Mels closed her eyes, that distance between her and her mother so vast she wondered how they were able to hear each other at all.
This was, of course, her fault—and not just the part about not calling the night before.
With a soft curse, Mels went over and poured herself a cup of Folgers. When she turned back around, the way the sunlight fell on her mother’s face went through her like a knife: Something about the angle of the illumination seemed to pick out every single line, wrinkle, and imperfection, until the age was so screamingly obvious, Mels had to look away.
In the silence, she thought of her father. Of everything he had missed since he’d died, all the days and weeks and months. The years.
Of how much time her mother had had to miss him. Of the house that the woman had to take care of herself. Of the nights—the long nights made longer thanks to a daughter who had her head up her ass.
Mels went over and sat down. Not across the table, but next to her mother. “I think I’m falling in love with someone.”
As her mother’s head snapped up, Mels was a little shocked, too. She hadn’t shared anything about her life for…yeah, since she’d moved in—and before then, it wasn’t as if she’d been filing long editorials.
“You have?” her mother whispered, eyes wide.
“Yeah, he’s…well, he’s the man I hit with my car, actually.”
Her mother breathed in. “I didn’t know you’d been in an accident. Was it…when you told me you hurt yourself in the shower?”
Mels looked down at her hands. “I didn’t want to worry you.”
“I guess that explains the fact that your car’s been gone.”
“It wasn’t anything serious. Honestly, I’m fine.” Well, except for the fact that she felt like crap for lying to her mother.
In the silence that followed, she braced herself for some kind of an oh-you-can’t-be-serious, either about Matthias or Fi-Fi.
Instead, her mom just said, “What’s he like?”
“Ah…” Mels covered up the pause by taking another sip of coffee. “He’s a lot like Dad.”
Her mother smiled in that gentle way of hers. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“He’s…yeah, I don’t know how to explain it in specifics—he just reminds me of Dad.”
“Is he a Catholic?”
“I don’t know.” They’d never talked religion—well, except for the whole back-from-Hell thing—but now that her mother brought it up, she thought it might be cool if he was. “I’ll ask him.”
“What does he do for a living?”
“It’s complicated.” Christ, did he even have a job?
“Does he treat you nicely?”
“Oh, yes. Very much so. He’s…a good man.” Who might be crazy as a loon. “He takes care of me.”
“That’s important, you know. Your father…he always took care of you and me—”
“I’m really sorry about last night.”
Her mother palmed her cup and stared into the distance. “I think it’s wonderful that you found someone. And that you came home safe this morning.”
Oh, shit…she hadn’t thought about that part of it—of her mother not just up and waiting, but likely replaying that night when members of the CPD had come to the front door.
“Can I ask you something about Dad?” Mels said abruptly.
“Sure.”
Man, she could not believe she was going there. “Did he treat you well? Because he was gone a lot, wasn’t he. Working.”
Her mother’s eyes swung around. “Your father was very committed to this city. His job was everything to him.”
“What about you? Where did you fit in?”
“Oh, you know me, I’m not much for being the center of attention. Would you like some more coffee?”
“I’m good.”
Her mother got up with her bowl, went to the sink, and rinsed out the uneaten granola. “So, more about your mystery man. Can you tell me his name?”
“Matthias.”
“Oh, that’s a nice name.”
“He has amnesia. He can’t tell me much more than that.”
Brows lifted, but there was no censure, no concern, no flip-out. Just calm acceptance. “Is he in the care of a good doctor, I hope?”
“He was seen at the ER, yes. And he’s okay—it’s coming back.”
“Does he live here in Caldwell?”
“He does right now.” Mels cleared her throat. “You know, I’d like you to meet him.”
Her mother froze over by the sink. Then she blinked fast, like composure was hard to keep. “That would be…lovely.”
Mels nodded, even though she had no idea whether it was even possible. The thing was, though, she’d given so little to her mother, and at the moment, Matthias was—or at least seemed to be—the biggest deal in her life.
So it seemed appropriate to open up about him.
Although, boy, after all this time, the whole sharing thing felt odd and awkward…the interpersonal equivalent of a training bra, or a set of braces, or a learner’s permit.
More significantly, it hadn’t been until this moment, on this morning, in this kitchen, that Mels realized that for all the sum total of her age, she hadn’t grown up. Not really. She’d checked out of life on a lot of levels after her father died, her feelings regressing and getting buried under career goals that had soured into a sustained dissatisfaction with everything.
Matthias had shaken her up.
Woken her up.
And she didn’t like what she saw in the lines of her mother’s face.
“Yeah,” Mels said. “I don’t know how long he’s in town for, but…I’d really like you to meet him.”
Her mother nodded and seemed to take an inordinate time sponging around the counter. “Whenever you like. I’m always here.”
God, that was true, wasn’t it.
And why had she felt like that was a burden she had to bear?
Mels glanced at the digital clock on the stove and stood up with her cup. “I guess I’d better go get ready.”
“Would you like my car today?”
“You know what…yes, please.”
Now her mother really smiled, the expression lifting some of the perma-sadness that had been there since…well, forever, it seemed.
“That’s good. I’d like to help in any way I can.”