Caching In (11 page)

After my dad passed away, my mom sold the house and bought a one-story box on the opposite side of town. She told Perry and I that living in the house they shared together for so many years tore at the remains of her heart, and would hinder her from moving on. Perry never came back to say goodbye to the house, but the last night my mom lived there, I stayed over, in my old room, on a blow up mattress. My mom kept her bedroom intact up until the movers came. We rushed to pack everything, but, somehow, we finished. She didn’t want their bedroom to be emptied until the very last minute. As the moving company carried boxes out of their bedroom and loaded them onto the truck, I held my mom’s hand, and she laid her head on my shoulder, somehow managing to hold in tears. I didn’t doubt the second she got to her new house, she bawled her eyes out. I certainly did when I got home.

Her new house suited her well. The outside contained cute curb appeal, painted white with a bold blue wooden door, and lighter blue shudders to match. The inside featured only two bedrooms, a galley kitchen, and a small sitting area. The basement wasn’t any more than a typical, dark and dingy basement, housing the laundry and probably a thousand spiders and possibly a few ghosts. The house worked for her and her situation. Our two-story home with four bedrooms, a dining room, large kitchen, family room and finished basement was too much for one person. Downsizing, while emotionally challenging, helped her through the grieving process.

I arrived in only sixteen minutes, proving my lead foot. Her house rested at the end of the street, and I often wondered if the headlights of approaching cars bothered her if she sat in her living room. It would drive me crazy. I imagined walking from the kitchen into the living room to sit down and watch a movie, only to be blinded by headlights and unable to see again. Well, at least for the night. Okay, maybe a few minutes … or seconds. Still,
annoying.

As I approached the driveway, I noticed my mom’s car parked outside, instead of in the attached garage as usual. She loved having it attached to the house, especially in the harsh Wisconsin winters, and even though her neighborhood was relatively safe from vandalism and theft, one could never be too sure. I pulled up behind the car, and realized when my headlights flashed across it, the car in the driveway didn’t belong to her. My mother wasn’t alone.

----------

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t bother to knock. My mom lived here; I could just walk in, right? Today, not sure of whose car rested in her driveway, I gave the doorbell a quick ring, followed by a light knock. The lock unlatched, and my mom opened the door. From the outfit she wore, she didn’t plan on going to bed any time soon. With her typical bedtime being a half hour away, she was dressed for anything but that. In fact, the knee length black and white striped dress she wore didn’t even qualify as something she would consider wearing to work. Being a dental assistant, my mom pretty much wore pajamas to work, although she referred to them as “proper procedure attire.” I often joked about becoming a hygienist so I didn’t need to get dressed for work, either. Her wheaten hair bobbed right above her shoulders, drawing out her collarbones in the dipping neckline of her dress. Red flats made the outfit pop. She swirled a half empty glass of wine in her hand.

“Ally! What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you.” I didn’t think I’d be interrupting anything. What
was
I barging in on?

With her free hand, she reached out and touched my elbow. “Is everything okay?” Moms who maintained normal relationships with their daughters would invite them in no questions asked, and the smile would fade into concern, not tight lips and annoyed eyes.

“I … I can come back tomorrow.” As I began to turn back to my car, she stopped me.

“No, honey. Stay.”

Clearly my showing up halted her plans. If I stayed, I would cry on her shoulder, and feel guilty for ruining whatever I barged in on. On the other hand, I could leave, go home and pour myself some wine (read: an entire bottle), solve nothing, and go to work in the morning with a hangover. If I left, though, a half-hearted phone call would follow the next day and twenty minutes of my life would be wasted as she ragged on me about not staying. “Fine. I won’t stay long, though.” A promise I planned to keep.

She opened the door more, moving out of the way to let me in. “Go ahead and take a seat on the couch. I’ll be right back.”

I lowered myself onto her burgundy couch set against the picture window and tossed my keys on coffee table. The second she left the room, I dropped my head into my hands. I don’t know why I came. I was pissed about Josh, but I knew I wasn’t taking him back. What was I going to do? Spend the next hour bitching and moaning about how he kissed me and a slew of emotions came back, but I kicked his ass out - again? I started to question why I was even upset to begin with. If anything, I should be
proud
. Two times now, I had told Josh to screw off, which caused more for celebration than tears. When my mom returned, I would thank her for inviting me in, and suggest I leave so she could get to whatever I kept her from. This was dumb. I didn’t need to complain about anything.

“Ally?”

My mom’s voice disrupted my thoughts. Lifting my head, I confirmed she absolutely wasn’t alone. Next to her, holding my
mother’s
hand, stood a tall, burly man with dark hair and the fattest mustache I ever saw. That, combined with his at least inch-thick eyebrows, he reminded me of Tom Selleck, although not aged as perfectly, apparent in the creases throughout his face. “I want you to meet Paul. Paul, this is my daughter, Ally.”

As he approached me, hand out reached, I stood, but didn’t offer my hand in return.

“Nice to meet you, Ally. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Funny. I hadn’t heard a peep about him. My heart drummed in my chest, pounding to a speedy rhythm, cymbals crashing in my head as I stared at this man in my mother’s living room. Earlier in the week I told my dad that mom started dating again. Seeing it in real life, though, experiencing it first-hand, angered me. Who did this guy think he was? What gave him the right to come into my mother’s house? Did he intend on spending the night? Oh my God, what if he already spent the night? No. This
man
wasn’t sleeping on my dad’s side of the bed.

My mom stepped next to
Paul
, touching his hand again, interlacing their fingers. Fuck, they were
touching
and right in front of me. “Ally, say hello.”

“Hello.” Nothing required me to say anything more. Screw Paul. Screw my mother. “I’m gonna go home, Mom.” I rubbed my hands down my thighs. “I … I just have to go.” I stumbled out the door.

Once I reached my car, the screen door slammed. My mom ran toward me. “Ally, wait. You just got here. Why are you leaving?”

“Really, Mom?” In the few minutes I’d been inside, it sure cooled down. Even through my short sleeves, the breeze managed to find its way through. For a second, I thought it was my dad’s spirit joining in to defend his honor. “So is this Paul guy your
boyfriend
now? Don’t tell me you plan on marrying this jerk.”

“Don’t talk like that, Ally. You don’t know him; you haven’t even given him a chance.”

I yanked my car door open. “I don’t want to give him a chance, and I don’t have to.” I slammed the door shut.

My mom tried to yell through my window, motioning for me to roll it down. No disrespect to her, (okay, maybe some), but I wasn’t about to listen to a lecture about how it’d been two years and it was time to move on, and that’s what Dad wanted. I was fine with her moving on, as long as it was in discussion only, and it didn’t really happen. I didn’t want to see her with anyone but my dad.

God, I wish I had my dad.

CHAPTER TWELVE

At work the next day, both Chelsea and I went about our days as though we transformed into zombies overnight, and we looked the part, too. Apparently, both of us spent most of the night crying, each too upset to call the other. Telling her parents about the baby went better than I expected. Chelsea told me at first they questioned her decisions as an adult, but once she pulled out the ultrasound and they saw the little blip on the paper, their future grandchild, the discussion went from anger and confusion to happiness and hope. Her meeting with Daniel, however, went
exactly
as I expected. They argued, and he kept faulting her for them not using any protection, until finally he shut the entire thing out of his mind and accused
her
of cheating. Could someone who was already cheating accuse someone else of the same thing? I wasn’t an expert on the subject, but I didn’t think so. No matter how much she denied the allegation, the angrier he got, and through an entire evening of tears, I hoped Chelsea finally came to her senses.

An hour after I got home from my mom’s, I called Perry. I told him about Josh right away, and he threatened to fly back to town and kick his ass. He was only kidding, partly, and the laugh did me good. He sounded about as shocked as me when I saw Josh standing at my door. I didn’t tell him I kissed him; I mean, Perry’s my brother and sharing details like that is plain old gross. Whenever I replayed the moment in my mind (far too often), I patted myself on the back for kicking him out. Again.

I didn’t tell Perry I went to Mom’s house. A visit to her didn’t happen often, and if Perry found out, he would grill me about why I went. I wanted to move past the lapse of judgment I had. Also, I absolutely could
not
slip about Paul. Ugh, the dude’s name even grossed me out, and reminded me of an eighties porn star with that mustache. I wretched at the thought. If I couldn’t handle my mom dating, Perry would have an even
more
difficult time, and probably be back in Wisconsin before I could hang up the phone.

The rest of the week seemed to drag on, although I managed to perk up come Thursday. My mom and I still hadn’t talked, and I didn’t plan on calling her for at least another few days. Familiar with how I worked, she wouldn’t try to call me either. When I was pissed, the best thing to do was to let me simmer down. Angered Ally is like a boiling pot of water on the stove; if I haven’t bubbled over the top, turn the heat down, and leave me on low until I’m ready. Thursday, though, Chelsea and I sat at lunch when a text popped up on my screen.

“Oh my God, Chelsea! Look at this!” I tried not to spit food out of my mouth as I opened the thumbnail. There stood Seth, in the middle of Cabela’s, holding a fishing rod in one hand, a net in the other, and he completed his outfit with a fisherman’s hat
and
a vest. Underneath the picture, the text read, “Can’t wait to go fishing! You’re the catch of the day.”

Chelsea grabbed my phone. “Wow, Ally. This guy is super-hot. Not to mention, he’s totally adorable and romantic! This is like the sweetest thing ever.”

Receiving the text from Seth made my day, and my entire week. I wasn’t used to someone taking an interest in what I liked. Fishing was one of those things I enjoyed because of the quiet and time allowing me to think. I kind of sucked at it, but considered most of it luck anyway. If the fish didn’t want to bite, there wasn’t much bait could do about it. Our first adventure together and then our first date both were pretty physical. I liked we could sit on the pier, cast into the water, and wait for a bite while we talked, learning about each other.

Sunday morning my eyes shot open at four-thirty and my excitement ruined any chance of getting more sleep. Since I needed to be to the bed and breakfast at six, anyway, to pick up Seth, I rolled out of bed and showered and ate. I managed to fit in about fifteen minutes of the news, and stopped at the little coffee shop down the street and picked up coffee. When I pulled in the lot and Seth stood outside the door, fishing pole in hand. I loved he was prepared.

“Hey,” he said as he slid the rod in the backseat before joining me in the front. “I’m surprisingly not too tired.”

He sat down and I handed him his coffee. “I didn’t know what you liked, so it has a little bit of cream.”

“Perfect.” He took the coffee and I checked him out as he closed his eyes to savor the first sip. The way his lower lip hid underneath his upper when he swallowed was adorable.

Making sure not to stare too long, I started heading to the lake, a short, five minute drive. “I’m not great at fishing,” I admitted. “I mostly go for the peace and quiet.”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t think it was a competition.”

I hadn’t either, so why did I make it sound that way? “Just don’t expect a huge dinner or anything. Not only am I quite the amateur, but I catch and release.”

“Save the fish!”

“Well, I
do
slice through them with a hook, but I’m pretty sure they’re okay.” I thought about a fish trying to swim through the water, wounded, and if it survived.

Seth’s gaze remained out the window as we approached the lake. “We all go through life with injuries. It’s a matter of how we nurse them if we survive.”

When we arrived, I grabbed the fishing poles while he carried our coffees. “I usually fish off the pier right over here.” I led him down a small walkway to a rickety pier shooting out into the glass-like water. “The lake is perfect this morning.”