Doris went over to make herself a good strong cup of Twinings’ English Breakfast. As she poured milk into her tea, she felt Sylvia’s gaze. She looked over to find Sylvia still leaning against the sink, her arms crossed, her mug of coffee held in one hand.
“What,” Doris said, br
aced for another rant about gold-digger Brad.
“That professor guy is really into you.”
Doris’s nerves flashed painfully—there was the sunburn again. “What?” she hedged, though she knew exactly what Sylvia was talking about. But somehow she wanted, no, she needed it spelled out.
“Your hot blond professor with those sexy eyes. Mom about dropped her dentures when she realized he’d been doing dishes. She went up to bed last night muttering about how Dad has never so much as touched the sponge in his life.”
“As if she’d let him,” Doris retorted. “One of my earliest memories is her chasing him out of the kitchen, and then sighing about how the work never ends.”
Sylvia made an impatient gesture, nearly spilling her coffee. “I’ve heard three more years of it than you have! The thing is, the dude is hot, as those kids would say. Even if he’s up to his neck in debt, or an ex-con, I wouldn’t boot him off the Beautyrest for eating Cheetos in bed.”
“Sh-h-h,” Doris said, a blush burning through her. “He’s right in there!” she hissed, pointing to the den.
“No he’s not,” Sylvia retorted. “I have to pass through there, remember? In case you haven’t noticed, the snowstorm stopped, though it dumped a zillion feet of snow. He and the Chinese student went out to check on their car. Professor Hottie is the one who made this coffee.” She brandished the mug. “They also folded their blankets neatly.”
“I guess they’ll be on their way, then,” Doris said as brightly as she could.
“Not likely.” Sylvia snorted. “The snow plows won’t be here any time today. Maybe not even tomorrow. You remember what it was like twenty years ago, when there was real snow up here.”
“You’re right.”
“Also,” Sylvia said, “this clear sky is apparently a respite. Another one coming in right behind the last one.” She jerked a shoulder up. “My point is, that man is into you. Why aren’t you grabbing him for some fun?”
“First of all, I don’t know that he’s into me,” Doris said, though a pulse of kiss-memory burned through her, and her inner voice pointed a finger and yelled Liar, liar, pants on fire! “Second, I’m old enough to make my own—”
“Doris! The man couldn’t take his eyes off you all night! Every time you opened your mouth, even to say More cocktail, Dad? that man looked at you like you were Jennifer Lopez in a sexy ballgown. And further, you were watching him.”
Doris reddened further. “If you’re about to tell me I was acting like a kid—”
“You looked,” Sylvia cut in, “like you had a party in your panties. Which is the way a gal should look when she’s got the attention of hot stuff like him. Except if he’s, you know, a serial killer or a perv, in which case thanks so much for introducing him to our grandmother and those kids.”
Doris exclaimed, half-laughing, “He’s not a serial killer. Or a perv. I don’t know him well, but he’s friends with Bird, which is a strong recommendation. Even though she writes about dragons and fairies, she’s got a really good eye for people.”
“That’s what I figured. I tried flirting with him, and he just kept looking at you, in the nicest way. He’s a catch, Doris. Get your fling on while he’s still around.”
Doris cringed inside, then glanced around defensively, loathing the idea of a mere fling with Joey. Just the idea of ever saying goodbye to him brought all her old fears back. She determinedly shook them off—those were exactly what had created the walls of her box.
But Sylvia was all about the flings. Better to get off the subject. “We’ll see. I’ve learned to be wary,” she said slowly.
“Wary?” Sylvia’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and her hands went to her hips. “Don’t make this about me. Yeah, my marriage ended horribly. But most of that was because when I married James, I didn’t know you want a prick in the sack, but not outside of it.”
Doris nearly choked on her tea. “Syl!”
“Well, Mom’s not here to fake-faint at us not being ladylike.” Sylvia rolled her eyes, a corner of her mouth tugging up.
Doris smothered a laugh, then she said, “I wasn’t making anything about you.”
“Yeah? Then why didn’t you ever—no. No. I’m not going there. It’s old argument. And I suppose I ought to own up to my part. I know you got dragged into my disaster, taking Nicola and Marrit in every time James and I had a big fight. I learned the hard way after I booted his butt out the back door, there is no romance.” Her voice hardened, and her eyes glittered like diamonds. “You’ve heard me saying loud and clear that I’ll never get married again—men are fun for a while, but I’ll never pick up a man’s dirty underwear and socks again, lah-dee-dah. Love ‘em and leave ‘em first. That’s the way to go. So here’s your chance. Why aren’t you grabbing it?”
Doris’s head swam. She’d never had a conversation even remotely like this with Sylvia, who when they were teens had always been the big romantic in the family. After James, she’d done a total reversal, running in the fast lane.
And so the truth crawled up from Doris’s sunburned soul and out her lips, “I’m scared.”
Sylvia was silent, so silent Doris could hear the old-fashioned clock ticking up above the refrigerator. Finally Sylvia said, “But you’re into him. I saw it last night. And no, it wasn’t obvious, nobody else noticed. It’s just that he was watching you with those hot eyes, so I started watching you, too. What happened to you, Doris, to make you scared? Why didn’t I know about it?”