Page 89 of Average Joe

She opened her mouth to speak. Studied me. Then dropped her head and poked at a piece of noodle. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Frustrating woman. “Try me.”

“He was my world. One day he was there, and the next, he was gone.”

“He died?” The words lost steam through the lump in my throat. How the hell could I compete with a dead man?

“No,” she whispered, face going ashen.

Okay, the guy Marley clearly loved was still alive, and by the look on her face, she had more to confess. At that point, though, only one thing I needed to know. “If he came knocking on your door, you’d take him back.”

“With open arms.” She fucking smiled through the sadness haunting her eyes.

Christ, that hurt. “And where would that leave me?”

“Joe,” she whispered.

“I really am wasting my time, aren’t I?”

Wiping the moisture from her eyes, she rasped, “What do you want from me?”

“Just you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why?” God, my chest ached. I slammed my hands on the table and pushed to my feet. “Why’s that so hard to believe?”

“Men, Joe!” Marley stood, too, grabbed her plate and mine, then looked up, staring me down. “Men tell you,‘I want you.I love you.I need you.’ They tell you what you want to hear, they squeeze you dry, and then…” She headed for the sink. “And then they leave.”

Hands clasped behind my head, I stared at her back, frustrated, but not enough to give up. “Name them.”

“Who?” she asked over her shoulder.

“The shitheads who did that to you.”

She huffed. “Name them?”

“You heard me. Say their names,” I challenged. “Out loud. I want to hear their names.”

“No.” She turned on the faucet, ran a plate under the water. “This is ridiculous.”

“You give them too much power.”

The plate dropped into the sink. Slow and steady, Marley turned off the faucet, dried her hands, then turned and leaned her hip against the counter.

“You’re right.” With a nod, she came closer, gripped my waist, rested her forehead on my chest. Then she broke my heart when she raised glassy eyes to mine and, spirit drained, she said in a quiet but sure voice, “I gave them too much power. I gave them everything. Because that’s what we do. That’s what moms and daughters do.”

Marley walked away, and I let her go, processing her statement. I watched her leave, Bruce trotting behind, and I swear to Christ, the mutt shot me a glare over his shoulder.

* * *

I took five minutes to digest Marley’s parting words:That’s what moms and daughters do.

Ginger followed me to the door as if she knew exactly where I was headed. She grunted when I scooped her off the ground but gave my chin a lick in a show of support. That, or I had grease on my face. Either way, I appreciated the gesture.

Marley answered her door on the fourth knock.

“You said ‘moms and daughters.’”

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