“Come in. I’ll make some coffee.”
“Thank you.” Her mother’s tone was brittle and she was paler than usual. “What are you wearing? It looks like something you bought in a man’s store. It swamps you.”
Given that it was Matt’s T-shirt, Frankie decided not to answer that. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving, but I don’t want to eat. I have this body because I watch what I eat. I look after myself. I exercise, I have a really tight butt—”
Frankie cringed and hoped Matt wasn’t listening. “You’re looking great, Mom.”
“So why do men leave me?” Her mother’s face crumpled. “Why do men always leave me? What do I do wrong?”
Frankie froze, caught unawares by the sudden eruption of emotions. “Dev left you?”
“He said he wanted to find someone his own age who could give him babies. I told him having kids is overrated but he wouldn’t listen to me.”
Frankie wondered why remarks like that still upset her. “I didn’t know you were serious about him.”
“Neither did I. But it turns out I am. We had fun together.” She started to sob and the sound hammered away at the barrier Frankie had erected between herself and her mother.
“Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” Shaking, she put her arms around her mother and guided her to the sofa. Listening to her sobs made her chest ache. She was right back there, fourteen years old and faced with a parent who could barely drag herself out of bed every morning. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“How can it be? I’m fifty-four next month. Fifty-four. My life is over.”
“It’s not over, Mom.”
“I will never, ever find a man I can depend on.” She flung her arms around Frankie, enveloping her like an octopus as she sobbed onto her shoulder. “You’re the sensible one, not me. You’ve built a life that doesn’t involve men. You have a great job, lovely friends and most of all you’re independent. You never, ever give away your heart. You have more sense.”
Frankie thought about Matt, getting dressed in the next room.
She thought about all the things they’d shared. The deeply personal parts of herself and her life that she’d revealed to him and she desperately tried to block out the small,
traitorous voice inside her that was telling her to listen to her mother.
“Mom—”
“What? You’re going to tell me this is my own fault for getting involved. And you’d be right.” She blew her nose hard. “You’re right to avoid relationships, Frankie. This is what they do to you.” The tears flowed and Frankie held her mother while she cried, just as she’d done all those years before.
She tried to block the emotions, or at least filter them, but familiar feelings flowed back through her, an ugly mix of panic and helplessness. “Don’t cry, Mom. He’s not worth it.”
“I know.” But still she cried and still Frankie held her, her brain and her heart numb.
Matt appeared, holding coffee.
Over her mother’s head, her gaze met his.
He looked rumpled and sexy and she felt dizzy with longing.
She wanted to run to him and feel those strong arms close around her, protecting her from thoughts she didn’t want to have. Instead of the voice inside her, she wanted to hear his voice telling her in a calm, rational way that everything was going to be okay. And that in itself was terrifying.
She’d worked hard to ensure she didn’t need reassurance from anyone but herself.
She protected herself. That was what she did. That was how she lived.
What did it matter whether her issues came from her father or her mother? Nothing changed the fact that they were there.
How had she let herself get this involved? Being with Matt had melted away the protective shell she’d worn for most of her life, and now instead of feeling strong she felt exposed and vulnerable.
Panic rippled through her.