For some unknown reason it just felt—wrong not to level with her.
I mean, we were both adults, here.
Right?
“Kind of.”
Her eyebrows raised, and she asked, “What do you mean by, ‘kind of’?”
“Um, I mean—yes.”
She let out a huff. “Thank you for being honest with me.” Her hand reached out, and covered mine.
“Are things going—well?” she asked in a calm, quiet voice.
Not at all the voice my dad would be using right now if he were here.
“What do you mean?” I wasn’t sure what she was asking.
She looked down at our hands, then back up at me. “Is he—treating you well?”
Oh, wow.
This was not something I really wanted to discuss with—anyone.
“Of course,” I told her, and I felt a slight blush cover my cheeks.
“Good, I’m glad. And,” she squeezed my hand, “I’m happy for you guys.”
Now it was my turn to be skeptical. “You are?”
She giggled at me.
Marianne Turner had a cute laugh. “Believe me, sweetie, when you’re a mom, all you want is for your kids to be happy.”
Then she bit her bottom lip. “I mean, not that you’re my kid. Unless you want to be my kid. Because if we can be honest?” She leaned in across the table. “Right now, I like you a lot better than any of them. Sometimes they can act like selfish little shitheads.”
That made me crack up.
She laughed along with me. When we stopped, she patted my hand.
“I’m not trying to replace your mom. You know that, right? Because that would be really dumb. Nobody can replace a parent.”
I hadn’t been prepared for that, and my eyes began to water.
“But, I’d like to be more than just a—friend to you. Whatever you’re open to,” she sent me the most genuine smile I’d seen in a long time, “is great with me.”
I nodded, and my breath hitched. “I’d like that, Marianne.”
And I wasn’t lying.
I really liked Marianne Turner.
If I’d met her under different circumstances, I’d still think she was awesome.
“I love your dad,” she blurted out in a rushed tone—almost like she was nervous.
I thought that was kind of sweet.