Page 134 of The Thought of You

“No, no. I expected nothing less than for you to break out the hazmat suit and douse the house with bleach.”

“For your information, I didn’t clean it. I’ve been a little busy.” I saunter into the kitchen for a glass of wine, and she follows.

“With Mr. PE?”

“With work and friends and dance.” I shut the cabinet and set the glass onto the counter, where I pour from a bottle of red until the surface reaches a millimeter from the rim. “Wine?” I offer her.

“Sure.” She shrugs. It’s rather nonchalant, but I don’t buy it. There’s something in her eyes. It swims and dances with a life of its own in her blue irises, and I know the rest of this evening won’t be easy on me.

I set a full glass of wine in front of her, clink my own to it, and sip.

“You’ve been busy with that guy. Why can’t you just admit it?” Rain presses.

“Is that why you’re here? To pry into my personal life for God knows what reason?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

I freeze with the rim glued to my lips.

“You seemed so happy last week. Your aura was glowing like a thousand stars were hugging you. It was the kind of glow only good and groundbreaking sex offers.”

“Please, not that again.”

Her lips curl into a wistful, almost proud smile. “You didn’t even get onto us about the mess this week, and I think I saw you dancing in the kitchen one morning.”

“I like to dance. I dance a lot, as you might remember.”

She levels me with a stern glare. “You dance at the studio, where no one can experience your talent. You hide it away, when you should share it with the world.”

I gulp and lower my glass to the counter, my hand trembling. What is with everyone and sharing everything with the world? Can’t some things just be kept private for the sake of humility and grace?

“What’s going on with you, Cloud?”

“You haven’t called me that in years.”

“Not since you yelled at me to stop.”

“It’s because…” I sigh and meet her gaze head-on. Truth. It’s time for truth and perspective. There is no room for deflections anymore. “I’m sorry I ever yelled at you. I shouldn’t have.”

She folds her arms, her mouth falling open and closed. She clearly didn’t expect me to apologize.

I hold a finger up. “You deserved to be yelled at, though. It was the only way to get through to you.”

“Until you basically stopped talking to me altogether.”

“You don’t get me. You never have.”

“I get you better than you think. It’s why I’m here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your aura is now full of weeping willows dripping with shame and regret, which can only mean one thing. You blew it with Mr. PE.” She says it as a statement, with zero sign of a question. There’s not a single ounce of hesitation in her voice that might suggest she feels she’s wrong.

“It wasn’t completely my fault,” I whisper.

“I’m here to help you fix it.” My mother nods in the direction of the back door, gesturing for me to follow her.

And I don’t know why, but I do. My feet move in heavy steps as I grab a jacket and step onto the deck, where I sit next to her on the outdoor couch, my wine tucked into my lap like a security blanket.

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