Page 39 of Fight Or Flight

I suck my lower lip between my teeth and watch as a smile spreads across her lips. It dawns on me then that this is likely the only time I’ll ever be able to share a crush with my mom. She won’t be around for any of my future dates. She’ll never meet my future boyfriend or be there to give me advice when I fall in love. All we have is Eric Montgomery.

“I think I like him,” I blurt. As soon as the words spill from my mouth, I blush, and my lips form a frown. “Is that weird? We only know each other for a short while and well, we live together. God, it is weird. I mean, it sounds weird. Doesn’t it sound weird?”

My mom laughs.

“It sounds like normal teenage stuff to me.”

There’s that word again.

Normal.

“He’s a cute boy,” she continues. “Respectful and funny too. He makes me laugh, just like his dad used to when we were kids.”

I nod, biting back a smile because she’s right. Eric is all those things, but I’m discovering there is so much more to him.

“He’s sweet and considerate and he says all the right things,” I add, meeting her gaze. “He called me a hurricane. At first, I thought it was an insult, but then he said there’s something beautiful about a hurricane. They are strong and resilient. He also showed me Bones’ bike. They keep it in the garage. Can you believe that? After all this time, they still have his Harley.”

Tears pool in her eyes and a sad smile fills her face as she nods.

“I believe it,” she croaks.

“Mom, I have butterflies whenever I’m around him. Like they never go away. Is that how it started for you and Bones, er—I mean, Eric?”

My whole life my mom referred to my dad as Eric, but for some reason it doesn’t feel right to refer to him by his God given name anymore. Maybe it has something to do with him sharing the same name as Eric Montgomery, but I think it’s mostly because everyone here refers to him as Bones. All the stories they’ve kept locked in their hearts are about Bones, not the Eric my mom once knew. It’s like in their time apart my dad evolved into a totally different person and the man he became left a major mark on the world.

“Yes,” she confirms. “I used to know when he entered a room before my eyes ever reached his because I’d feel the butterflies as soon as he stepped foot inside.” She lifts her hand to curl my hair around her fingers. It's a simple task, and yet it looks as if it takes every ounce of her energy.

“It sounds like my girl has a crush,” she whispers and though she smiles, a lone tear slips from the corner of her eye.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She shakes her head quickly.

“You didn’t upset me, Brook,” she whispers, touching a hand to my cheek. “I love you, my girl. I love you so much. Come here, give me some sugar.”

Setting the remote back on the nightstand, I climb into her bed and wrap my arms around her. She’s all skin and bones. I try not to grimace. I try not to cry. I lay my head on her chest and relish in the feel of her arms around me.

“He’s right, you know? You, my beautiful daughter, are the fiercest hurricane to ever make landfall. You are stronger than you know. Braver than you believe. I am so proud to be your mom, Brooklyn.”

She kisses the top of my head and I squeeze her a little tighter. I’d hold on forever if I could.

“What’s a guy gotta do around here to get in on that?”

I lift my head from my mom’s chest and glance toward the door. Standing in the doorway with a bowl of popcorn in his hands, Eric winks at me before quickly diverting his eyes to my mom.

“Joss, is it okay if I join the two of you?”

“It’s more than okay,” she whispers hoarsely.

A megawatt grin spreads across his lips. He must’ve taken a shower after dinner because his hair is wet and the t-shirt he’s wearing clings to his shoulders. It’s not his usual bedtime attire, but even with the lack of skin showing, he still manages to provoke those pesky flutters in the pit of my belly. I unravel myself from my mom’s arms and sit up on the bed, watching as he moves to take a seat in the chair next to her bed. He grabs the remote and hands me the bowl of popcorn.

“So what are we watching?” he asks.

Holding the bowl of popcorn, I just sort of stare at him with what I’m sure is a dumbfounded expression.

“Why don’t you pick,” Mom suggests. She squeezes my hand and I turn my attention back to her. “Honey, you’re staring at the poor boy like he’s an alien,” she whispers.

“She does that a lot,” Eric says. His eyes are focused on the television, but there’s a smile on his lips. “Oh, I love this movie.”

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