Page 19 of The One I Love
“I won’t, but I have a feeling I’ll know the second it happens.”
Normally I wouldn’t ask her to elaborate—the woman has a habit of turning a five-minute story into a three-act play—but she’s piquing my curiosity. “I’ll bite. How will you know?”
“Because you are, and always will be, your father’s son.” Mom doesn’t talk about Dad a lot since he passed away four years ago. I know she misses him. They were the loves of each other’s lives. She made him laugh and broke him out of his shell. He kept her grounded and made sure she thought beforeshe acted. They balanced each other out.“The man, like you, was one of few words. He never smiled. Hell, I don’t think I ever saw his mouth move.”
This makes me laugh. “I can relate.”
“Exactly. But, did you know that your daddy had a thing for me for years, and I didn’t know?”
Now my attention is really grabbed. “I didn’t.”
“He did. I didn’t have a clue. We went through school together, and I even sat by him in math class. The man never said a word to me. Then, on my twenty-first birthday, I was walking around The Joint telling everyone I was going to try to get twenty-one kisses for my birthday. Tammy was helping me keep score.”
I slap a hand to my forehead. “Mom!”
“What? I was young and hot. Don’t interrupt. Anyway, your dad overheard me saying this, and before I knew it, the man took me by the arm, pulled me in, and said he was the only man that was going to be kissing me tonight. Then he did. It was my last first kiss and the best birthday present I could have asked for.”
“Wow.” That's all I can say. I don’t know if I’m more shocked by the story or finding out another way I’m a carbon copy of my father.
“Wow exactly.” Mom stands up and walks over to the oven, taking the casserole out. “When you know, you’ll know.”
Mom gives me a kiss on the cheek and heads out the door. But I don’t move. I stay right in my chair and replay the story she just told.
The similarities are astounding. The only difference is my mom knew there and then she had found her love. She didn’t waiver or second guess.
Now I just need Amelia to realize it as well. Because themore I wait, the more I know I don’t want her to forget. I need to talk to her. I need her to know I kissed her because I couldn’tnotkiss her. I need to tell her how I feel.
I need to make sure that was her last first kiss.
Chapter 6
Amelia
As a single mom,I pride myself on being at every event my children are involved in. I’ve never missed a sporting event, band concert, or spelling bee. I might skid in on two wheels after praying the whole time I don’t get pulled over for a speeding ticket, but I’m there.
Like right now. Mariah’s track meet starts in two minutes. Luckily, she doesn’t run the first event, so I have time to take a breath, fix my ponytail, and enter the event not looking like a burned-out mom running on fumes and five cups of coffee.
Point is, even though sometimes I might look like I pulled up on the hot mess express, I’m here. It’s more than I can say for my ex-husband. Luke is a three-sport varsity athlete, and I can count on one hand how many games he’s been to. I don’t think he even knows Mariah is running track this season. One reason is because he never calls. The other is because no one ever would think Mariah would do anything athletic related. Hell, when my girlie-girl told me she was running middle school track, I almost fell over. It was the most shocking thing she’s ever asked to do.
This girl loves all things makeup, hair products, and clothes—which is the opposite of me. I might have hit copy-paste with her in terms of our looks, but when it comes to our personalities and likes, we are polar opposites. I didn’t own makeup until I was in my twenties. She has Diamond Rewards status at Ulta. Hell, she did my makeup for Whitley’s wedding. When she was little, she wanted nothing to do with sports. We signed her up for pee-wee softball, and she refused to play outfield because her shoes got dirty. I didn’t think this track thing was real, even when I came to her first meet. But there my girl was, in a uniform, bib number across her chest, lining up for the hurdles.
And she’s pretty good. Maybe she did get something from her tomboy mom.
I hear the starting gun for the first race, which is my cue to get out of my car and walk into the stadium, grab my sporting event dinner of popcorn and M&Ms from the concession stand, wave to Mariah, and find a place to sit away from the parents I don’t like. As I walk past the bleachers and do an initial scan, I see Jessica Mozzaro, Christina Leaftree, and Emily Babcock. That’s a hard pass. They decided a long time ago their mission in life was to make mine a living hell. They were the original mean girls. Made fun of me because I was a tomboy. Sent me nasty messages because they could. They were also insanely jealous of my friendship with the guys. Then there’s the whole thing that two of them slept with my ex-husband at one point in his life.
Maybe I won’t sit. Standing is healthier anyway.
Snacks in hand, I turn to find a place to watch when I run into something very large. And very broad.
And very familiar.
“Amelia.”
I’d recognize Shane’s deep, smooth voice anywhere.
“Hi, Shane.”
I try not to audibly gulp when I look up at him, but it’s hard. His stare is paralyzing. His presence is consuming. It took everything in me just to say those two words.
