“I’ll be there.”
There was no doubt Mom would be hurt when she found out I was staying at a hotel, but I’d have to face that battle in the morning. I jotted down a quick note, stated I’d be by around nine, then checked the locks, and headed outside to Brad’s car.
Chapter 10
The morning brought with it the hum of an air conditioner, scratchy sheets, and the delicious feeling of having Brad’s warm body spooned tightly behind me. I ran my fingers lightly down his forearm before gripping it and tightening it around my body. He groaned behind me, burrowing his face into my neck, his stubble tickling me. He flexed against me, his hard c**k ever present against my ass. I opened my eyes, taking in the yellow wallpaper, small television, and cheap coffee pot. I grinned. Brad had taken serious issue with our accommodations, unable to believe that my small hometown didn’t have at least a three-star hotel. Sex had been comical—the bed sagging pitifully beneath our weight, creaking and rattling with every thrust. We had finally taken the act to the wall—his strong arms holding me easily as he slid in and out until we were both satisfied. My eyes passed over the plastic clock, widening as they read its red digits. “Shit, Brad, we have to go.” I wiggled out of his arms, shooting across the worn carpet and flipping on the bathroom light. Glancing over my shoulder at his still body, I increased my tone. “Brad!” Leaning over the sink, I turned on the water.
♥♥♥
My mother was visible through the front window, her eyes scanning, processing, and reigning hell before we even opened our doors and got out. Any feisty part of my personality had undoubtedly been a product of her genes. I gripped Brad’s hand and whispered premature apologies as we climbed the front steps. The door opened, and there she stood.
My mother was beautiful; there was no disputing that. Slim and tall, she had curves where it counted, wrinkles noticeably absent despite her hours in the sun, and bone structure that models would die for. Her eyes skipped right over me and fixated on Brad. “Julia, who is this?”
Here goes nothing. “Mom, this is Brad. Brad, this is my mother,” I dutifully recited, squeezing past her and hugging my father, who waited patiently inside. He gripped me tightly, pressing a kiss to my cheek before surveying me approvingly.
“You look good, sweetie. It’s nice to have you home.” My father, thinning hair carefully combed into place, wearing a sweater from the seventies paired with pressed gray slacks, shook Brad’s hand with a friendly smile.
Mother, suddenly remembering her manners, ushered us into the living room, where we sat—me perched nervously on an ottoman, Brad relaxing easily into the couch. We had a moment of peaceful silence before she opened her mouth and flames came out.
“Julia, what’s going on? I wake up this morning to a note from you—you stayed godknowswhere last night—and then you show up with—no offense—a complete stranger! And Luke is nowhere to be found, his truck gone when I woke up this morning!”
“Debra, calm down.” My father interrupted her, reaching over and patting her arm—an action that earned him a glare of Arctic proportions. “Julia just got here. Let her relax for a bit.”
“I’m not calming down until I know what in God’s name is going on!” She balled her hands into fists and turned to me, eyebrows raised.
I took a deep breath and stood. “Mom. As I said on the phone—I broke up with Luke over two months ago. He shouldn’t have been here; he was trying to track me down because I wouldn’t return any of his calls. I spoke to him last night and told him to leave, which is why he isn’t here this morning. He shouldn’t be back again, so please don’t respond if he calls you.”
My last sentence was too much for my mother, whose mouth opened and closed like a large mouth bass. “Don’t respond? Julia, what has gotten into you? You can’t break up with Luke—the boy is in love with you!”
“That’s all well and good, but I didn’t want to marry him, Mom. And I would hope that you, as a supportive mother, would stand by me in this decision.” That shut her up, and she closed her eyes briefly, clasping her hands in an effort to remain composed.
Then Brad spoke, and the shit-storm hit a whole new level. “Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, I apologize for the—”
“I’m sorry, but who the hell are you, and why are you here?” My mother stood, crossing her arms and staring stonily at Brad, intent on steamrolling him into submission. She had no idea who she was up against.
Brad had the nerve to chuckle. “I, Mrs. Campbell, am Julia’s fiancé.”
My mother gaped, glared at me, glared at Brad, and then stepped forward and grabbed my hand. The ring, its size and brilliance, momentarily stunned her, and I saw a wave of emotions cross her face. I knew what she was thinking: my youth, Brad’s age, Luke’s absence, her impressionable little daughter standing before her. I gently pulled my hand back before her thought process moved too much further along.
My father stood, joining the party and clapped his hands together. “Well. Now that that’s all settled, how about we move to the kitchen for breakfast?”
Chapter 11
My mother hadn’t planned on an uninvited breakfast guest; she had expected me, alone, listening to her logical persuasion until Luke returned to his proper place at the table. His cereal, Coco Crisp, stared at me from above the fridge, an adolescent irritation to my already frayed nerves.
Mother scurried, her sneakered feet moving around the kitchen at a frantic pace, the fridge, cupboard, pantry, and then fridge again, all becoming victims to her furious search for something to serve to this man—this much-too-old man who was professing ownership of her daughter. I could feel her nerves; they matched pace with my stress, competing for superiority in the small room. I worriedly met Brad’s eyes across the table.
He had sat at the head, following the directive of my mother, but I could feel her disorientation with his seat, a place she normally took. He was, as always, calm and relaxed, and I twisted a napkin under the table as I listened to my father speak with him.
“... it’s a Chevy. An Impala. I’ve been working on it for a few years now, but just recently begun to dedicate proper time to it. Luke ...” my father paused, his eyes meeting mine across the table. “Luke’s been helping me these last few days, which is the most I’ve done to it in a while.” He coughed and took a sip of coffee.