to make loud and clear. I also see that Kay is nothing like Thalia or any of the women who came before her. Those women whose only mistake was to fall for someone as lost as me.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can say.
“ Quid pro quo , Little Ella.” The touch of Kay’s fingers is starting to produce a familiar heat in my blood. “I’ll go with you tomorrow if you stop apologizing and thanking me for nothing.”
A giggle escapes me, but we both know that what Kay is doing for me—not just accompanying me to dinner with my parents, but simply being her patient, good-natured, wise self—is not nothing. She’s saving me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I can tell by the look on my mother’s face—tight smile, dismissive glint in her eyes—that she’s not particularly happy with Kay’s presence. But for me, it changes everything. Kay’s an easy conversationalist, sucking at least half the tension that always hangs heavy at my parents’ house out of the air.
“I’ll never forget that time when Patrick serenaded Mabel at the bonfire.” My dad, on the other hand, is going out of his way to make Kay feel welcome. I don’t even want to think about the conversation he and my mother must have had when he announced she’d be joining us for dinner. “Now that was true love if ever I saw it.”
“And he could barely hold a tune.” Kay is her relaxed, unassuming self. “Unfortunately, I inherited his singing voice. But at least I don’t make a fool of myself that easily.” She dressed up in jeans and a glittery spaghetti strap top I would never have pictured her in, but it suits her so well—brings out the sparkle in her eyes. I realize that, with Kay here, I feel as close to relaxed as I can ever remember being in this house.
Dad and Kay both chuckle, while Mom and I still shuffle nervously in our seats.
“Shall we eat?” Mom asks. “Your father has been slaving away in the kitchen all day.”
“A hobby I picked up after retiring.” Dad addresses Kay again. I’m beginning to think he invited her more for his own sake than mine.
“Otherwise he’d be spending all his time at The Attic,” Mom cuts in again, that typical edge to her voice. She was never good at cracking jokes, always needing to convey some hard truth in them, or at least put Dad down in the process.
“You won’t hear me complain about that either.” Kay’s the first to rise.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about my open tab. Is there no special discount for loyal customers?” Dad gets up as well and practically elbows Kay in the biceps.
“I just own the place. I don’t interfere with management, John. Otherwise half the town would be asking me what you just had the audacity to suggest.” She shoots Dad a smile. “Can’t wait to taste your stew.”
We gather around the table and I sit next to Kay, her presence like a shield around me. Dad serves us while Mom pours more wine. My eyes linger on her own more than generous helping.
“This is truly delicious, John.” Kay turns to face me. “You have big shoes to fill.” With Kay at the table with us, it almost feels as if I’m part of an every day all-American family. Not without its secrets and painful memories—just like any other family—but at least capable of normal, stress-free dinner chatter. “Ella promised to prepare me a feast this weekend.” Kay stares both my parents in the face without qualms, as if there’s no place she’d rather be, but I can’t imagine she’s actually enjoying this. “I bet you’re quite the cook as well, Dee?”
“Mom’s an excellent baker. What did you make for dessert?” I ask my mother, who has barely touched her food and is, in my opinion, much too focused on that giant glass of wine looming in front of her.
“Just an apple tart. I was feeling a bit off this afternoon. Not enough energy to spend much time in the kitchen. Besides, when your dad’s in there, there’s no room for me.” When I glare at my mother’s face,
“Thank you.” It’s all I can say.
“ Quid pro quo , Little Ella.” The touch of Kay’s fingers is starting to produce a familiar heat in my blood. “I’ll go with you tomorrow if you stop apologizing and thanking me for nothing.”
A giggle escapes me, but we both know that what Kay is doing for me—not just accompanying me to dinner with my parents, but simply being her patient, good-natured, wise self—is not nothing. She’s saving me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I can tell by the look on my mother’s face—tight smile, dismissive glint in her eyes—that she’s not particularly happy with Kay’s presence. But for me, it changes everything. Kay’s an easy conversationalist, sucking at least half the tension that always hangs heavy at my parents’ house out of the air.
“I’ll never forget that time when Patrick serenaded Mabel at the bonfire.” My dad, on the other hand, is going out of his way to make Kay feel welcome. I don’t even want to think about the conversation he and my mother must have had when he announced she’d be joining us for dinner. “Now that was true love if ever I saw it.”
“And he could barely hold a tune.” Kay is her relaxed, unassuming self. “Unfortunately, I inherited his singing voice. But at least I don’t make a fool of myself that easily.” She dressed up in jeans and a glittery spaghetti strap top I would never have pictured her in, but it suits her so well—brings out the sparkle in her eyes. I realize that, with Kay here, I feel as close to relaxed as I can ever remember being in this house.
Dad and Kay both chuckle, while Mom and I still shuffle nervously in our seats.
“Shall we eat?” Mom asks. “Your father has been slaving away in the kitchen all day.”
“A hobby I picked up after retiring.” Dad addresses Kay again. I’m beginning to think he invited her more for his own sake than mine.
“Otherwise he’d be spending all his time at The Attic,” Mom cuts in again, that typical edge to her voice. She was never good at cracking jokes, always needing to convey some hard truth in them, or at least put Dad down in the process.
“You won’t hear me complain about that either.” Kay’s the first to rise.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about my open tab. Is there no special discount for loyal customers?” Dad gets up as well and practically elbows Kay in the biceps.
“I just own the place. I don’t interfere with management, John. Otherwise half the town would be asking me what you just had the audacity to suggest.” She shoots Dad a smile. “Can’t wait to taste your stew.”
We gather around the table and I sit next to Kay, her presence like a shield around me. Dad serves us while Mom pours more wine. My eyes linger on her own more than generous helping.
“This is truly delicious, John.” Kay turns to face me. “You have big shoes to fill.” With Kay at the table with us, it almost feels as if I’m part of an every day all-American family. Not without its secrets and painful memories—just like any other family—but at least capable of normal, stress-free dinner chatter. “Ella promised to prepare me a feast this weekend.” Kay stares both my parents in the face without qualms, as if there’s no place she’d rather be, but I can’t imagine she’s actually enjoying this. “I bet you’re quite the cook as well, Dee?”
“Mom’s an excellent baker. What did you make for dessert?” I ask my mother, who has barely touched her food and is, in my opinion, much too focused on that giant glass of wine looming in front of her.
“Just an apple tart. I was feeling a bit off this afternoon. Not enough energy to spend much time in the kitchen. Besides, when your dad’s in there, there’s no room for me.” When I glare at my mother’s face,
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