Page 21 of Love Her

I take the book and flip to the back for a synopsis. “Jacob, I don’t know that reading a book of biographies is going to help you play the game.”

“It won’t but at least I’ll be able to talk about the game. Have you heard from the coach yet?”

“Not yet. Remember, they told Grammy when she signed you up that they were looking for a few new coaches.” At least that’s what she told me when she paid his fees. Just another way my parents have stepped up when my ex-husband hasn’t. “Okay, kiddo, Clem and I are leaving now. You be good for Grammy and Pop. And clean your room. It looks like a bomb went off in there.”

Groaning, he ignores my request and has his nose back in the book before I can push my chair out. I move to where my mom is and lean my hip against the counter. When she stops dicing to dump a pile of potatoes in the pot, I grab a carrot from the cutting board. With a loud crunch, I snap the end off and toss it in my mouth.

“Felicity Marie. I could have cut you.”

“What is with all the full name calling today? First Dad with Clem and now you.”

“How’s our girl today?”

“Better. Switching her class seems to have helped. She mentioned having a team project but didn’t sound freaked out.”

Smiling, my mom begins humming and after a few bars I realize it’s the same song Clementine was singing in the bathroom. I always forget my mom has such a beautiful singing voice. She sang a lot when I was little but as I got older I don’t remember as much.

“Who’s minding the store today?” My mom owns a shop on Main Street and until about six months ago, she was there at least six days a week. My dad finally convinced her to scale back a bit and spend a little more time with the kids. Neither of my parents asked me to take over when the time came. Working there part-time as a teenager and again to cover shifts the last few years was enough. Retail is not my wheelhouse. Besides, half the town would have avoided patronizing the store if I was behind the counter.

Everyone in Lexington loves my mom but I can count on one hand the number of people who love me. In fact, two of the four are in this room. Even thinking that is depressing.

“I had both girls come in today. Nikki and Lisa are sweet as pie but sometimes I wonder if they each only have half a brain.”

“Mom, they’re seventeen. Of course they have half a brain. Plus half of that is likely thinking of a boy.”

We both laugh and I give her a quick hug before calling Clem to meet me in the car. Opening the door and settling behind the wheel, I realize I’m smiling. Not the kind that is for show but a true toothy smile of pure contentment. For the first time in a long time, everything is just right.

“Why can’t I get one of these?”

Trying hard to maintain my composure and not lose my patience, I say for the third time, “Because it isn’t your size. I explained how the sizes work. The numbers are the band size and the letters are the cup size. There is no band size small enough for you.” I don’t bother telling her that she isn’t an actual cup size yet either.

The day started off great, and our first store on the mother daughter shopping day went well. Clementine picked out two new dresses and a pair of cute cowboy boots while I found a bargain of a deal on a new pair of jeans and a butter-soft sweater. Then we came here to my favorite store to pick up her lip gloss and scour the clearance sections in both our respective departments.

When I saw the sign indicating there was a bra sale, I made my way over. Curious at why all the tags were different, I explained how you measure for bra sizes, what they mean, and why there are so many options. I shouldn’t have been shocked when my ten-year-old asked if she could get a bra of her own. Yet, I was rendered speechless. This wasn’t the topic I thought we’d touch on today.

Huffing, she turns her back on me, arms crossed over her chest. Taking a deep breath, I slide the hangers across the rack until I find my size and toss the light pink bra into the cart before calling Clem to come along. Turning my head to make sure she’s with me, I don’t even see him coming.

“Oof.”

“Oh shit. I’m so sor—”

“Hey, Lis.”

His voice. Gosh the way it hits me to the core. Deep and a little gravelly, I thought it was because of his early morning appointments but now I know it’s just the way it is always. The lines around his eyes appear as a smile takes over his face. My stomach flips in reaction and I don’t even want to know what that means.

“Connor. What are you doing here?”

Motioning to the basket hanging from his arm he replies, “Shopping. Looks like . . .” His statement tapers off as he leans over, peering into my cart. I follow his gaze and take stock of what he sees. Makeup and lotion, a huge box of tampons, a pack of little boys’ underwear, a sweater for Clem, and the pink bra.

“What about this one?”

As I turn to face my daughter, Connor snorts a laugh and I throw my head back and say a small prayer for patience. Obviously trying to prove a point, Clementine has somehow maneuvered herself into a bright red bra on over her clothes. The cups are twisted, and she looks absolutely ridiculous. And so serious as she stands in a pose that would give the biggest super model a run for her money.

Just as I’m about to say something, I feel his warm breath on my neck. “I think that would look great on you.”

Sweet Jesus.

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