Page 78 of Lovesick
“She said it would ruin the romance.”
My heart sank all the way into my nauseated stomach. What kind of a mama said that to her daughter? A mama totally obsessed with something that wasn’t real. For the first time, I began to notice a sense of familiarity around Mama’s love of romance. A familiarity that made me want to vomit.
I shoved that aside.
“Did you ever talk to Trevor?”
“Only once.”
I waited for more, but Ellie stopped talking. She’d already given more than I’d expected. It didn’t feel right to push her farther.
“Thanks,” I said. “All that information, it ... it helps.”
Her gaze tapered. “What’s going on?”
My fingers fidgeted with my cloth napkin in an unsuccessful attempt to smooth out nonexistent wrinkles. The past couple of days with JJ had been ... lovely. Perfect. A balance between surreality and hope. Days that I wouldn’t give away or change for anything.
Yet Mama plagued me.
I’d asked Ellie here because I needed validation. Did I remember Mama correctly? The memories hovered on the surface of my mind in bright flashes, almost as if she were standing right in front of me. Obsessed with a specific vision of love that she’d chased her whole life and never found. Had I made some of this up? It seemed too wild to be real.
Would I end up just like her?
“What do you remember about her?” I asked instead of answering her question.
Ellie frowned. “That’s not a fair question. I was so little.”
“You loved her more than anyone. Maybe you remember something different than me or Bethie.”
She growled, “I’m not doing a walk down memory lane unless you tell me what’s going on.”
“How about I tell you what I remember?” I said quickly. “I remember makeup. Tight dresses. Big heels. I remember her smiling most of the time, unless she wasn’t. There wasn’t neutral on Mama, just ... happy or angry. I remember Dad being jealous when he was drunk and Mama slapping him for it seconds before she took his paycheck to the bank.”
Ellie’s expression soured, but she hadn’t left, so I knew she’d stick with it. After a long pause, she said, “I remember love songs.”
“Love songs?”
“Mama always played love songs. Cheesy ones. Ridiculous ones.” She rolled her eyes. “The kind you could buy off of a commercial for $9.99. She’d sing them at the top of her lungs while she danced around the house.”
That stirred vague memories. Ellie twiddled her fingers, as if to flick it away.
“She did it mostly when you were at school. Said she didn’t want it to distract you from studying. That your mind was going to take you places. That you wouldn’t need a man to save you like she did.”
My nostrils flared. “She never said that to me.”
“I know.”
Ellie’s calm expression sent a bolt of fire through me, but it faded.
“What else didn’t she say to me?” I asked.
“A lot of things.” Ellie looked down at her hands. “Mostly about Trevor.”
“Did she love him?”
“She said she did.” Ellie’s brow rose halfway to her hairline. “Could Mama really love anyone but herself?”
“Maybe.”
