Hard Choices (22 page)

“Hey, baby,” Molly turned and kissed Becca’s cheek as Becca leaned between the front seats. “How have you been? I’ve missed the crap out of you!” As Becca had gotten older, I had been so grateful that she’d had Molly as the “cool aunt” to talk to. Molly had loved spoiling a surrogate daughter. It made me happy they were still so close. I was glad Becca had another mother figure to talk to. And only a little jealous, occasionally.

“Missed you, too, Molly!” Becca kissed her back, then sat back and put on her seatbelt. “How’s J.J.? How’s Jared?”

We drove off with my daughter and my best friend catching up: Molly regaling her with stories of her students; Becca sharing stories of college life. I settled back in my seat, cradling my coffee and filling up with the sounds of voices I loved.

***

By eight o’clock, we’d had all the fun we could stand on an empty stomach. As we sat in a great little breakfast diner, waiting for the food we’d ordered, Molly pulled a list out of her purse. “I think I’m done,” she said incredulously as she scanned her list. “Robert, check. Alan, check, Jared, check and check. J.J., check. Couple of things for people at school. Yeah, I’m done!”

“What about
me
?” Becca pretended to wail. Molly reached across the table and gently smacked Becca upside the head. Years ago, when we were broke college students, we’d made a pact not to go nuts shopping for each other’s kids, and we’d stuck to it. “Christmas and birthdays get crazy enough,” I’d told Molly, “Plus, I have three kids and you have one. It wouldn’t be fair.” Our kids got plenty of stuff from family as it was. Molly and I both agreed there was no need to go overboard.

“You know what, though?” Becca took a sip of her coffee, “Maybe we should start a gift exchange next year? You know, all of us can put a name in the hat and draw it? Then we could each get one person something really nice, you know?”

“Absolutely not,” I shook my head. “No way am I giving up shopping for each of my kids!”

“You didn’t shop for us today!” Becca pretended to whine again.

“Didn’t I?” I said enigmatically, raising my eyebrows. I was very good at this: I’d seen Becca admiring some gorgeous boots that were
way
out of her price range. Molly had distracted her while I’d managed to purchase them and bury the bag with my other stuff.

“Did you do
all
your shopping, Lyssa?” Molly asked me pointedly.

I immediately got what she was asking: Had I bought anything for Matthew?

“I don’t know, Molly,” I said dryly. “I’ll have to see.” I had seen a few things I’d like to buy for him, but I’d chickened out. It seemed awfully forward to even think of it.

Becca narrowed her eyes and looked back and forth between us, obviously trying to suss out what we were talking about. Fortunately, I was saved from explanation by the arrival of our food, and I was able to shift the topic of conversation onto safer ground.

Two hours and three stores later, Molly dropped Becca and me back off at my house. Molly hopped out to give Becca a big hug goodbye, making her promise to make time for her over Christmas break.

“Of course, Molly. We’ll go out to lunch. Just us two. So we can really talk without anyone
listening in
,” Becca said that last
sotto voce
, and narrowed her eyes at me, as Molly mimicked her look.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “All right, smart-asses, I am going back to bed. You keep being all cryptic. I need a shower and a long nap,” I said as I pulled all our packages out of the hatch of Molly’s SUV.

Molly hugged Becca once more and hopped back in her car. “Sounds like an excellent idea, Lys. See you girls later!” We waved as she drove down the street.

Becca took her bags from me and yawned. “Bed sounds great. I’m in.”

We took showers, put on clean comfy sweats, and Becca crashed on my bed with me, as the TV blared a
Supernatural
marathon. “Oh look, Mom,” Becca said through another yawn. “Dean’s crying again. What a shock.” This was a constant taunt of hers. She was a Sam Winchester girl; I was squarely on Team Dean.

I smacked her with a pillow and told her, “I am too tired to defend my love of Dean to you. Shut up and fall asleep already.”

She laughed and snuggled down, closing her eyes. I put the TV on a thirty-minute timer, and was out long before Sam and Dean had their next heart-felt conversation on the hood of the Impala.

***

I woke up around six, totally disoriented, and still tired. After blinking a few times to reach full consciousness, I checked my phone on the nightstand. I smiled when I saw I had a missed text from Matthew from about an hour before.

You’re STILL sleeping? Or are you still shopping?


I texted him back explaining that I’d just woken up. The phone rang seconds after I hit
Send.

“Glad you survived,” Matthew all but purred into the phone. “I spent the day at Robert’s and Alan’s, gorging on leftovers and watching football all day,” he chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve been this relaxed in a long time.”

“You sound relaxed,” I said softly. “Hey, did you talk to your mom? How was their holiday?”

“It was good,” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Thanks for asking. My aunt is settled into the rehab place, and my mom is happy with it. It’s a huge relief, honestly. And Audrey called last night. She’s having a good time with her mom, which is always a relief.”

“Oh, that’s good,” I rolled over and snuggled down in my covers. “So, what are we doing tomorrow night?” I asked playfully.

“Tomorrow
night
? Oh, I can’t wait
that
long, Lyssa,” I shivered. Now he was doing it on purpose, but I didn’t care. “Can you be at my place by noon? I will cook you a fantastic meal, and we will actually get to spend a whole day together.”

I smiled. “That sounds like heaven,” I said. “Can I bring anything?”

He hesitated for a second. “No. I’ll text you my address. Have fun with Becca tonight, and I will see you tomorrow.”

“Sounds great. Good night, Matthew.”

“Good night, Lyssa.”

***

Matthew hung up the phone and smiled to himself. When Lyssa had asked, “Can I bring anything?” He’d wanted to say, “Yeah, a toothbrush.” But he’d never be that presumptuous. He did have a full-scale seduction planned, but he was still learning to read her. If she wasn’t ready, he wasn’t going to push.

His mom had noticed his preoccupation, though.

“You are a million miles away,” she’d said to him his second night in Phoenix. He’d bought her a condo with two guestrooms, so it made it easy for him and Audrey to visit.

“Sorry, Mom, what were you saying?” Matthew said absently.

Kathy had grinned at him. “It doesn’t matter
what
I said. You’ve got it
bad,
Matthew!”

“Got what bad?”

Kathy laughed. “Oh please! You’re not on the phone for two hours a night with Audrey! What’s her name? Do I get to meet her?”

Kathy tried not to hide her delight when her son blushed. “I don’t know, Mom. We’re just starting out. We had a couple of dates before I came down here, and we’ve been talking on the phone a lot,” Kathy bit back a sarcastic “No, really?” and let Matthew continue. “She’s smart and funny and gorgeous,” Matthew shook his head. “She’s so full of life, it’s just,” he sighed, “really refreshing.”

“Do I get her stats? How old is she? How did you meet her?”

Kathy listened as Matthew filled her in, and she got more and more hopeful as he spoke. Lyssa sounded like exactly the mature woman Matthew needed. He had no interest in a second family, he had no interest in a trophy wife, and he had no interest in the bimbos who seemed to gravitate toward him in Seattle. And any close friend of Robert’s immediately scored points in Kathy’s book.

“She sounds wonderful!” Matthew nodded at his mother’s assessment. “So what’s the problem?” she said shrewdly.

Matthew stood up from the table where they’d been eating dinner. “Well, she was married a long time,” he explained as he pulled a beer from the fridge. “And she’s been divorced less than a year.” He sighed. “She seems so independent. I’m not sure she’s looking for something really serious.”

Kathy’s jaw dropped. “And you are? You’re looking for something serious?”

“With her, yeah, Mom. I think I am.”

Matthew hadn’t always discussed his dating life with his mother. But as Audrey had gotten older and things got more complicated, he’d sought her advice. She had never liked Amanda, but had kept her mouth shut, because her son was obviously besotted with her. About a year after Amanda dumped him and Audrey and took off, though, Kathy had a long talk with Matthew, and warned him she would never keep silent again: this time her granddaughter’s heart was at stake, too, and if Matthew started dating someone who wasn’t good for him – or Audrey – Kathy vowed she would speak up. Matthew took that conversation pretty well – and made it a habit to get his mom’s advice.

“So, um, what do you think?” Matthew said a little nervously.

Kathy tilted her head and looked at her son. This was new: Matthew nervous about a woman, or wanting something serious with her. Kathy was taken aback. She took a deep breath and leaned back, choosing her words carefully, “I think that you have proven, over the years, that you have developed excellent instincts with women,” they both knew that was an oblique reference to Amanda. “And I think that she sounds like exactly what you need. And I think,” she leaned forward on the table, “that no matter what I say, you’re already smitten,” Kathy chuckled.

Matthew rolled his eyes. “All right, maybe I am! But do me a favor,” he said earnestly, “don’t mention this to Audrey yet. Let me tell her. When the moment is right.”

Kathy nodded, wondering how that conversation was going to go. Audrey was very used to being the most important person in her daddy’s life. But she was grown and gone, now. It was time for Matthew to have a life of his own.

Matthew reflected on that conversation as he unpacked his suitcase and started on his laundry. His housekeeper had been through last Tuesday, so the house was spotless. As he stowed his suitcase in the hall closet, he glanced up and saw all his sheets neatly stacked. His housekeeper always changed the sheets, but Matthew smiled to himself as he took a new set down. Maybe changing his sheets tomorrow morning was a little presumptuous, but Matthew preferred to think of it as hopeful.

I woke up at my normal time on Saturday morning, and decided to head out for a run. Becca was not a morning person, so I wasn’t worried about missing her before she left.

The crisp autumn air was just what I needed to clear my head. I had been anxious at first with Aaron, but not nervous like I was now. I was glad that after all our deep conversations on the phone, Matthew and I had had one chance to spend time together where I knew we wouldn’t end up in bed together.

I knew today would be different. But I was starting to feel ready for it.

I came back in the house to the smell of frying bacon.

“Dear GOD, I love you, my daughter!” I called from the front door as I headed into the kitchen.

“Well,” Becca said as she popped a piece of bacon into her mouth, “I know we really do not need the fat or calories, but screw it. I wanted bacon!”

I laughed and poured myself a cup of coffee. “How much longer do I get you?”

“I need to take off around noon, and I’ll head straight back to school with Angie, if that’s OK,” Becca looked at me a little anxiously.

“Nope, not OK. I never like it when you leave,” I squeezed her shoulder as I stole some bacon.

“I had fun last night, Mom.” Becca and I had just hung out in our PJs again, sipping wine and half-watching the never-ending Supernatural marathon.

“Me, too, honey,” I plopped a kiss on her forehead. “I love it when all three of you are here. But – don’t tell your brothers – I really like it when it’s just us girls.”

“Me, too,” she smiled and poured her scrambled eggs into the frying pan. “I’m going to leave you the dishes, and I am not going to feel bad about it,” she warned me.

I laughed and shook my head. “Seems like a fair trade to me.”

***

After breakfast, I decided a long, hot bath was called for. As I watched my tub fill, I debated dumping some bath salts in the water. I didn’t want to smell like a floral arrangement, though, so I used some lightly scented bubble bath, instead. Some part of my brain recognized what I was doing: having an inane inner conversation to distract myself from how nervous I felt. I grabbed my Kindle off my bedside table and snuggled down in the hot water.

An hour later, I was washed, dried, hair done, make-up on… and debating what the hell to wear, when Becca knocked on my door.

“Come in,” I called absently while staring into my closet.

“If you’re done, I’m going to hop in the shower. What are you doing?” Becca asked, before I had a chance to answer her first question.

“Trying to figure out what to wear.”

“Where are you going?”

I turned to Becca and swallowed. “I have a date,” I said slowly.

She smiled at me knowingly. “Mom, you’re acting like you just said you’re heading out to rob a bank. A date is good! Who is it?”

“His name is Matthew,” I said reluctantly. “He’s a friend of Robert’s from college.”

Becca nodded approvingly. “Nice. Where are you going?”

“He’s cooking for me at his house,” I said calmly.

Becca narrowed her eyes at me. “Is this your first date?”

I laughed nervously. “No.” Then, not wanting to appear slutty to my daughter, I stretched the truth a little. “We met several months ago. This will be my first time, you know, at his house, though,” I felt my face flush and I found myself unable to meet Becca’s eye. Her silence unnerved me, though, so I finally looked up to see my daughter biting her lip, obviously trying not to laugh.

“Mom, look,” she put her hands on my shoulders. “I don’t know how OK my brothers are going to be with this, honestly, but please don’t ever feel like you have to hide things from me.”

I cleared my throat. “I appreciate that. I do. But I am not prepared to discuss my sex life – or potential sex life – with my daughter, OK?”

She chuckled, “Good! I don’t really want details! But,” she pulled me into a hug, “I’m glad you’re dating. I don’t want you to be alone.”

I hugged her back. “Thank you, honey, I appreciate that. Now, Becca, seriously! Help me find something to wear. Does
everything
I own scream ‘mom/professional’?” I wailed.

Becca rolled her eyes. “Mom, you dress appropriately for a very-fit-forty-something, and believe me when I tell you, my brothers and I appreciated that! It was hard enough to have a MILF mom for the boys, as it was,” Becca said as she began rifling through my closet.

My jaw hit the floor. I stood staring at Becca, looking like an idiot, I am sure. She finally glanced my way, and did a double-take, then rolled her eyes. “Oh come
on
, Mom! Didn’t you notice that the boys’ friends were
always
over here?”

“Well, yeah… but I… I always just thought… you know, I was the fun mom, who always had snacks… and… and… and…” suddenly all those enthusiastic “Hi, Mrs. Masters!” from my sons’ friends didn’t seem so innocent anymore. “I feel a little sick,” I said quietly as I sat down on the bed.

“Oh, Mom. Don’t worry about it,” Becca kept rifling through my closet as she talked. “You were never creepy, or did anything to encourage them. Remember Taylor?” I nodded, remembering a casual friend of Becca’s from high school. “Her mother mortified her on a regular basis, wearing low-cut tops, and Daisy Dukes. It was so bad, I was embarrassed
for
her. There it is!” her sudden subject change caught me by surprise.

“There what is?”

“Molly bought this for you for your last birthday, remember?”

“My birthday is January 3rd, remember? Your dad and I split a few days later. My memories of those few weeks are a little… vivid but selective.”

“Well, Molly got this for you. You look a little horrified, and she would not give you the receipt to exchange it.”

I nodded. “That’s right. Yeah, that is not me, is it?” I fingered the beautiful, champagne-colored light-weight sweater. The very-sheer sweater. A sweater I would only wear over a cami – but probably never at all.

“It should be,” Becca said, diving back into my closet for the matching cami. “Mom, you will
rock
this.”

I stared at it, still dubious. “What do I wear it with?”

“The dark blue skinny jeans I gave you, which are,” she rifled through a few more hangars, “right here!” Becca yanked them out with a flourish. “You will look hot. Trust me.”

“OK,” I said, trusting Becca but still feeling dubious.

“Boots! We need boots… and jewelry…” Becca kept muttering and pulling things out of my drawers and closet. I swallowed, hoping I liked the final effect.

When she was done dressing me, Becca assured me I looked attractive but not slutty, stylish but not trying too hard to look young.

I had to trust her.

***

I still felt self-conscious when I pulled into Matthew’s driveway. As I’d driven through the neighborhood, I’d observed stylish, waterfront homes. From the road, they seemed like simple little cottages. But I knew from the lake view, they were all opulent mansions. All you could see from the road was the top floor or two; the houses had at least one, if not two, floors below road level, though. Along with elaborate decks, patios and docks for lake access. This was not my world.

I pulled into his driveway, and noted that he did
not
have an automatic gate at the top of his driveway, clearly marked with a mailbox encased in a beautiful stone pillar. He seemed to be the only house without one. His house was set well back off the road, though, down a driveway lined with leaf-less oaks, not pines. It made for a stately, distinctive entrance. I knew it had to be an incredible drive earlier in the fall.

I came around a corner in the driveway and came to a stop, enchanted. I’d come upon a little English cottage, in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains! November had driven the plants into dormancy, but I could see a traditional English garden, complete with a short stone wall and a vine-covered archway. The small part of the house visible from the parking area was sided with stone, and the roof even looked like slate. There was an attached garage, angled so it didn’t look attached, and designed to look like a carriage house.

I was flummoxed. This did not match Matthew at all.

He popped his head out the heavy wooden front door and waved, looking a little confused. I shook my head and got out of my car, grabbing my purse and coat.

“You’re at the right house,” Matthew said uncertainly.

“Yeah, I know. It’s clearly marked. I just did not expect
this
,” I said shaking my head. “I guess you strike me as more of a stainless steel and cherry kind of guy.”

He nodded as he held the door for me to enter the house. I looked at the interior and laughed.
This
was what I pictured for Matthew; the interior of the house was all modern. The great room took up about two-thirds of the part of the house that was visible from the parking area: kitchen, dining area, huge living room, with an enormous stone fireplace in the center, dividing up the space. “See, now
this
,” I gestured as I did a slow turn and took in the vaulted ceilings with exposed beams and butter-cream walls, “this is what I expected.” I looked at him quizzically. “So why the ‘ode to Narnia’ out front?” I asked.

“That was to appease my very young daughter, who thought I was dragging her away from home all summer,” he explained. “I bought this place and renovated it, but Audrey was about six at the time. When I asked her if she was ever going to like it here, she said, ‘Only if it looked like Snow White lived here.’ I wasn’t willing go
that
far, but I had fun going the ‘English cottage’ route. The drive was already lined with oak trees, so we just went with it.”

I laughed, “Well, it’s beautiful. Inside and out – oh WOW!” I had finally looked out the wall of windows that faced the lake. “That view is spectacular!” Matthew had an unobstructed view of the lake and the mountains that surrounded it. I tossed my coat and purse onto the entry bench by the front door and walked over to the windows, taking in the view. I sighed deeply. “You know, I grew up here, and this view never gets old.”

Matthew came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. He reached around and kissed my temple. “I like this view even better,” he said, nuzzling my neck. “You look beautiful, Lyssa. I don’t know if I’ve told you this, but I love how you always look so stylish and sophisticated. And this sweater,” he nuzzled my shoulder, “it’s so soft. I might not even want to take it off you.” I turned around. But before I could say a word, he cupped my face in his hands and said, “God you’re beautiful.”

Then he leaned in and kissed me, gently, sweetly, deeply. I don’t know how long we stood there, just kissing and enjoying each other, but suddenly a kitchen buzzer interrupted us.

He pulled away and grinned at me. “Gotta take my crab puffs out of the oven.”

“Oh my god, you made crab puffs?” I squeaked. I could cook a meal, but I was no gourmet chef.

“I would love to lie to you and tell you that I made them, but alas, I am not that talented,” I felt my shoulders drop with released tension. “My friend is a chef in town. He made them for me, and told me how to re-heat them to perfection. He also made the salad, the broccoli dish, and the soup,” Matthew gestured around the kitchen at the various dishes.

“I thought you were cooking for me?” I said smartly.

“I will grill the steak,” he said unapologetically. Matthew stepped back to the fireplace, and I realized that this side of the huge stone edifice housed a massive, gourmet style stove. He tossed the small fillets on the cast-iron cook top. “The steak will only take a couple of minutes.”

“Well, let me set the table,” I offered.

“Already done,” Matthew gestured toward a table I had walked past but ignored on my way to the wall of windows. “But can you set the food on the table, and open the wine?”

I nodded, “I’d be happy to.” It felt so comfortable, just prepping a meal together.

We sat down to a delicious meal. The soup was a winter squash bisque. The crab puffs were amazing. And he’d picked out a red wine I’d never heard of (probably because I couldn’t afford it) that was perfect with the steak.

Finally, I leaned back in my chair, completely satiated. “Oh my god, I feel like I stuffed myself, and there’s still so much food left, we didn’t even make a dent.”

Matthew grinned and took my hand. “We can have leftovers for dinner,” he kissed my hand and rubbed his cheek along it. It was so romantic, it took my breath away.

“Mmm, are you asking me to spend the day with you, Matthew?”

Matthew hesitated and cocked his head to the side, looking like he wanted to say something else, but what he did say was, “Well, I was hoping we could get some real time together. Not just an evening at a restaurant, or a long phone conversation. Although, I loved those,” he said suddenly.

“Do you have any coffee?”

He looked a little taken aback by my sudden change of subject. “Uh, yeah. I’ve got a Keurig right there,” he pointed over at it.