“They… they’re good. The roads closed before they could get up here so it’s just me and one of Beck’s friends.”
She pauses a moment, and I fuckin’ know what’s comin’. “A girl?”
“A grown woman, actually,” I deadpan. “Listen, Mom; I’m gonna go check the fire. I’ll see you tomorrow sometime. Love you. Tell pop I love him, too.”
“We love you, too. We’ll see you tomorrow. And don’t let that woman freeze.”
I grunt; we exchange goodbyes and end the call. When I return to the small living space to stoke the fire, Goldie’s awake, holding her legs to her chest, staring into the dying flames.
“Sorry I dozed,” she says softly as I take a knee in front of the hearth, sliding two logs inside, leaning back to avoid the popping sparks.
“Don’t gotta be sorry. Sleep if you’re tired.” I add a third log and some kindling to get it burning.
“You know, it’s not even that I’m tired. It’s just… I was so comfortable,” she says, and when I glance over my shoulder at her, she’s still staring into the fire. The glow of the flames flickering against her smooth skin and full lips steals my breath for a second. She bats her eyes and it’s then I realize they’re wet.
“What’s a matter?” I hear myself asking when I’m pretty sure any time I’ve seen Delane get upset, I’ve grunted and turned my head like a fuckin’ caveman. I wipe my hands down my thighs and take a seat on the couch, maybe a little closer than I was before.
“I heard you talking to your Mom,” she says, her voice so fuckin’ delicate that it puts panic in my veins. Why are her eyes wet and why is she sad? Not an hour ago we were… fuck, were we actually having fun? I think we were. I rake a hand up the back of my head.
“Yeah, I had some texts from her. Thought it’d be easier to call.”
She twirls a piece of hair around her finger, finally leaning back, releasing her legs. She folds them cross-legged but still doesn’t face me. I don’t know why I care so much but I fuckin’ do.
“You okay?” I find myself forcing huskiness into my tone.
“You close with your parents?” she asks, bypassing my question leading me to believe that she is not okay. At all. I want to slide closer to her but I don’t.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Very.” We were always close, even before we lost Mere. But we sure as shit grew closer after that. I don’t say it, though, because I don’t talk about Mere and what happened. It’s easier for me to keep it in.
“They’re good parents?” she questions, but the way she asks tells me she already knows the answer. I don’t know how much of my call she heard.
“The best.” Her sadness tells me we don’t share this. “You close with your folks?”
Her laugh is dark, and it’s the darkest I’ve ever seen her when she turns to me, face completely devoid of hope and happiness. “Hardly. Constance Berry is not the type of mom who wants to be a mom. She wants a show pony or a purse dog. That’s what I am to her. A show pony purse dog.”
I don’t know what to say, so I ask about her dad. “What about your pop?”
Another dark snort, but at least she’s focused on me. The wetness seems to be gone from her eyes, and I like that. It brings me strange relief. “Kenneth Berry is somehow worse than Constance.”
“You call your folks by their first names?” I scratch my jaw, knowin’ I do it too but just to annoy them, not because I don’t think of ‘em as Mom and Dad.
“No. I call my mother Mom, and I don't call my Dad anything,” she says, her eyes dropping to her hands which seem to be fiddlin’ endlessly with the hem of her pants. “He’s not dead. I don’t want to seem overly dramatic. He’s just… my parents separated a year ago, and when that happened, he kind of just washed his hands of having a family. Not that he did a lot of family stuff before.”
I don’t know what to say because that’s fucking shitty. My dad has always been there for me whether he said the right thing or gave the right advice. Always. Same with my Mom.
“That’s fuckin’ shitty,” I say, still waiting for those beautiful eyes to come back to me. Dark hair falls across her face, and I swear my hand twitches to push it back. I hate not seein’ her face, especially if she’s feelin’ down. But I keep my hands to myself.
“So, what’s it like with your Mom?” I ask as I drape my arm along the back of the couch. Goldie sinks back into the cushions, unfolding her legs to rest her feet on the coffee table. My fingertips connect with her shoulder as she does, and neither of us acknowledges it. And neither of us move, either.
“I know she loves me. I know she wants me to be happy. But sometimes it feels like she’d be okay with me just looking happy instead of actually being happy. And I think for a long time I was okay with that too. But then I lost my job with the Brutes, and the time I took off after was hard but important because I realized… I don’t think I’ve ever been happy.”
She faces me finally and the gentle smile curling her lips sends me into a goddamn tailspin. I wanna kiss her, seal our mouths together and take all those worries from her. I wanna drop my hand onto her shoulder and curl her body into mine. I want to tell her I can make her happy, but… I doubt I could. And it’s clear she don’t need more pain.
“Sounds very dramatic, right?” She laughs, reaching for her wine glass. I lean forward, too, and top us both off. “Thanks,” she says before bringing the glass to her lips and taking a drink. The sound of her swallowing has me stacking my feet in an effort to jostle free the excitement slithering around between my legs.
“Zzg all Outlook users,” she sighs.
I cock an eyebrow. “What now?”