Chapter 25: Evan
EVAN
“So there’s something I need to tell you,” Shelley says after our waiter seats us at a table overlooking the water. It was her choice to have dinner at this upscale restaurant, and as I pick up the menu and get a look at the prices, I’m already assuming I’ll be the one footing the bill.
More than that, I’m now suspicious as hell, because any time my mother starts a sentence with “there’s something I need to tell you,” it’s usually followed by the confession that she’s skipping town again, or she’s broke and needs cash. This is only the second time I’ve seen her since agreeing to give her another chance; last week we had lunch near the budget hotel where she works in housekeeping. She didn’t hit me up for money during that meetup, but I shouldn’t have presumed it’d be a lasting trend.
Catching my wary expression, she quickly waves a hand to dismiss my concerns. “No, no, it’s nothing bad. I promise.” But she doesn’t elaborate. Her cheeks turn a little pink.
“What is it?” I push, only to be interrupted by our server, who returns to take our drink orders.
Shelley requests a sparkling water. I ask for a pale ale, which could end up being a risky move depending on Shelley’s news. This past week, though, I’ve been testing myself to
see if I can live that cheesy motto I gave Gen at the party last week:
Learn to embrace moderation
. I’d never push alcohol on Genevieve when she’s hellbent on sobriety, but, personally, I’d like to be able to have a beer or two at poker night without worrying about taking it too far.
“You know how I’ve always loved doing my hair and makeup and that kind of stuff?” Shelley shifts awkwardly in her chair, one hand fidgeting with her water glass. “Pretty good at it too.”
“Yeah … ?” I don’t know where she’s going with this.
“So, well, I was talking to Raya … you know, that coworker I was telling you about last week?”
I nod. “Right. The chick with the psycho toddler who killed their goldfish.”
Shelley sputters with laughter. “Evan! I told you, baby, that was an accident. Cassidy’s only three. She didn’t know fish can’t breathe out of water.”
“Sounds like something a psychopath would say.”
My mom lets out a loud snort that causes the couple in the neighboring table to glare at us with deep frowns. The woman is wearing a string of pearls and a high-necked silk blouse, while the man’s rocking a polka-dot ascot. I’m surprised they don’t go all out and shush us. They look like shushers.
Shelley and I exchange an eye roll, a moment of shared humor that makes me falter for a beat. This is a whole new mother-son experience for us. I mean, having dinner on the waterfront, exchanging conspiratorial looks about the uptight patrons next to us. Laughing together. It’s surreal.
Yet I don’t entirely hate it.
“
Anyway
,” Shelley says, picking up her glass. She takes a quick sip. “Not sure if I mentioned it before, but Raya has a second job. Works at a hair salon on the weekends. And yesterday, she tells me her salon’s opening a second location and is gonna have a bunch of chairs
available to rent.”
“Chairs?”
“Yeah, that’s how it works in the industry. The stylists rent the chair from the salon.” She takes a breath. “I think I wanna do it.”
I wrinkle my brow. “What? Become a hairdresser?”
Shelley nods earnestly.
“Okay. Don’t you need some kind of degree for that? Or a certificate at the very least?”
Her cheeks turn even redder. If I’m reading her right, she looks embarrassed. “I, um, enrolled in cosmetology school. Fees for the first semester are due at the end of the week, and I start next Monday.”
“Oh.” I nod slowly, waiting for the rest.
I wait for:
But I’m a little short on funds, baby, so can you … ?
Or:
I’m gonna have to quit this housekeeping gig to focus all my attention on school, which means I’ll need a place to crash … ?
I stare at her and wait … but it doesn’t come.
“What?” Shelley’s face turns anxious. “What is it, baby? You think it’s a bad idea?”
“No. Not at all.” I clear my throat and try to paste on an encouraging smile. “It sounds great. It’s just …”
She gives a knowing look. “You thought I was gonna hit you up for cash.”
“Uh. Well. Yes.”
Regret flickers through her eyes. “I mean, you have every right to think the worst of me. But let me tell ya, when you’re not blowing every paycheck on booze? The savings are out of this world.”
I grin wryly. “I bet.”
“I’ve got enough saved up for the first semester,” she assures me. “And the classes are at night, so I don’t have to quit my gig at the hotel. It’s all good, baby. I promise.” She picks up her menu. “What looks good? I’m thinking the mussels. My treat, by the way.”
Luckily, her head is buried in the
menu, so I’m able to wipe the shock from my face before she sees it. Forget surreal—this is downright miraculous. Who is this woman and what has she done with my mother?
I continue to battle my astonishment as we order our meals and proceed to enjoy a really nice dinner. I’m not naïve enough to dive right into the She’s Changed camp, but I’m willing to dip in a toe or two. The conversation flows easily. There’s no tension, no uncomfortable silences. The only time we come close to one is when she brings up Cooper, but I brush off the subject by saying, “Let’s not go there,” and we move on.
“You didn’t tell me Genevieve is back home,” Shelley says, her tone tentative as she watches me devour my surf and turf.
“Yeah,” I answer between bites. “She came back for her mom’s funeral and stuck around to help Ronan out at the stone yard.”
“I was sorry to hear about her momma. I know they weren’t close, and God knows Laurie wasn’t the easiest woman to get along with, but it can’t be easy for Genevieve.”
“You know Gen. She’s resilient.”
Shelley smiles. “Oh, that girl’s a fighter.” She eyes me from across the table. “You gonna marry her?”
The question catches me so off-guard I choke on a scallop. Coughing wildly, I scramble for my water glass, while the jerk couple at the next table glower at me for the disruption.
“Gee,” I croak after I’ve cleared the obstruction, glowering right back at them. “So sorry to disturb you with my near-death experience.”
The woman huffs and honest-to-God clutches her pearls.
My mom is trying not to laugh. “Evan,” she warns.
I gulp down some more water before picking up my fork again. “To answer your question,” I say, lowering my voice, “I’m pretty sure Gen isn’t interested in marrying me.”
“Bullsh—nonsense,” Shelley corrects herself,
shooting a glance at the judgey table, because God forbid we upset the Pearl Clutcher. “You two are meant to be together. I knew from the second you started dating that you’d get married someday and live happily ever after and all that.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure you knew from the
second
we started dating.”
“It’s true,” she insists. “Ask your uncle. I told Levi my prediction, and he did that thing he does—you know, that half sigh, half grumble—because he knows my predictions always come true.” She smiles smugly. “I called it with Levi and Tim, much as he hates to admit it. And I knew it with your brother too, when I met his new girlfriend. Mark my words, he’s gonna marry her.”
I don’t doubt that Cooper and Mac are endgame. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to accept that my mom—who couldn’t keep her own marriage together, not to mention all her subsequent relationships—is some kind of love clairvoyant.
“I don’t think Gen’s as confident as you are in our future,” I say ruefully.
Hell, I can barely convince Gen to spend the night, let alone agree to date me again. Since the bonfire, she’s been over at my place nearly every night. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was using me for sex. But it’s a lot more than that. She doesn’t bail the moment we recover from our respective orgasms. She stays to cuddle. She takes Daisy for walks with me. She even dropped off dinner for me a couple times.
But whenever I push her to define what this is, she clams up. Tells me not to overthink it. So of course, all I do is think about it.
“Then give her confidence,” Shelley says with a shrug. “You want her back, yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” I sigh
.
“Then keep working at it.”
“Trust me, I’m trying.” Now I groan. “But she made it clear she’s not looking to be my girlfriend again and that all we’re doing is fucking.”
“Ahem!” comes an incensed cry. It’s Husband Pearl Clutcher. “Is it too much to ask to enjoy our meals without being surrounded by filthy language?”
I open my mouth to retort, but my mother beats me to it.
Eyes gleaming with irritation, she addresses the other table by jabbing a finger toward the man. “Hey, mister, you wanna talk about filth? You’ve been checking out my rack since the moment I sat down. And you”—she directs that at the wife—“don’t think I didn’t see you slipping your phone number to that handsome young stud of a waiter when your hubby was in the john.”
I snicker into my hand.
“Now, I’m trying to have a conversation with my son, so how ’bout you two Nosy Nellies focus on your own boring lives and mind your own damn business?”
That shuts them both up.
Shelley lifts a brow when she sees me grinning. “What? I might’ve turned a new leaf, but you can’t expect me to always turn the other cheek. Even Jesus had his limits, baby.”
I’m feeling oddly giddy as I cross the bridge and drive back to the Bay after dinner with Shelley. I can’t lie—that wasn’t awful. In fact, I … truly had a good time. Who would’ve thought?
The instinct to tell my brother about it is so strong that I end up veering off the road home, turning left instead of right. No, I can’t risk seeing Cooper right now. He’ll just ask why I’m in such a good mood, at which point I’ll have to lie, and he’ll see through the lie because of twin telepathy, and then we’ll get in a fight.
So I drive to Gen’s house instead. Parking
on the curb out front, I hop off my bike and fish my phone out of my pocket. I shoot off a quick text to Gen.
Me:
I’m standing outside your place like some lovesick stalker. Debating whether to throw rocks at your window or just knock on the front door.
She responds almost instantly.
Her:
Use the door, you heathen. We’re adults now, remember?
I grin at the phone. True. But this is definitely a first, I reflect, as I tread up the front walk to the door, which swings open before I can ring the bell. I’m met by the sight of Genevieve’s dad, who startles when he finds me standing there.
“Evan,” he says gruffly, nodding in greeting. His gaze takes in my outfit. “You wearing khakis?”
“Uh. Yeah.” I shove my hands in the pockets of said khakis. “I had a thing in the city.”
He nods again. “Gen’s upstairs. I was just heading out to meet your uncle for a beer, actually.”
“Oh, nice. Tell him I said hey.”
“Renos are looking great,” Gen’s dad adds, gesturing in the vague direction of inside. “The new kitchen cabinets turned out nice.”
“Thanks.” I feel a little burst of pride, because I installed those cabinets myself.
“Anyway.” Ronan eyes me again. “Glad you and Gen are getting along again.” He claps my shoulder before striding off toward the pickup truck in the driveway.
I let myself in, half expecting one of Gen’s million brothers to intercept me, but the house is quiet as I head
for the stairs. Last time I was here, the place was jam-packed with mourners and reverberating with hushed conversation. Tonight, all I hear are the creaks and groans of the old house, including the very loud protest of the second step from the top when I walk over it. Gen and I always made sure to skip over it whenever we snuck in after curfew, but tonight there’s no need for stealth.
Gen’s lying on her side reading a book when I enter her room. My gaze feasts on her sexy body and the curtain of black hair cascading over one shoulder. She looks up at my entrance.
“Are you wearing khakis?” she demands.
“Yup.” I throw myself on the bed, causing her paperback to bounce on the mattress.
She grabs it before it falls over the edge. “Jerk.”
Grinning, I clasp both hands behind my neck and get comfortable. Gen smiles in amusement as she watches me kick off my shoes and stretch out my legs. I’m too damn big for this bed, my feet hanging off the end.
“You’re in a good mood,” she remarks.
“I am,” I agree.
“Are you going to elaborate?”
“Had dinner with Shelley tonight.”
“You did?” Gen sounds surprised. “You didn’t mention anything about it when we spoke this morning. Was it a last-minute thing?”
“Not really.”
“So why didn’t you tell me?” When I shrug, she pokes me in the rib. Hard. “Evan.”
I glance over at her. She’s sitting cross-legged beside me, her astute blue eyes studying my face. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t say anything just in case she bailed.”
Gen nods in understanding. “Ah. That’s why you keep telling me about these meetings after the fact. You don’t want to get your hopes
up beforehand.”
She gets it.
“Honestly?” I say quietly. “Every time I drive to Charleston to see her, I’ve given it fifty-fifty odds on whether she’ll show.” A lump forms in my throat. “So far she hasn’t missed a date.”
Gen moves closer to curl up beside me, resting her palm on my abdomen. The sweet scent of her hair wafts up to my nose. “I’m glad. And I hope to God she keeps it up. My mom’s gone, but yours still has a chance to redeem herself.”
I wrap my arm around her shoulder and plant a kiss atop her head. “I ran into your dad at the front door, by the way. He was happy to see me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Face it, Fred. Your dad’s always loved me.”
“There’s no accounting for taste.”
“He said he’s glad you and I are getting along again.” I slide my hand down to lightly pinch her ass. “So, the way I see it, all that’s left to do now is make it official.”
“Or …”
She trails off enticingly and rolls over—directly on top of me. I’m semi-hard almost instantly, and her tiny smile tells me she notices.
“We can quit talking and take advantage of this empty house,” she finishes, and then she’s lifting my shirt up and kissing my chest, and my brain short-circuits.
A groan slips out when she undoes the button of my khakis.
“Gen,” I protest, because I know she’s trying to distract me with sex. And it’s working.
She peers up at me with big, innocent eyes. “It’s okay, baby. I don’t mind if you want to be loud.”
She’s throwing my own words back at me, uttered the night of the bonfire before I spent hours making her gasp and moan and scream. I was relentless in my seduction
that night. But now it’s my turn to be weak and helpless, to fight for control as she leaves a trail of hot kisses along my stomach on her way down south.
When she takes my cock in her mouth, I give up on resisting. There’s no better feeling in the world than having Gen swallow me up. She curls one delicate hand around my shaft and sucks me deep, while her other hand strokes my chest, her nails scraping along my sensitized flesh.
I give an upward thrust, pleasure gathering inside me, pulse quickening with each languid swipe of her tongue. And as I tangle my fingers in her hair and rock against her wet, eager mouth, I tell myself that we can talk after. Later. When my heart isn’t hammering against my ribs, and my balls aren’t drawn tight with need.
But we never get around to having that talk.