Mother, Please! (20 page)

“O
H
,
THANK GOODNESS
,”
Avery said, opening her front door to her mother later that evening. She took the fresh tomato Suzannah offered from the palm of her hand. “I picked up two tomatoes this afternoon and both are as mealy as wet bran.”

“Bran? And here all this time I’ve been thinking of you as the Cheerios type,” Suzannah said teasingly.

Heading back to the kitchen, Avery glanced over her shoulder and grinned at her mother trailing behind. “That’s because you still look at me as your little girl.”

“Well, of course I do. The younger you are, the younger I am,” Suzannah said with a laugh that Avery didn’t find convincing.

She washed the tomato and pulled a chef’s knife from the block on her navy-tiled countertop. “And here all this time
I’ve
been thinking that you considered age to be nothing but a state of mind.”

“True. But there are times I can’t help but wish I was your age again with so much time still ahead
of me.” Leaning a shoulder on the archway separating the kitchen and dining areas, Suzannah crossed her arms.

Frowning, Avery cubed the tomato and told herself not to worry. But her mother remained silent, and by the time she scooped up the handful of tiny chunks and tossed them into the bowl of shredded lettuce, Suzannah’s scrutiny had intensified fourscore and seven.

Enough was enough. Avery rinsed her hands and reached for a dish towel, drying as she asked, “Mom? What’s going on here?”

Suzannah considered her daughter from head to toe, then shrugged and pushed away from the archway. “I’ve decided you’re not the Cheerios type after all.”

Mothers! Argh! “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Seeing you preparing dinner for David certainly doesn’t have me thinking of you as a little girl.”

Avery shook her head and turned back to setting the table with her aqua stoneware, relieved her mother’s moodiness was about something so simple. “You act like I’ve never cooked dinner for a man before.”

“You’ve never cooked dinner for David.”

Placing flatware on napkins beside the plates, Avery couldn’t deny the flicker of anticipation
brought on by her mother’s comment and the memory of the stolen moments she and David had shared earlier that day. For a moment she simply stared at the muted colors of her reflection in the brushed silver of the knives, forks and spoons atop the ivory linen napkins.

She turned her gaze to Suzannah. “It’s funny that after so many years it would be David making me nervous. I’m worried about getting this right. I guess it’s because this is the first real date I’ve had in a year.”

“Then you’re guessing wrong. What you’re feeling is all about David.”

Her mother was far too intuitive. The tightness in Avery’s chest intensified. “I owe him so much.”

“No, sweetie, you don’t. You absolutely do not. Nothing beyond honesty.” Suzannah came farther into the room and wrapped her daughter in a one-armed hug, rubbing a hand up and down Avery’s upper bicep. “And I think the two of you already have a good start in that direction.”

“It’s just…” Avery paused, not even sure she knew how to phrase what she wanted to say. It was that precipice thing. One wrong step and…
splat!

“Just what?” Suzannah encouraged, reaching up to tuck a fall of hair behind Avery’s ear.

Avery moved to sit in one of the dining room’s shaker pine chairs; her mother followed suit. “I
think about what you had with Daddy, and it makes me sad that you lost that. I know I can’t fill his shoes—”

Suzannah gasped. “Avery Marie! Do not tell me that you have been putting your own life on hold for five years now because of me.”

Avery glanced up sharply, unsure whether she’d ever seen such a stern expression cross her mother’s face. Not even when Suzannah had called down disruptive students in class. Or when she’d been presented with Avery’s ruined—and pricey—cheerleading uniform top.

“Of course, I haven’t,” Avery hedged, recalling for the first time how much of her comfort level had to do with familiarity. And how she’d been loath to taking chances since that night fifteen years ago. “It’s just that lately the boom in the bakery’s business has been eating into what little social life I did have.”

Suzannah wasn’t buying it. “And breaking your engagement to Tom? Not even a month after your father’s passing?”

“Tom and I wanted different things out of life. It shouldn’t have taken us as long as it did to figure that out.”

At least, that was the truth, though her mother’s emotional state
had
played a part in her decision to end the engagement. She’d been with Tom two
years, yet she had been unable to picture herself ever mourning him the way her mother had mourned the loss of her father.

It had taken that enormous heartbreak for her to recognize the crux of all her relationship issues before and since. She wanted the life her mother had lived with her father. That perfect pairing. That ideal match. That rare coupling of souls that happened but once in a lifetime. She’d been afraid for so long that she would never know such bliss.

For the past forty-eight hours, however, she’d been more afraid that she was going to find she couldn’t have what she wanted with a man when their history, and David’s “ruined life” comment—even if made in jest—factored in.

Sighing, Suzannah turned her chair so that Avery’s and her knees met. “Avery, listen to me. I’ve wanted to say this to you for a very long time, but I hate the idea of butting into your life. Your father and I raised you to be independent and we always respected your decisions, even when we didn’t necessarily agree with them.”

“But?” Avery asked, because she sensed a really big
but
on the way.

“But you must stop living in the past.” When Avery opened her mouth to interrupt, her mother shushed her and went on. “I’ve suspected as much for some time now. I love our Saturday mornings
together, but I know for a fact that Cicely Linden has invited you more than once to go shopping at Canton.”

Avery didn’t know what to say. She’d put off her good friend repeatedly even though a trip to the North Texas antiques bazaar was so incredibly tempting. She’d thought of asking her mother to come along….

“Avery?”

She glanced up at her mother. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s that big of a deal to me.” Suzannah took hold of her daughter’s hands, rubbing her thumbs over the backs of Avery’s fingers. “I feel horribly responsible that somehow I’m holding you back. That you’re living in the past out of a misplaced loyalty to me.”

“You’re my mother. How could any loyalty I have to you be misplaced?” Avery asked, feeling torn between her own feelings and the truth her mother spoke.

Suzannah’s expression grew solemn. “If it’s keeping you from living your life fully, then that’s exactly what it is. Let me ask you this. Would you want me to remain static the rest of my life out of my loyalty to you?”

“Of course not,” Avery answered, squeezing her mother’s hands. “I want you to be happy.”

“Which I am. Very.” Suzannah smiled brightly.

Avery’s smile was dim in comparison. “Besides, you’re hardly remaining static, not with all the coming and going you’ve been up to lately.”

Suzannah sighed. “Avery, listen to me. I’m not a doddering old fool who has to have every moment of her day managed for her. I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself, living on my own, making my own decisions—”

“I know that,” Avery interrupted, facing the fact that she
had
been hiding in the safe harbor of parental concern. After all, who could fault her for her devotion? “I just knew that losing Daddy would leave a void in your life.”

“Yes. It has. Of course, it has. But it’s a void I have managed to fill by refusing to live in the past.” Suzannah got to her feet and returned her chair to its place. “Now, I want you to promise me you’ll do the same. And start tonight by having a good time with David.”

D
AVID SAT ON THE TOP STEP
outside his front door, elbows digging into his knees, fingers laced, head down and thumbs rubbing the pressure from his temples as he waited for Suzannah to leave Avery’s place.

Minutes ago, he’d been on his way down, but hearing the knock on her door followed by the
voices of both women, he’d stopped above on his third-floor landing. He’d decided to hang out upstairs until the coast was clear, not wanting to interrupt whatever mother-daughter thing they had going on.

More than that, however, he wanted to get his hands on Avery, and with her mother around that wasn’t going to be happening.

He knew he had Suzannah’s blessing should he wish to pursue her daughter. She’d made her approval of him perfectly clear, hinting on occasion how she wished Avery would get out and have more of a social life.

None of the hints had been blatant matchmaking attempts; Suzannah was more subtle than that. Well, except for the obvious lawn-watering ploy. But catching her drift didn’t require a rocket scientist—even if that was exactly what he could have been. Instead, he taught computer science, his higher education plans diverted by one of life’s big fat detours.

In a truly twisted irony, he owed his career to Johnny Boyd and that fight beneath the bleachers. Returning to school with a reputation as a badass had been his first step into the hell that had been his senior year at Tatem High. He only made it two months in before his father yanked him out of
school and moved their small family of two to El Paso.

An oil-exploration geologist, his father had been comfortable leaving his overachieving son home alone in the small town during his short trips around the state. That comfort had turned to an unease that blossomed in proportion to David’s dropping grades and rising incidents of trouble. Once enrolled in school in El Paso, he’d been reduced to the same status he’d had in Tatem. The one with the nearly perfect 4.0 GPA.

In the end, the experience had taught him a lot about himself, and he’d married his geek’s love of computer science with the newfound fulfillment he found in teaching when working in after-school programs with kids from El Paso’s barrio. Life was strange, but he couldn’t complain about the twists and turns since he was sitting here waiting to complete a circle that had begun so many years ago. He loved what he did and wouldn’t trade the small-town classroom for the moon.

At the sound of Avery’s door opening and that of her mother’s descending footsteps on the staircase, he got to his feet. He dusted off the seat of his khaki Dockers with one hand as he walked down. When he looked toward Avery’s door he saw her watching his approach.

Her expression was both hesitant and one of an
ticipation, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether she was responding to her mother’s visit or the thought of the evening ahead.

He slowed his steps as the beat of his heart picked up speed. “Am I too early?”

Avery shook her head. “You’re just in time to save me from talking myself to death while the casserole bakes. King Ranch Chicken. I hope that’s okay.”

“Are you kidding?” She could’ve baked dog biscuits and he would’ve been fine with it. He offered her the bottle of Pinot Grigio he’d brought.

“Mmm.” She smiled as she read the label. “I’m so pedestrian when it comes to alcohol. I was going to offer you Dos Equis or Corona. This will be so much nicer.”

“I’m good with the beer,” he replied, closing her front door and following her through the apartment. The two-bedroom layout of all three floors was identical, and he wasted no time looking around Avery’s place.

Not when she was the reason he was here. And when he had the choice between looking at her furnishings and watching the set of her shoulders, the sway of her hips, the way she shook back her hair as she walked.

He caught the groan rolling up from his gut and stepped into her kitchen. She snagged a corkscrew
from a drawer, turned and handed it to him. He took it and placed it on the countertop next to the bottle of wine. And then he hooked an elbow around Avery’s neck and tugged her body flush to his.

“I’m starving,” he said, his forehead resting on hers as his lips brushed the corner of hers and tickled her cheek.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she answered, her hands moving to his waist, settling there at his belt instead of unbuckling it as she wanted to. She nuzzled her nose to his. “We can start with the wine and the salad.”

“Sounds good.” It sounded awful compared to starting with her mouth. And so he did, opening his lips over hers, which parted willingly.

He swallowed her whimper, devoured her desire, swept his tongue through her mouth and backed her into the countertop. She pulled him with her, urging him closer than the distance he’d forced himself to keep.

He settled his weight fully against her slight frame, wanting more than anything to explore their fit without bright overhead lights glaring down and too many layers of clothing between.

When the tension in the room grew too razor sharp to bear, he eased away slowly, first his body, then his arm from her neck and finally his mouth from hers. He wasn’t going anywhere; they had a
long night ahead. The possibilities held by the next few hours were worth a trip taken minute by minute.

And so he let Avery go, and opened the wine.

D
AVID POURED
the wine while Avery set bowls of salad and a spouted serving boat of dressing on the table. He’d told her he was a fan of buttermilk ranch and would’ve been fine pouring straight from the bottle.

Avery, however, had insisted on completing her well-set table. He didn’t know if the effort was meant to impress him or to keep their evening structured within whatever boundaries she’d set—a strange thought considering the way she’d so easily welcomed his tongue and his body, but there it was.

And now here he was, sitting directly across from her at the rectangular table designed for six, a linen napkin in his lap, his salad bowl centered on his plate. He felt as if he were taking an Emily Post test. One wrong use of a fork, and bam! He was history.

He lifted his wineglass as Avery reached for the salad dressing. “Are you practicing for Saturday night’s dinner party?” he asked.

She frowned, offering him the serving boat be
fore she picked up her drink. “I hadn’t thought of it that way, no. Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re sitting all the way over there.” He finished with the dressing, returned it to the center of the table. “The food’s not the only thing I’m wanting to get my hands on, you know.”

She sipped at her wine, her eyes downcast as she said, “David, I’ve been thinking that it might be a good idea if we keep our distance. At least for a while.”

“When were you thinking that?” he asked after several seconds passed, his tone sharper than he’d intended. “Before or after you kissed me ten minutes ago?”

Color stained her cheeks. “Before, actually.”

“I see,” he said, stabbing up a forkful of shredded and cubed greens. A sharp burst of bell pepper kept his mouth closed when he wanted to say a whole lot more.

“I’m not sure you do see,” Avery was saying when her hesitation finally forced his attention away from his salad.

“Oh, well. Feel free to enlighten me then.” He’d come here with high expectations, yes, and they’d grown higher the longer the kiss. Now he felt as if he and Avery were back in high school and that he was putting his foot in his mouth the way he’d always done when around her.

She set her wineglass on the table, moved her hands to her lap. “You were right earlier today. What you said. About us not being ready to sleep together.”

This time he refused to look up, certain that she’d already made up her mind, closed herself off from the doors they’d only recently opened. He didn’t want to see her shut down when minutes before she’d been ready to give him his dream.

Instead, he went after his salad with a vengeance until the tines of his fork wouldn’t hold another lettuce shred and more than likely wouldn’t fit in his mouth. “You’re afraid I’m going to throw you across the table, is that it?”

She said nothing, and he thought for a moment that walking away and leaving her to her salad and her King Ranch Chicken would be the smartest thing to do. He was getting close to taking things too personally when this dinner was simply a date with no promises made. He shouldn’t be having this much trouble remembering that.

Her continuing silence, however, finally drew his gaze from his bowl to her face. And the purely prurient grin lifting the corners of her mouth hit him like a fist to the solar plexus. It was a full ten seconds before he could breathe.

“No, David.” She leaned forward, both wrists now resting on the table’s edge, her blue eyes un
cannily bright, the tone of her voice suggestive. “I’m afraid I’ll be the one to throw you across the table.”

He dropped his fork against the edge of his bowl. Avery’s lashes drifted down to hide her eyes, her voice going soft as she said, “I know. I’ve avoided you for ten months and now I want you to take me to bed. What an about-face, huh?”

Oh, yeah. A big one he wouldn’t have seen coming had he been looking through the Hubble. And here he’d been determined to take things slow, not wanting to lose the ground that had taken him so long to gain.

He sat back in his chair and considered his dinner partner intently. “Well…I’m not about to complain.”

“God, it’s so hard to talk about.” She laughed as she shoved her hair from her face. It fell back in big blond waves he wanted to feel sweep over his skin. “It’s as if since my mother brought us together Saturday morning, nothing about my life has been the same.”

He watched as she picked up her fork and toyed with her salad, finally taking a bite as if eating would keep her from having to speak. He followed her lead, pushing cucumbers here, tomatoes there, not the least bit surprised to find his appetite for the food long gone.

Finally he reached for his wine. “Strange how one moment in a lifetime can change everything, isn’t it?”

Her expression grew solemn. “That’s what happened to you, isn’t it? It was that night beneath the bleachers.”

He nodded, because he couldn’t deny his actions had started the chain of events that had brought them full circle. It wasn’t something he’d ever planned to get into with her, but now that she’d brought up the subject he wasn’t going to avoid the truth of their connection.

The oven’s timer buzzed, and Avery pushed back from the table, appearing relieved to have the interruption. She set the casserole dish bubbling with cheese, green chilies, corn tortillas and chicken on the table. The smells set his stomach to rumbling, yet he didn’t move a muscle. He simply waited for Avery to make up her mind.

He saw her indecision in the way she took too long turning off the oven and pulling the hot mitts from her hands, the way she was slow to grab the wine bottle off the countertop and refill both glasses. By the time she returned to the table, David’s gut was tied in knots—knots that tightened and throbbed and tangled beyond repair when she picked up her place setting and moved to sit in the chair at his side.

For a long, tense moment, neither of them said a word. David sat with his shoulders back, his hands gripping the railings that joined the top of his chair to the seat. Avery spread her napkin in her lap, smoothing it out repeatedly until not a wrinkle remained.

He listened to her shallow in-and-out breaths and shifted to face her. He watched the throb of her pulse in the soft hollow of her throat, longed to place his lips to the spot and feel the heavy beat. Suppressing a groan, he released his grip on the chair back and flexed his fingers. This evening was going to become a big fat disaster if they couldn’t deal with the heat of this simmering tension.

And so he reached toward her and lifted her chin with the long edge of one index finger. Then he leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips to hers. It took the willpower of the saint he’d never been not to increase the pressure of his mouth, especially when she strained toward him seeking more.

But he set her back, dropped his hand and smiled. “See? No table-throwing. No ripping off of clothes.” Her grin teased him, tempted him, as did her sense of good humor in the face of an awkward moment.

“If you can keep your hands to yourself, then so can I,” she announced. And, at that, she reached for the serving spoon and dished up the casserole.

Once she sat back, however, he moved his left hand to her thigh. “I didn’t say anything about keeping my hands to myself.”

One eyebrow arched, she fought a grin. “And I’m supposed to be able to calmly sit and eat when you’re touching me?”

Oh, but he was on the verge of hardening where he sat. Knowing the way she wanted him, feeling the heat of her body in the palm of his hand…yeah, it was too much. He moved his arm to rest along the back of her chair instead. “Is this better?”

“Honestly, no. I’d rather you touch me. But practically speaking, yes.” She cast him a quick sideways glance and reached for her fork. “This way you’re not so much of a distraction, but are still near enough for me to feed you.”

Before he could object, she offered him a chunk of creamy, cheesy chicken. He opened his mouth and died. “Mmm.”

“You like?” she asked before feeding herself from the same dish, the same fork.

He watched her lips close, watched her pull the fork free, watched her eyes twinkle and her grin light up her face. “What’s not to like?” he asked gruffly.

She turned to the side, hooked her heels over the chair’s low railing and set the plate of food on her knees. Her shins pressed the outside of his thigh.
He shifted even closer. “I didn’t know if you were more of a steak-and-baked-potato kind of guy,” she said.

“I’m pretty much just a food kind of guy,” he admitted.

“Ah, that’s the best kind.”

“How’s that?”

She fed him another bite, her chin raised, her nose lifted, her gaze on his mouth as he chewed. He amazed himself by not choking or pulling her into his lap.

“A guy who won’t turn up his nose at a meal makes cooking for him a lot more fun.”

“You cook for a lot of guys then?”

She laughed, shook her head. “You’re one of a very few. I was actually thinking how much my mother loved cooking for my father.”

“Hmm.” He reached for the distraction of his wineglass.

“Oh, God. That didn’t come out right at all.” Grinning, she waved the fork back and forth. “I wasn’t comparing my cooking for you to my mother cooking for my father.”

He raised a brow. “That’s good to know,” he said, and hearing her laughter was worth any conversation or any comparison he had to endure.

“I mean, considering this is only our first date,
it would be fairly presumptuous of me to think we would be headed for thirty years of wedded bliss.”

“Uh, right.” He cleared his throat.

“Poor David.” She swirled the fork through the food on her plate. “Are you about ready to start gnawing off your leg?”

“I’m getting there,” he lied.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound as if I were setting a trap. Please tell me you know that.”

Thing was, if she wanted to trap him, she wouldn’t even have to try. It was her mother, not the subject of marriage, that he wasn’t wanting to talk about. “Don’t worry about it. I figure if you’d been serious about trapping me, then we’d both be naked by now.”

“Very funny,” she said, before shoving a bite of food at his face.

He opened his mouth and took it, but held her hand while he did. He rubbed his thumb into her palm, wrapped his fingers around her wrist just tightly enough to let her know the truth of how much he
did
want to drag her across the table and strip her bare.

Her eyes flashed in response. He released her, and she pulled the fork from his mouth and moved it to her own, where she licked the tines clean. He simply sat and stared. It was the least he could do, the most he could do. Hell, it was all he could do
unless he wanted to risk his fantasy becoming a very real reality before she was ready.

But while he was mentally clearing the table, making room to climb on top, Avery was busy moving on. Shrugging, she turned her attention back to the plate of casserole balanced on her knees. “I do worry about my mother, though. I suppose I shouldn’t. She told me that I shouldn’t. But it’s hard to see her alone after all the years she had with Daddy.”

“I’m pretty sure your mom’s doing okay,” he said, reaching again for his wine.

“I know she’s doing okay. I just wonder at times if she’d be doing better if Daddy were still around.” Avery returned the half-empty plate to the table, then leaned a shoulder against the back of her chair and sipped at her wine. “School’s out in another couple of weeks. She won’t have the daily routine of kids and classes to keep her busy during the summer.”

“Trust me. Those few weeks off are only long enough to get done what we don’t have time to do the rest of the year,” he said, looking down into his wineglass and avoiding her gaze.

“I know,” she said, her voice growing pensive. “But Mom’s always taught summer school in the past. This year she waited until the last possible minute to make her decision, and now she has this
block of free time looming ahead. That’s what concerns me more than anything.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Avery, I don’t mean to be insensitive here, but your mother is an adult. If she’s decided not to teach summer school, I’m sure she has a good reason.”

“I don’t know—”

“Avery, listen.” He hated cutting her off, but this had been bugging him for a while now, this hold Avery seemed to have on her mother’s apron strings. “Letting her do her thing while you do yours would do both of you a lot of good.”

“Is there an echo in here or are you channeling my mother?”

He couldn’t help it when one corner of his mouth twisted into a warped smile. “Has she been sneaking out behind your back again?”

“As a matter of fact…” She swirled the wine in her glass, staring into her drink for a moment before looking up and meeting his eyes squarely. “As a matter of fact, yes. Though that’s none of your business.”

“True.” He nodded. “The catch-twenty-two of being a casual observer who lives in proximity to the both of you.”

“And what exactly have you observed since you’ve been here, Mr. Marks?” she asked with a teasing sarcasm.

It was her eyes, however, that told him she wasn’t teasing at all. He took a deep breath and set his wineglass back on the table, twirling it by the stem. “That you work too much. That you rarely go out and when you do it’s usually with Suzannah.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It could be.” He glanced in her direction then. “If you’re using your mother as an excuse. Or as a crutch.”

“That’s not it at all,” she said too hurriedly. “It’s just that being here, should she need anything, is important to me.”

He wanted to press harder, to ask whether it was mother or daughter most likely to need the other. But he didn’t. Her pensive expression told him he’d made his point. “Well, like I said, she’ll have her calendar filled before you turn around.”

“I supposed you’re right,” Avery said with a sigh as a smile settled over her face. “Especially now that she’s catching up with old friends. The timing of this Leslie coming back into Mom’s life couldn’t be more perfect.”

Or more obviously the reason Suzannah
wasn’t
teaching summer school this year. He cleared his throat. “So you haven’t met Leslie yet, right?”