Daughters Of The Bride. Susan Mallery
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right until ice cream dripped off her spoon and onto her sweatshirt. She held in a groan and wiped at it with her finger.
Couldn’t she just once be sophisticated and elegant? Or even casual and coordinated? Did she always have to be spilling, bumping and dropping?
This was what her sister Sienna would call “pulling a Courtney”—a phrase Courtney had always hated but had to admit existed for a reason. And speaking of her family—
“You can’t tell anyone what I told you,” she said quickly. “About the college stuff.”
Quinn frowned. His eyebrows drew together and little lines formed. It was even sexier than the smile had been.
“What do you mean?”
“Joyce knows, but no one in my family does. About me going to college. I don’t think they know I have a GED. If you run into them, it would be great if you didn’t, you know, say anything.”
“Okay. Interesting. Why?”
She raised a shoulder. “It’s a long story.”
“Right. And you’re not one to overshare.” He stood. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thank you.”
He studied her for a second. She had no idea what he was thinking but figured that was probably for the best.
“Good night, Courtney.”
“’Night, Quinn.”
He put his bowl in the dishwasher, then walked out of the kitchen. She watched him go, allowing herself the pleasure of admiring his butt and the way he moved. The man had grace and style. He was sophisticated and unexpectedly nice. If she were someone other than herself, she would so want to start something with him. But she wasn’t. Besides, she was focused on school and working and getting through her last year of college. Then she would land her dream job and find someone to date. A smart, kind man who thought she was exactly what he was looking for. Assuming that man existed.
She put her bowl next to Quinn’s before hunting down the cookies and grabbing a handful. As she walked back to her room, she imagined what would have happened if Quinn had reached across the table and pulled her close. No doubt she would have dropped her spoon and spilled all over him. Or burped during their kiss. Because that was how her life went. Even in her dreams.
RACHEL WAS CONFIDENT that laundry multiplied in the night. What had been a single load a couple of days ago was now four. Five if she did Josh’s sheets. He would tell her it wasn’t necessary, but she thought differently.
She glanced at the clock and held in a groan. It was five on Sunday afternoon. She’d worked late the previous day with the idea that on a weekend when Josh was with his dad, she could earn a little extra money. Which was great, but by the end of her workweek, she was always exhausted. That had turned into sleeping late, which she probably needed, but it didn’t get any of her chores done.
She’d done grocery shopping, paid some bills and spent the past two hours weeding in the yard. In between, she’d baked cookies, put a stew in the Crock-Pot and made her son’s lunch for the following day. Now she faced laundry and cleaning the kitchen. Once Josh got home—which should be any second now—they would go over his homework, assuming his father had remembered to make him do it, review his schedule for the week and then watch a show for an hour before bed. And starting tomorrow, she would do it all over again.
She put the whites in the washer, added detergent and bleach, then hit the start button. She already had the baseball uniforms in the sink in the laundry room. Between the grass stains and the ground-in dirt, those had to be pretreated or they would never get clean. Honestly, she didn’t know how professional sports organizations kept their uniforms so nice. Maybe they didn’t bother. Maybe every player wore new ones for each game.
She heard footsteps in the front of the house followed by a familiar “Mom! I’m home!”
There were a million things to do and she was still tired and maybe a little cranky, but none of that mattered. Josh’s voice was the best sound in the world, and knowing he was back made everything a little easier.
She walked toward the living room and smiled when she saw her son.
He was tall for his age. All gangling with too-long arms and legs. At eleven, he was on the verge of adolescence. His voice hadn’t changed yet and he’d yet to get a single chin hair, but she knew that was coming.
He’d inherited his father’s dark hair and eyes, but her smile. He was a good kid. Smart, caring, generous. Easygoing. Now he dropped his duffel on the floor and hurried to greet her.
“Dad bought me a new glove,” he said, holding it out in one hand while he reached for her with the other. He gave her a quick hug, then he stepped back and offered the glove.
“It’s exactly what I wanted. Dad and I played catch yesterday, to break it in, then he hit balls and I caught them. Try it on.”
She slid her hand into the glove and was surprised when it wasn’t too small for her.
“Is this an adult size?” she asked.
Josh grinned. His too-long hair fell into his eyes and he swept it back with a gesture that reminded her too much of his father. “Uh-huh. The guy at the store said I was in between, so we decided it made sense to get the bigger one.”
She held up her right hand and he held up his left. They both spread their fingers. Rachel was stunned to discover her eleven-year-old son’s hand was nearly as big as hers.
“When did that happen?” she asked.
Josh laughed. “I’m going to be as tall as you soon, Mom. Then taller.”
“I can’t decide if that’s good or bad,” she admitted.
“Me, either.”
The voice came from behind her. She took a second to brace herself against the inevitable reaction to seeing her ex-husband, then turned.
“Hello, Greg.”
“Rachel.”
He looked good, but wasn’t that always the way? Every time she saw him, she looked for some sign that he was aging. Decaying would be better. But there was only the ever-present handsome face, perfect hair and sex-god-like body.
“I thought I’d go get pizza for dinner,” he told her. “The usual for you?”
She wanted to say no. That she wasn’t interested in eating with him. That pizza was the last thing she needed. That her constant exhaustion, and the feeling that no matter how hard she worked the best she could hope for was to not lose ground, had led to a horrible snacking habit that was taking its toll on her body. That or elves were shrinking her clothes while she slept.
She felt fat and old and tired, while he got to be handsome and toned and in his prime. Of course, if she had every other day off, she would have time to do things like eat right and exercise. If she lived with someone who cooked the meals and cleaned the house and took care of every other chore, she wouldn’t be so rushed or exhausted. If she wasn’t the custodial parent, then...
She drew in a breath. The mental litany wasn’t new, nor was her frustration. But there was much she couldn’t change and more she didn’t want to. Being Josh’s mother, having him most of the time, was important to her. The price of that was one she was willing to pay. The same with the house. She needed to be here. The rest of it would take care of itself.
“Pizza would be fine,” she said, thinking the Crock-Pot dinner would keep for tomorrow.
“You okay?”
“Fine. Doing laundry, getting meals ready for the week. The usual.”
“How can I help?”
The