Page 12 of One Pucking Heart

Gasping, I smack her arm. “You little brat.” I huff out a laugh. “Had I used birth control, you wouldn’t be here.”

She chuckles. “Maybe that would’ve been better for you. God knows our life wasn’t easy.”

My smile drops, the playfulness of the moment gone. Tears fill my eyes, and I wrap my arms around my daughter, hugging her tight. I kiss the top of her head and smooth my palm against her hair, pressing my lips against her brunette strands. “Don’t even kid about that, Ariana. You are the greatest thing to ever happen to me. I have never regretted a second of my life with you. You know that, right?”

She hugs me back. “Yes, Mom. Of course, I know that.”

“I love you.” I take hold of her shoulders and move us a foot apart so I can look into her big brown eyes. I want her to feel the statement down to her soul.

“I love you, too, Ma.”

“Okay.” I nod, satisfied, and pull her into another hug.

Eventually, she steps away. “I’m just saying that you’re not tied down anymore. I’m off doing my thing. You’re a real doctor now, a career woman. You’re young and hot and have the world at your fingertips. Go get yourself some smoking hockey boy sex if that’s what you want. You don’t have to be so closed off and protective anymore. We’re safe and happy. You know? It’s your time now, Ma. Don’t sit around watching hours of television every day. Live your life.”

I hold up my pointer finger. “First of all, it would be wildly unprofessional to have sex with a patient, not that I want to anyway.” I stick up a second finger. “Second, I do more with my life than watch TV.”

“Really?” Ari scoffs. “You know I can see your watch history, right? You’ve had a smart TV and a streaming service for three weeks, and there are hours’—no days’—worth of shows and movies in your “watch again” section.”

“Well.” I cross my arms with a huff. “I did not know that. And you are a little know-it-all who should show your mother some respect.”

She throws her head back in laughter. “I know things, Ma.” She shrugs and boops my nose with her pointer finger. She makes her way to the living room and calls over her shoulder, “I learned from the best. And I know you’re into that Beckett dude, too.”

I follow her into the living room. “Ari, I am not.”

“Ari, I am not.” She repeats my words in a high-pitched tone. “Come on, Ma. Stop lying to yourself. You’re into him, and he’s clearly into you. Live a little.”

Ignoring her, I head into the laundry room and switch over her load. I’m fully aware that as a full-grown adult, she should be doing her own laundry, but it makes me feel good to help her. Maybe she’s right. My identity has always revolved around taking care of her and going to school. She no longer needs me, and I’m done with school. Getting a few hobbies wouldn’t hurt. It might be nice. In the game of survival, I’ve never had time for something as trivial as a hobby. I could do those diamond painting things or crochet or take up canning? Ugh, yeah… hobbies aren’t for me.

Starting the dryer, I head back into the living room. “I’m starting to wonder if maybe you’re a little too free at college. You’re giving me a lot of sex advice, and to be honest, you’re much too young to know anything about that.”

“Aren’t you the one who just said you had a three-year-old child at my age, which means you had sex when you were four years younger than I am now?” She puckers her lips, and her eyes narrow in challenge.

She has no problem taking this conversation there, but it’s not somewhere I want to go. Accusation is written all over her face, and though she doesn’t say it, I see it—she’s implying I’m a prude. Maybe she’s right? The first and only man I’ve had sex with gave me her.

How did I find myself in this alternate universe where my daughter has more life experiences than me? I can use the poverty, single-mother, going-to-college excuse all I want, but the fact is, I’m scared. I’ve been terrified for a long time. The past two decades, while real and very challenging, gave me the perfect crutch to hide behind. Now that I don’t have anything to shield me, I’ll have to face it.

Later.

“I just put your clothes in the dryer, which gives us a good hour before you have to leave. What do you want to watch?”

She scrunches her nose and gives me a smile. “Only the best show ever.”

“Gilmore Girls?”

“Gilmore Girls.”

“From the beginning?”

“Is there any other acceptable starting place?”

I plop down on the sofa and lean into Ari. She wraps her arm around my shoulder. “From the beginning, it is.” I cue up the show. “Do you have to leave tonight?”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “I work in the morning. But I can stay for at least three episodes.”

“Four.”

She chuckles. “Okay, four.”

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