her eyes, in a gesture that would shut down any other weak-willed soul. But Moe tilts her chin more and squares her shoulders.
“I’m not related to Jay, not by blood.” She looks down at Jay’s mother and reaches a hand out. Cyn immediately takes it, and I hold Jay’s hand all the more, wondering how he’s feeling, if he’s okay watching his mother and Aunt Moe hold hands publicly.
Moe smiles at Jay. “Your mother has been my best friend since I was eleven. And she’s allowed me into your family. Without her, I wouldn’t have had the honor of raising you, dear boy. Without her, I wouldn’t have ever known what that’s like.” She looks at my mother. “See, I’m what the crazy kids now call asexual, as in I don’t get tingly and excited about anyone. Man or woman. I never have. But I’ve always wanted a family. I just didn’t want to have one in the conventional sense. And when Cyn’s husband—well, that’s a long story and none of your business, ma’am. But the point I’m making is thanks to this woman I know what having a family is like. I know love. And I love that boy over there, holding your daughter’s hand.
“Now, I get it.” Moe takes a big breath. “This—Henry and Jay and Dee together—isn’t conventional. And maybe you’re scared of that—”
Utterly shocking me, my mother bursts into tears. “I am. I’m so scared for my baby. So scared.”
I guess that because my mother was acting less than civilly to everyone, no one knows what to do when she breaks down with moisture streaming her cheeks and snot running down her nose, her face a blotchy red. I have never, ever seen my mother like this. And I rush to her. Yes, I race to her because no one else will. But that’s my mother crying. Damn it. Even though I’m mad at her, she’s my mama.
When I place an arm around her, she holds me so tight it almost hurts. But I let her. She’s sobbing, but when she gets her tears under control, Moe continues.
“I understand that.” She looks around the group. “We all do. We’re all scared for them. But—” she smiles at me, “—maybe because I have a rather unconventional outlook on things, I kind of like that they’re all together. And, for what it’s worth, I think it will work in the end.”
“So do I,” Fran says. She grins at me too. “It’s none of my business what goes on, but I’m so happy to see people in love. That’s all I’m saying.”
My mother pulls back, looking down at me, sniffing her runny nose. “All my life I’ve been terrified for you. I—I was just like you. I was so happy. And then—and then so much happened to break my heart. I never wanted you to have that kind of broken heart, so I thought I’d toughen you. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. I was just so angry at this world for hurting me and so scared something similar would happen to you, and I—I said such cruel things to you, Deidra. I’m so sorry. I was just so scared. I’m so sorry.”
She’s clutching at my cheek in a way that almost scares me. She’s so intense, gazing into my eyes with such a fierceness. And she keeps talking. “I wanted to protect you, but I hurt you worse than anything—than anything that’s happened to me. I’m scared you don’t know how beautiful you are. I’m scared you don’t know how you took my breath away when you were a toddler and you would pirouette through the kitchen and sing. The times when I was so proud of you I wondered if my heart would explode. And I’m scared you don’t know how much I adore you, precious child of mine. You are my one child left in this world, and I keep fucking things up between us.”
I’ve never heard my mother swear. I’m so shocked I begin to cry. But I’m pretty sure I’m actually tearing up because what my mother is saying is helping me relive the past, the times when I’d catch my mother smiling at me.
“Wow,” is all I can squeak.
My mother smiles, and it’s not cold. There’s no sarcasm. There’s only love. That’s all I see in the white parking lot, where snow is beginning to softly fall. They’re the kind of soft flakes that seem to cling to the air, hanging suspended indefinitely.
People who live this far north have all sorts of names for the different kinds of snows. I don’t know what this kind would be called, but I might call it love snow, because it glistens and sparkles and shines with so many different colors, and you have to watch it while you can, before it melts, before it’s swept away. That’s love, you know. It hangs there, suspended, in a moment where we almost disbelieve it. But it’s there, all around you, and you have to focus on it while it’s there. Sometimes that kind of love can last a lifetime. But we all know, because we live in the kind of world we do, that sometimes it lasts only a few minutes. So you marvel in the love while you can.
You marvel in the love while you can.
32
“Remind me to never get pregnant again,” I say as I loll my head against H’s strong bare chest.
He laughs softly, caressing my hair.
Jay is skimming his fingers along my huge belly. We’re naked after having lazy pregnant sex. Well, it’s lazy for me. I still want to have sex, more often than in my second trimester. But now that I’m nine months to term, sex has become gymnastic moves around my stomach. The men are up for it, though. Oh, are they up for it.
My legs are on Jay’s naked lap. He’s somewhat seated against the headboard of our bed, and we’ve just had sex for the umpteenth time today in the hopes that Baby will finally show up. I’m overdue. And being this pregnant in late-August, even if it is the mountains of Montana, is something I’d rather not go through ever again. I’m hot all the time. I sweat all the time. I’m huge all the freaking time. In a restaurant yesterday, I hit a man on the head with my belly. I was walking past where he was sitting, trying to have a normal dinner with his family. After my belly nudged him, I burst into tears, apologizing.
H and Jay were there, trying to help, but the man just stood and smiled and pointed with a tilt of his head at his wife, saying, “I know.” And I cried all the more.
I don’t know why H and Jay haven’t run out the door, screaming and tearing their hair out, because I’m near crazy. And I thought my mood s
wings were intolerable a few months ago. But now I burst into tears if I can’t open the apple juice container. Making things worse, my mother is “visiting” right now. She says she’s only visiting, but she bought a cabin seven miles away. When confronted, she told me the real estate was cheap. I snort laughed at her and the flimsy excuse, knowing that the piece of property she’s talking about was looked at by some Google exec who thought it cost too much.
“Oh,” Jay says excitedly. He stretches his hand out on my belly. “Baby just kicked me.”
“Tell him to get out already,” I groan.
“I already did, but she’s stubborn. Like her mama.”
I smile at him. Jay thinks Baby is a girl, and my mother agrees. As does Aunt Moe, who visits every month with Cyn. They’ve asked me to call them mom. And Vicki and Dan have been up even more often. Vicki’s a tad more shy than Jay’s moms, but after watching a few forties movies together, she started to touch my hair, then hug me. Now we talk on the phone every day. I love her to the point where I’m scared I’m getting obsessed with her. I love our chats. I love finding out about her day. Even when she’s telling me about making baked beans for Dan, I’m sighing contentedly.
What I haven’t shared with anyone is I think Jay’s right. I think Baby is a girl. But at this rate, I might never find out, since she’s determined not to come out.
“Want to eat Mexican food or Indian tonight?” H asks as he keeps caressing my hair away from my sweaty face.
Besides having sex at all times of the day and night, we eat spicy food at every meal in the hopes Baby will want to pop out. So far, not so good.
But it’s still worth a shot. “Indian,” I say. “The green curry this time. I think that’s the hottest.”
I turn and look at H. “When’s your mom coming back? Is it tomorrow?”
He nods, the heat of summer and post-sex getting the better of him, making his movements slow. “Yep. She’s coming yet again. Tomorrow.”
“Is your dad coming too?”
Fly (Wild Love Book 2) Page 27
