Page 15 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

“Where’s Mom?” When I called to ask if she was feeling up to watching Ryder today, she assured me she was fine. But if she’s not, maybe Lucy or Chloe would be willing to take a few hours off to babysit.

“Bathroom. She’ll be out in a sec.”

“Okay.” I glance down the small hallway. The carpet’s been freshly vacuumed, a sign that maybe Mom is past her last flare-up. The bathroom door’s closed, but the light’s on underneath. I settle on the edge of the brown couch and wait. Look at the clock mounted above the TV. Marilee should be here soon.

I glance back at my dad and Ryder, who’s fallen silent against his chest, asleep in minutes. Preschool must have worn him out today.

Gaze still steady on the television, Dad lifts his can of beer and shakes it. “Grab me another, will you?”

I want to say absolutely not, but I know he’ll just ask Mom when she gets in here if I don’t. So I trudge into the small galley kitchen, where I see the black toast in question sitting on a plate, strawberry jelly spread in a thin layer over top, one singular bite removed. Opening the fridge, I grab another beer from Dad’s daily six-pack. There are only two left.

“Go ahead and grab yourself one too,” Dad calls from the living room.

I shut the fridge, the single can of Bud gripped in my hand, and rejoin him, holding the beer out.

He finally looks at me, squints in the dim light. “You didn’t want one?”

“Thanks, but you know I don’t drink, Dad.” After seeing what alcohol did to him, I never have.

Except that one night—the one when I met Georgia in a bar, just as lonely after a breakup as I’d been. Alcohol and my own heartache were the reasons I made a choice to be that guy I never wanted to be.

And I’ve never touched a drop of the stuff since, not even socially.

Dad shrugs, takes the can, and pops the crisp top. Takes a swig and turns up the volume on the TV.

“Jordan, you’re here.” Mom’s sweet voice floats into the room, and I turn to find her coming down the hall in her slacks and sweater, her gray-blonde hair styled around her shoulders in soft curls. She looks like she’s headed out to church instead of spending the afternoon watching her five-year-old grandson. Other than the bags under her eyes and the fact she’s lost weight over the last few months, I wouldn’t know Lydia Carmichael had anything wrong with her. She’s a strong woman and a saint, my mother.

“Hey, Mom.” I pull her into a quick hug. “Thanks again for watching Ryder today.”

“It’ll be fun.” She gestures for me to follow her into the kitchen, which I do. There she pulls a pot from beneath a cabinet and fills it with water, setting it on the stovetop. A box of mac and cheese sits nearby. “I still just think this whole thing is ridiculous. Did you already fill the attorney in on everything?”

“I sent a copy of the court summons, and he asked for an extra day to dig into things so he could give advice when Marilee and I get there.”

Mom looks slyly at me from the corner of her eye as she flicks on the burner. “It’s nice of her to go with you.”

“Itisnice.” I grab a water bottle from the fridge, twist off the lid. “She just wants to support me.”

“Of course she does. She’s a special woman, that one.” Mom cocks her head as I take a swig of water. “So, when are you finally going to tell her you love her?”

I inhale the water down the wrong pipe and sputter, coughing.

Mom just stands there, looking unconcerned. “Well?”

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I set the water on the counter and avert my eyes. “I don’t?—”

“Don’t you dare deny it, because I’m not blind, Jordan Carmichael. And I’m not getting any younger, you know. I’d like to see my only son happily married. Maybe with more children while you’re at it…”

“Geez, Mom.” Not that I haven’t dreamed of the same things. “Are my feelings that obvious?”

“They are to me. You’ve loved that girl as long as you’ve known her.”

“Maybe. But she’s never been interested in me.”

“Only because she was with her ex when the two of you met. That man kept a hold on her for a while.”

“Exactly. And even though she’s divorced now, he still has a grip on her, in a way. She’s not really healed from it all.”

“Who better to help her heal than you?” Mom pats my arm. “A good man, who loves her for who she is.”

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