Surprise Me.... Isabel SharpeЧитать онлайн книгу.
To live a life she and her daughters and her parents could be proud of. A huge and often terrifying goal.
One step at a time. One day at a time.
A key jiggled the back-door lock. The familiar sound catapulted Tricia back to memories of guilty predawn homecomings. The handle turning with a slight rattle. The door opening… Careful! The hinges squeaked if pushed too fast.
Soft footsteps, a hand carrying shoes, door closing, shh, don’t let Mom and Dad hear….
Except in this case, there was only Mom, no Dad; the mom was Tricia, while the child sneaking in was her twenty-six-year-old daughter. “Hi, Melanie.”
Melanie gasped; her hand flew to her chest, luckily not the one holding her strappy black high-heeled sandals or they would have flown up and smacked her in the head. “Mom. Oh, my gosh, you scared me. What are you doing up at this hour?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Oh.” She arranged her features into Cautious Liar Mode. Tricia nearly chuckled. Nothing Melanie could pull would be new to her. “I was out late with a girlfriend and—”
“How about the truth?” Tricia sipped her coffee, apparently unconcerned, inside probably ten times more nervous than Melanie. She was never comfortable with authority, and it had been years since she’d had to be a parent. “Saves time for both of us.”
Melanie blinked. Frowned. Thumped her shoes onto the floor and sidled up to the counter. “Any more coffee?’
Tricia jerked her head back toward the machine. “Help yourself.”
She did, this amazing beautiful woman Tricia knew so little about. Melanie had been a remarkably peaceful baby, a relief after Alana, who had screamed at anything and everything. Tricia had been living with their father for three years before he’d announced he was too young for a family. Instead of marrying her, he was going off to find himself in India.
Lose himself, more likely. She’d never heard from him again.
“Well.” Melanie perched on the stool opposite her mother at the counter. Her lips were swollen, chin pink from stubble burn, hair messed, eyes glowing. She could say whatever she wanted, but Tricia knew where she’d been. “Actually, I was with a guy.”
“No kidding.”
“What?” She touched her face. “How can you tell?”
“A mother always knows.” She got through the words with the appropriate deadpan expression, then couldn’t help it, let out a snort of laughter.
Melanie’s eyes grew rounder, if that were possible. “You do that just like Alana.”
“What?”
“That funny laugh.”
“Yeah?” She wouldn’t let on how it touched her, tortured her, too. How many of their shared family traits had she missed out on discovering? At least it wasn’t too late for that. “Is this a guy you’ve…been with before?”
“First time. He’s…amazing.” She sighed; her eyes softened. She might as well have had hearts popping out the top of her head.
Tricia’s chest ached. Oh, Melanie. The pain she’d continue to go through if she didn’t stop making men the keepers of her happiness. The latest entry on the long list of ways Tricia had let her daughters down, a list that would inevitably lengthen as she caught up on the years she hadn’t been around.
But she was ready. Primed. Strong. Focused. She’d do whatever it took. “If he was that amazing, why did you leave? You could have rescheduled breakfast with me. You know I would have understood.”
“Oh.” Melanie blushed, looked down at her bright pink mug, decorated with angels and hearts. A Valentine’s Day present? From whom? Tricia had missed so much. “I didn’t want to skip breakfast with you.”
Not entirely true. “And.?”
Her daughter’s head jerked up. “And?”
“Melanie. You can’t shock me. You have no reason to hide anything from me. There’s some other reason you’re not telling the truth.”
Melanie met her eyes, hers blue like her father’s, only gentler. It had been a lot of years since Tricia had looked into them with a clear head. “Mom, are you psychic? Seriously?”
Tricia shrugged. She was, sort of, but enough people had made fun of her that she didn’t bother claiming the title anymore. “Call it women’s intuition. Now tell me. Why did you leave an amazing guy in the middle of a wonderful night?”
Melanie twisted her mouth, the same way she had when she was small and something confused her. Amazing how little had changed—and how much. “I went to sleep next to him completely blissed out, then I woke up and realized I had to meet you for breakfast, but also…that in the morning, it would be, uh…”
“Morning.” Tricia spoke without sarcasm. She understood. “Everything that was safe and mysterious and beautiful in the dark, blurred by alcohol, would be stark and over-lit and real. And hard. And I’m not talking about the guy’s you-know-what.”
Melanie interrupted her shocked look with a giggle. “Yes. Yes, that’s it. How did you know?”
Tricia answered by lifting her eyebrow. Think, Melanie.
Her face fell. “Oh, right. You’re the expert.”
“Was. I’m not proud of it.”
Melanie lifted her chin, again a stubborn three-year-old. “I’m not ashamed of what I do.”
“I’m not asking you to be. I wish I’d lived my life differently. That has nothing to do with you or how you live yours.”
“True.” She took another sip of coffee.
“What’s his name?”
“Stoner.” Said defensively. “He’s the brother of…a good friend and coworker. Edgar. Edgar Raymond.”
“Stoner, huh?” Tricia watched her daughter curiously. No problem talking about Stoner. But Edgar… “You seeing him again?”
Melanie shrugged, eyes on the counter. “He was asleep when I left.”
“I’m sure he knows how to find you.” Tricia finished her coffee in silence. She had a lot more to say about all this, but she wasn’t good at motherhood yet, maybe she never would be, and she wanted to think things over before stumbling into any blunders when her reconciliation with her daughters was still so raw and new. “I’m going to shower. Then we can go out later on.”
“How about Ted’s on Sixty-second Street? It’s a great greasy spoon.”
“Hey, I’m a native, too.” Tricia smiled, slighted even though she didn’t blame her daughter for forgetting. “I know Ted’s.”
“Right.” Melanie nodded, looking embarrassed and so beautiful Tricia wanted to hug her and kiss her smooth cheek, so different from the plump baby one she’d kissed so often—there were some redeeming memories. But she didn’t know how Melanie would react, and she wasn’t going to risk affection this early into their reunion.
“See you soon.” She put her cup in the sink, went down the narrow hallway and climbed the stairs, thinking that after her shower she’d take a few minutes to meditate over the problem with Melanie, see if the collective unconscious had any advice to offer.
Alana’s path through life didn’t worry her too much. But Melanie’s…Melanie needed maternal intervention.
And though it was ironic, given that Tricia was exactly the type of mother who’d caused Melanie to have this problem in the first place, she was also exactly the type of mother who could help her daughter change her life for the better.
EDGAR WOKE UP KNOWING something