LUXURY
Therapy never cut it. Grief counseling couldn’t slap a Band-Aid on my gutted heart. I was down to my last shred of faith with no desire to waste it on hope. I’ll say, though, that my hypersensitivity to shouting and cursing has decreased. Rarely do I jump out of my skin when there’s a disagreement down the street or even on television. Momma had put up a fight. It was obvious, the police said. I often wonder if she’d still be alive if she hadn’t fought. Since then, arguments have triggered me, and I avoided confrontation, up until Dr. Finch literally swept me off my feet. I burrow into Victor’s massive chest and do what I never thought I’d be capable of.
I let the words flow.
“In the apartment where we lived, you could hear obscenities. Music blaring, Italians and Blacks cussing, fighting. Toss some sensual moaning into the mix. Then here comes Dad, frustrated. I wouldn’t call it cussing. You’ve seen how eclectic and brainy—” Turning my face into Victor, I conceal a smile. The guy I’m screwing has more similarities to Dad than myself. Brainy? Way to go, Lux!
A tremor falls over me as Victor strokes my shoulder, and I regain my momentum. “Ahem, he’d come out of his office to apologize after calming down, which led to him sharing concepts Gin, I mean, Momma and I couldn’t fathom. We had these bewildered looks on our faces—pretty much speaking volumes.”
The edge of his mouth furrows ever so slightly as if Victor’s visualizing the entire scenario.
“Dad won the American Heart Association’s research grant when he was younger than I am now,” I shrug, realizing I’ve detoured the conversation.
Can I do this? Can I discuss my departed Momma?
“He never seemed satisfied with his work. But Mom . . . Momma would know a good day from a bad day. I’d come home from school, and she’d be baking something sweet to counteract his brooding. Then one day, he put Greco Tech on the map. You probably know more about that than I do.”
He nods me on, knowing I will go off on a tangent and mention Dad, leaving my mother at the wayside.
I pluck the stitches off my broken heart and take the plunge. “So, Dad put all his time into advancing cardiology. Mondays, as I told you before, Mom would bring flowers to his job.”
“Black roses.” His voice is a husky, low caress of encouragement. “Tell me more about you and your mum. How was your relationship?”
Tears well in my eyes, and I can’t shove them away fast enough. I’ve succeeded at discarding her memory, referring to her by her first name only when necessary, and I’m disappointed in myself for it. But it’s easier that way. I take a deep breath. “She had the first aid kit handy when my father took me on my first bike ride. He could explain advanced medical concepts, but not how to ride a bike.” I chuckle softly. “Am I boring you?”
My gaze flickers toward Victor, and his lips press against mine. “Quite the opposite, Little One.”
With his lips brushing over my collarbone, all of him becomes a balm to my soul.
“Before something bad happened, Momma was already prepared. Dad’s invention went left when he wanted it to go right, and she made brownies or cookies.” I share how we never went through the terrible teen stages when mothers and daughters typically couldn’t understand each other. We’d always been close.
“Saturdaymornings, it was us on a solo mission. Momma invented this coupon challenge. We’d cut random discounts out of newspapers and magazines then go shopping.”
Looking at how Victor’s mouth flickers to one side, I wonder if he even understands what I am talking about. His car, his clothes, his choice of hotel stay while assisting the neurology team at Greco Technologies causes me to wonder why I’ve shared such a ridiculous story.
“Anyway, that’s as brainiac as my mom would get. We’d tally up who got the most bang for her buck. Loser cooked dinner.”
“Who won?” His breath whispers over my cheek.
“Me—as far as first-hand experience goes. I learned to cook random-ass food my mom loved.”
A seductive brow kicks. “Random arse?”
“Like risotto and gazpacho.” I extend the “o” of each word, causing Victor to laugh with me.
“Lux, when’s the last time you went coupon shopping?”
I shift around as I lean against him. “Mom’s been gone for little over a year, so over a year then.”
Next thing I know, we’re downloading coupon apps on our phones. “Loser does what?” I ask.
“Am I to presume that you doubt my cooking capabilities?”
“Sure do.”
“I didn’t have much of a childhood.” His smile wavers, but before I can inquire, he says, “But I was taught never to decline a challenge. The stakes will include breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
My eyebrow arches.