“Fly low! Stay safe!” I call from the porch as Jessie scooches into her Honda civic. She waves back, probably wanting to give me a one-finger salute but manages not to. Jessie is ordinarily a rule follower, especially at school, but there are exceptions and speed laws are one of those exceptions. Honestly, I don’t know why she hasn’t racked up a string of tickets. She got stopped last year, and I’d love to know how she got away with only a warning, but I’m not gonna ask because that’s none of my business. But she does have this thing for making it back to Tufts in two and half hours instead of the three it normally takes and today it’s worse because she should’ve left ten minutes ago.
I also know she has to stop by the apartment she shares with her best friend, Miranda, and two other housemates, which is twelve miles from campus, adding to the trip time. I’d rather she be late to her lab than risk a ticket—or worse—but I’ve goaded her enough and it’s also true I wasn’t the best role model when she was younger.
As if to remind me of that, she sticks her head out the driver’s side window. “Just don’t get so distracted by your uber-hot girlfriend that you forget why you’re here!”
“Hit the road, dork!” I laugh and she gives me the salute she held off on earlier. Waving as she backs into the street and zips off down the road, I watch her go with a silent wish that she will stay safe, but also thinking about what she said.
There’s no question Erin is uber-hot, even if she’s the one person who can’t see it. And that kiss… I still feel the imprint of her lips on mine; the heat she unleashed, the throb in my clit. It kills me she thinks it was a mistake and doesn’t want to do it again—or feels she shouldn’t do it again, since her sleeping self doesn’t seem to agree. She snuggled against me again last night; woke me up by caressing my tit and thrusting her hips against my ass. She also whimpered as she rubbed on me and it was so goddamn sexy I could barely keep my hands still. As it was, I had to give myself a quickie in the shower this morning just to be able to face her.
I won’t tell her, of course. She was horrified last time and I don’t want her getting all weird over this. And I can’t tell her that when she shuddered and moaned in her sleep before letting go and rolling over, I held her and kissed the side of her neck before I rolled over to my side of the bed.
I don’t know how we’re gonna get through the nights without doing something, especially now that she’s staying.
That’s just it—she’s staying and she doesn’t have to; has no real reason too. She’s just that sweet and loving and kind. She wants Mom to be happy, really truly happy, and she’s okay with upending her life to do this fake girlfriend thing to help get us through all this.
It won’t be for that long—she needs to get back to her life in Tacoma—but the time she spends here will mean so much to Mom and, I can’t deny it, to me. Later, we’ll make up some story. I dunno what, but it better be a good fucking story.
I turn to go back inside. I should check on Mom and call Amie, who’ll be pissed I haven’t done that yet, but I didn’t want to mess with her weekend. I need to call the restaurant too, though no one will be there until later, and we need to figure out what to do with my mom’s parlor. Fortunately, it’s closed for the next two days so we’ve got time to deal with it. I just need to take things one at a time so they don’t become overwhelming.
The main thing is to get Mom ready for her appointment on Thursday. The fasting mimicking diet isn’t hard; mostly lots of fiber and fluids with some minerals and a bunch of supplements so her system doesn’t get out of whack. I offered to do it with her, but she refused. She said it would make her feel better to watch us eat; she couldn’t stand the thought of us depriving ourselves on her behalf. That’s pretty much Mom, all over again.
She’s sitting at the breakfast table in her flower-print housecoat and pajamas, smiling. She’s trying to make me comfortable, but I know she’s scared. We all are. We’re all putting on a brave face, but the truth is out there.
I slide into the chair next to her. “Can I getcha anything?”
She sips her tea. Mom doesn’t drink coffee, which is probably why hers sucks, but we’ve never had the heart to tell her. Percolators save money; it’s a habit she picked from her mother who didn’t drink coffee either. But I’ll keep my promise to smuggle in some decent coffee and a drip filter, or better yet, a French press.
“No. I’m perfectly fine. Truly.” She broadens her smile to convince me it really is. It doesn’t, but I’m glad there’s some color back in cheeks now, not like in the hospital. “Erin’s lovely. Is she upstairs?”
“Yeah. She’s making some calls.”
“All this isn’t putting her out too much? I hate being a burden. It’s bad enough you had to come out—”
“Mom, would you stop talking like that! You’re not a burden for God’s sake. I’m here cuz I wanna be. Erin is too.” Jesus… I shouldn’t have gotten short with her, but the worst part is that’s how she actually feels. She’s not playing a card. She’s always been independent, especially after Dad left, and imposing on others is the Original Sin in her book.
“Well…” Her gaze strays up the stairs. “At least I’m not taking you away from your pretty girlfriend for a few more days. That’s something, I suppose. She really is a sweetheart.”
Yes, she is. She totally is. “Sure I can’t get you something?”
“No, dear.” Her eyes come back to mine and she reaches out to pat my hand. “I think I’ll just go upstairs. I’m feeling a bit tired.”
I start to stand up. “Want help?”
She shushes me. “Summer Savannah Raine, I’m your mother, not an invalid. I can still climb my own bloody stairs.”
The tartness makes me happy. “You sure?” I tease. “I can read to you if you like.” Mom always read to us when we were little and when she was in the hospital and recovering afterwards, I returned the favor. We made it through Jane Austin, the Bronte sisters, the whole Anne of Green Gables series, a thriller or two, and then some “trashy” romance novels. Her word, not mine. I got a good idea which she liked best.
“They have audiobooks now, you know. I’m doing quite well on my own.”
“They’ve had audiobooks for a while, y’know.” I’m guessing she doesn’t want her daughter to see her list and she has point. But I can’t keep back a chuckle.
“They did,” she answers primly. “But now they have better ones.”
Uh huh. Guess confirmed.
Despite her protests, I follow my mom to the stairs and watch her go up. She totters a little and I bite the inside of my cheek. When she gets to the top, she does this little I-told-you-so finger wag. I smile back, hoping she’ll take it as I never doubted for one second. It’s one of those little mother-daughter lies. One I can cop to. With a smile that says she’s on to me, she turns and heads to her room. I retreat to the kitchen and take the cordless phone out of its cradle.
Once I dial Amie, she answers before it even rings on my end, her voice tense.
“Hey, it’s me.” That’s all I get out before she starts in.
“Why are you calling from Mom’s number? What happened? When did you get there?”
I suck in a deep breath. Mom is Amie’s mother as much as she’s mine and Jessie’s. “I got here yesterday—”
“And you didn’t call me? Why not? Why’d you wait until now?”
“Amie…” I brace myself. “Mom got her annual test last week. It didn’t come back… good.”
“And you waited?!”
“I didn’t want to ruin your weekend—”
“Fuck that, dude!”
“And I… I only found out Friday and… I—I wasn’t in shape to call.” There, I said it.
“What happened?” She’s quieter now, the gravity of the situation sinking in.
“I… kinda fucked up. It… Things got away from me that evening.”
“You mean you got absolutely shit-faced?”
“Hang on.” I take the phone out to the back deck where I can be sure I won’t be overheard. Mom has enough on her mind right now. “Yeah, basically.”
Amie waits until I spill the details, the ones I remember anyway, of that evening and how Erin rescued me.
The other end of the line is quiet. Then Amie exhales. “Whoa, dude. She’s so totally into you.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s still not available.”
I doubt Amie misses the catch in my voice but for once she doesn’t argue. “So what’s going on?”
“Mom has her first chemo on Thursday. Then we’ll see.”
“Fuck…” A few beats of silence. “Is Jessie there? Do you have help?”
“Jessie’s back at school, but yeah. I have help.”
“Who?”
Jesus, this is awkward. “Erin. Erin came out with me.”
“Huh, what? This girl you say is unavailable hopped on a plane with you to come see Mom?”
“Um, yeah. It’s… kinda complicated.” Pacing the deck, I explain about the misunderstanding with Mom and Jessie, and how Erin suggested maybe we could pretend to be girlfriends for Mom’s sake and I agreed.
“Whoa. Fuck. Dude.” When Amie talks like this, she’s either tipsy or processing. I’m sure she’s not tipsy.
“Amie, I know this is super weird. But—”
“I’ll be there tonight.”
“Huh? Oh…” I can tell she means it, and when Amie gets that tone in her voice, you have as much chance of stopping her as you do stopping an avalanche by shouting at it. Besides, I can hardly tell her not to come visit Mom. “Yeah, okay. But we’ve got things handled. It’s under control.”
“Maybe I wanna meet this girlfriend of yours.”
Oh shit… “Amie, she’s super sweet but she can also be… sorta shy. Please tell me you’re not gonna give her the third degree or a shovel talk or anything.”
“This thing is fake, isn’t it? What’s it matter then?”
“Amie!”
“Haha! Gotcha, bestie!”
Fuck. She totally did. “Very funny.”
“Totally funny.” Thankfully, she can’t see me rolling my eyes over this line. “I’ll see ya tonight. Maybe Tiff will let me borrow the jet?”
“Whoa! What?”
“Don’t sound like that. She’s cool with it and so are her moms. They’re pretty awesome actually.”
“Amie! You can’t fly here in a private jet! Mom will flip her donkey!”
“So we won’t tell her. Jeez, stop being so dramatic.”
Oh for fuck’s sake. “Okay, okay. Just come down. Don’t tell me how. This is weird enough already.”
“Fine. Okay. I can sleep on the couch.”
“No, there’s still the spare room. Jessie uses it, but I’ll fix it up for you if that’s okay.”
“Awesome sauce. Erin’s in your room?”
I wince. “Yeah, she is.”
“Cozy.”
“Amie!”
“Alright! Alright! I’ll lighten up.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re so easy.”
“Like I said, very funny. Look, I need to talk to you about the team.” And get off this subject.
“What about?” Now she’s all business.
“I haven’t called the owners yet, but they’ll need someone to fill in for me until Mom gets better.” Because I won’t accept any other outcome. “Do you have any ideas? Someone you could work with?”
There’s a pause of maybe five seconds. “What about Rebekah Mendez?”
“Beks? Is she around?” Rebekah Mendez is a former teammate of ours. She’s good—went to the Olympics as an alternate—but we were never that close and I haven’t heard from her since we moved.
“She’s in Seattle now. Or Vancouver or Bellingham or… some place. I forget. She was looking for a spot a couple of months ago. Maybe still is? I could find out.”
I had no idea. Amie’s so much more plugged in than I am. “You could? How do you know all this?”
“Y’know, the magic of social media. Shall I reach out to her?”
“Sure. If you think she might be a fit. Probably not long-term for her though.” I hope. “Make sure she understands that.”
“I know how to do this, bestie.”
Yeah, she does. “Sorry. I’m a bit of mess right now.”
Amie senses my uneasiness. “No one’s ever gonna replace you. Don’t worry. Even is it’s short, it’ll look good on her CV. We’re gonna take it all this year.”
“Okay. We’ll know more after Thursday.”
“It’s all good. C’ya tonight, bestie.”
“See you too.”
“Say hi to your hottie for me.”
Dammit… “She’s not my hottie, Amie.”
“Semantics, dude. Semantics.” She chuckles. “You are sooo easy.”
“Ending this conversation now. Give my best to Tiff.”
“I will. Love ya! Ba-bye!”
“Love you too. Later’s.” The line drops and I sigh. Amie’s right, I am so easy. If I had a bucket list, toe curling kisses that make your knees weak would definitely be checked. But this charade has an expiration date and if Erin can do this to me with just a kiss, what would actual sex be like?
I’m almost afraid to think about it.
Alright, that’s a lie—I thought about it plenty in the shower—but that’s a line we can’t cross.
If we do, I’m toast.