Chapter Four

Sheridan and I sat in the living room and I listened to her tell me what was going on in her life. When she told me about Beck, her single daddy’s proposition, I didn’t want to show my shock. They’d gone out a few times after he kept doing nice things for her, but this … this was way beyond what I’d imagined.

“You’re going to do it. You love that kid so much, there’s no way you’ll refuse him,” I said.

“I don’t know if I can. English is adorable, but what he’s proposing is a pretty huge leap. Beck’s custody battle is his own to fight. I shouldn’t feel like I have to take it on.”

“No, you shouldn’t. But I know you and I understand how you sometimes look at things. You’re probably thinking about English right now and worrying whether or not her father will lose custody of her. Besides, look at him. He’s gorgeous.”

“That shouldn’t matter. Besides, it’s crazy!” She practically screamed it at me.

Shrugging, I said, “So? He has good reasons.”

“You honestly think I should do it?”

Holding out my hand, I said, “Whoa. Hang on a minute. That is not what I said. What I did say was you’ re going to do it because you adore that little girl. I don’t believe you would let anything jeopardize her relationship with her dad. End of story.”

Sheridan stared at me like I was the crazy one.

She wrung her hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you have to decide right this minute?”

“No, but if I don’t I’ll have a stomach ache for days.”

She always was anxiety prone, ever since her mother died.

“Okay, then why don’t you do a pros and cons list?”

“I did. Look.” She handed me a sheet of paper and I checked it out.

“Damn, girl, there are only two cons on here and the rest are pros. So sexy single dad Beck isn’t so bad after all, is he?”

She stuck her bottom lip out and nodded.

“Don’t pout. What about the kid? English?”

“Yeah. She’s precious. So cute. I hate to play favorites but it’s hard not to.”

“You are so done. And I’m not saying another word.”

She cringed as a stress line formed on her brow. “You think I’m doing the right thing?”

“Only you can answer that. Sometimes you just gotta go with your heart. Ya know?”

“Uh huh. Crazy as this sounds, I’d do anything for English. And that’s where Beck and I have common ground.”

“Better pick up your phone and call him before you chicken out.”

She chewed on her lip for a second or two and then did it. I was pretty shocked to say the least, but I didn’t let on. After I gave it some thought, Sheridan was so kind and generous, it didn’t really surprise me too much. He picked her up so they could discuss things, setting the wheels in motion.

On the day they were leaving for their “trip” as she was calling it, Beck came to pick her up. As he was carrying her bags to the car, I asked to have a word in private with him. Sheridan looked at me oddly, but I waved her off and told her he’d be right out. When she was gone, I was quick with my words.

“Beck, she’s been through a lot. Not your ordinary stuff that young people our age deal with, but I’m talking real bad stuff. Heartbreaking, soul-cracking situations. I’m not sure how much she’s shared, it’s not my place to tell you, and I won’t. But what I will tell you is this. I understand why you two are doing what you’re doing and I respect that. What I won’t respect is if you so much as hurt one single hair on her head. I will come after you with everything I have. I’m talking I will literally crush you. Do I make myself clear? Treat her like a queen or you will regret ever being born.”

The man who looked like Adonis, only stared and nodded. You would’ve thought I gut punched him. Maybe I did. Or maybe no one ever spoke to him that way. Whatever the case, I didn’t care. My only concern was that my bestie didn’t get her heart ripped out.

Later that day, I spoke with Oliver, wondering if he was going to invite me to his parents’ sometime over the Thanksgiving weekend to meet them. We were together constantly, spending almost every night together and he’d talked about how much he wanted to meet my family. I’d told him he’s more than welcome, but he changed the subject every time. It was getting to be a little more than annoying and I was beginning to wonder if he was hiding some kind of an issue. He never mentioned meeting his family. Since I was leaving that evening to go see my own Mom and Dad, I was hoping he’d bring it up.

“Well, have a Happy Thanksgiving.”

“You too, Gumdrop. Don’t eat too much turkey.”

“I won’t.”

That was it.

Oliver

The topic of Thanksgiving was more than awkward, not being able to invite Michelle to my parents. I knew she was fishing for an invitation, but I avoided it altogether. There was nothing more I wanted than to spend those days with her, and being away from her was going to kill, but I didn’t have a choice. The worst part of it was I knew it hurt her. I hoped to mend those areas, and maybe soon. She means more to me than anyone I’d ever been with. I kept hoping she wouldn’t run from me and would trust me long enough to get through the next few months.

Michelle

The two-hour drive to my parents was spent obsessing over him. What’s the deal? Is he ashamed of me?

By the time I pulled into the driveway, Mom was waiting at the front door, all smiles, and excited to see me. I, on the other hand, was depressed and sullen.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Mom knew me well. I’d had phone conversations about him and she passed it off as a man thing.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. He’s probably not thinking too much along those lines. Boys are like that, you know. Your father never once thought to bring me to meet his parents until my dad asked to meet his. Then he wanted to know why.”

That was somewhat encouraging news.

“You really think so?”

“Oh, yes. Christmas will be the clincher. I’m sure he’ll invite you over then. Some people just think of Thanksgiving as another meal.”

“Speaking of, what are our plans?”

We discussed the day’s adventures, as I called them, because they entailed going over to Dad’s brother’s house. My aunt and uncle had five kids and they were all hellions. I was waiting for the call from Mom telling me they had burned the house down. Both my aunt and uncle thought the kids were angels. They were more like demons on wheels.

“Is Grandma going?”

“Nope. She is going to the buffet at Serenity Village.” It’s the retirement community she moved into after Grampy died.

“She wants to do that?” I asked, shocked.

“Why yes. She has a sweetheart there.” Mom waggles her brows. “He is playing his accordion during dinner for everyone so she doesn’t want to leave. Then later in the evening they are having a Sexy Bingo tournament. She’s determined to win money.”

“Grandma has a sweetheart?”

“I didn’t tell you?”

“No!”

Mom filled me in on Grandma’s love life. His name was Harold and he was quite the charmer. He was an expert polka dancer, an accordion player, and he made wiener dogs out of balloons. All the women were after him because he was one of the few men there who had his own teeth and could still hear.

“Your grandmother swore she heard a rumor that he had an unlimited supply of Viagra too.”

“Oh my God, Mom. That was way too much information.”

“Oh, come on, Michelle. I think it’s kind of cute.”

“Eww, no.”

“Honey, just because she’s old—”

I covered my ears and yelled, “Staaaahp! I mean it.”

Mom only laughed. Dad must’ve heard, because he came into the kitchen asking what the ruckus was about. When Mom explained, he chuckled.

“Yeah, she’s a spry one, isn’t she, that grandma of yours?”

“I can’t do this. I’m going to put this in my room.”

I grabbed my bag and headed for my old room, the one that still had my pink comforter and lacy curtains because that’s what I wanted when I was sixteen. It made me wonder when Mom was going to redecorate in here.

When I reemerged thirty minutes later, Mom was putting a couple of pumpkin pies in the oven.

“Is there anything I can help with?” I asked.

“Are you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“Barbeque from the Three Little Piggies?”

That was our usual the night before Thanksgiving dinner.

“Yass!”

Dad called it in and went to pick it up while I sat at the counter and drank a beer. Mom did some last minute things that she swore she didn’t need help with. I drooled as I watched her assemble a sweet potato casserole while the aroma of pumpkin pies baking wafted through the room.

“Oh my God, I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow to eat that stuff.”

“You don’t have to,” Mom said with a sly look. “I made extra.” She pulled one out of the fridge.

“You’re a dog. I don’t need all those extra calories.”

“Pfft. Look at your skinny self. You’re exactly like Grandma. You’ll never have a weight problem. So tell me about Oliver.”

She knew most of it because I talked to her every day just about. When I pulled out my phone and showed her some pictures, though, she fanned herself.

“Phew, he sure is a cutie.”

“Right? Look at his eyes. I’m not sure if you can even get the full effect behind his sexy glasses, but they’re a beautiful shade of blue. Oh, Mom, he’s so pretty.”

She smacked me on the hand. “Don’t you call that man pretty. I raised you better than that. He’s handsome. Yummy. Downright sexy or a hunk. That’s what we called them in my day. But pretty he is not. He’s too manly to be called pretty.”

“I know what you’re saying but he is pretty. His face is perfect.”

“Perfect is fine too, but do not ever call a man pretty. You hear?”

“Mom, we come from different times. Pretty isn’t bad.”

Her hand moved through the air as though she were swatting a gnat. She clearly didn’t buy it. “Whatever. In my day it was not a good thing.”

Dad walked in then and he knew something was up.

Mom jumped in and said, “Dear, what would you say if I called you pretty?”

“I’d ask you how much you had to drink.” He set the bag filled with barbecue containers on the counter and stared at her. “I’m saying don’t ever call me pretty. Why’d you say such a heinous thing?”

Mom turned to me and said, “See. Point made.”

“Yeah, but y’all are old.”

Now I’d done it. I insulted my parents.

“Old my ass,” Dad said. “I’ll remember that the next time you need money for something.” Then he mumbled, “Old,” and went for the plates.

We fixed our plates and ate in silence. When we were finished, Dad wanted to know how the pretty conversation came up. Mom told him so he wanted to see Oliver. I showed him and he agreed that Oliver was very handsome, but definitely not a pretty man. From that day forward, I never referred to him as pretty in front of Mom and Dad.

Thanksgiving was the usual meal, but in all honesty, my mind was elsewhere—at Oliver’s house, thinking about what he was doing. I didn’t even mind all the noise at my aunt’s. We made small talk, and I answered their questions about my job, but Dad in his usual way, did the eat and run.

Thirty minutes after we finished dessert, and after all the dishes were in the dishwasher, Dad herded us to the car.

“Thank you for a lovely time,” he said as he dashed out.

“Yes, it was fun.” I waved as he practically dragged me to the car.

When we backed out of the driveway, I asked, “Dad, are you okay?”

“Hell, no, I’m not okay. I need a stiff drink. I don’t know what the hell my brother was thinking. I couldn’t stand the noise any longer.”

Mom patted his shoulder as we drove home. When we got there, he ran out of the car and into the house. By the time Mom and I got inside, he’d already downed a glass of bourbon. Damn, he really didn’t like going there.