Page 99 of Suits and Spark Plugs

I pulled a face. “I’d have probably made you watch while I did all the work.”

“Hypocrite,” he said lightly. He opened a cupboard and grabbed some potatoes, which he handed to me.

“Well, I don’t like other people to take care of me. You know that.”

“I very definitely know that about you. Independence is a great quality. So is the ability to be gracious when accepting service from people who care about you,” Connor responded.

My stomach muscles tightened. “It would be the best if we could move onto topics about other things. I think I’ve hit my quota of self-realization today. Gossiping, lack of graciousness, unapproachability. I don’t know why you bother with me.” I started cutting the potatoes into chunks, feeling mildly disappointed in myself.

“I heard that sloths move so slowly that algae grows in their fur, which can make them look green. They can also turn their heads 270 degrees.” Ken’s head popped out of the fridge, where he’d been bending over gathering lettuce and vegetables.

I stopped chopping. First I looked to Connor, who was looking to me, and then we both looked at Ken, who was grinning.

“That’s really something, Pop.” Connor chuckled and Ken winked at me.

“I was born in the Chinese year of the pig. It means I’m responsible, independent, and optimistic, but I can sometimes be lazy and short-tempered,” I added. Both men’s eyes swung to me.

Connor said casually, “Did you know that a camel can carry about four to six hundred pounds on their backs and can completely shut their nostrils during a sand storm?”

Silence dropped for a few seconds, and then we all started laughing hard. I wiped at my eyes and shared a look with Connor. He said nothing, but I felt suddenly as though I’d never need to explain myself with him because he already knew me and accepted who I was. I could lay down my porcupine quills and allow him to get close. My shoulders relaxed, and we moved on to light chatter while we prepared the meal. The food, and the company, were delicious. And when Connor took me back to my car later that night with a fully belly, I felt as light as air.

CHAPTER TWENTY-six

Ihummed to myself while mixing paint colors a few days later. Propped on the corner of my easel was the picture of the bright purple-pink flower that I’d taken when we’d gone on our nature double-date with Kelly and Scott. The flower itself was going to take up the entire canvas, and I was excited to get started. I’d spent a long time on the computer and finally found that it was called the rosy paintbrush, which I thought was a good omen.

A soft knock at my door came seconds before Mom’s voice greeted me. “I haven’t heard you humming for a while,” she said. She crossed to where I was standing and took a closer look at the picture of the flower. “That’s really pretty.”

“I’ll give it to you for your birthday.”

Mom’s laugh tinkled lightly, a sound I’d sorely missed. “Which painting should I take down to make room?”

“I appreciate your enthusiastic support of my art.” I smiled.

“I didn’t get to hear much about how finals week went.”

She moved to sit on the side of my bed and twisted her torso to rest her arms on my foot board. There were still some shadows under her eyes, but they didn’t concern me the way they had before. I knew time would help, along with the freedom that came from having answers—even if they were harsh. Limbo had worn her down far more than heartbreak seemed to be doing.

“I won’t hear my results for another week or so, but I feel pretty good now that it’s all over. I have to say, I’m really looking forward to a couple weeks of sweet freedom.”

“I’m proud of you. One year under your belt. That’s more than I ever did.”

I looked over my shoulder at her as my paintbrush stirred some colors. “Do you regret not going to college?”

She pinched her lips and shook her head. “No, not really. I never felt that pull. You, however, you’re meant for more.”

I turned fully away from the canvas as her words struck me. “It’s not that I’m trying to be more than you were.” I paused, unsure of how to express my thoughts without insulting her. In the end, I didn’t have to. She was my mom, and moms everywhere want more for their children than they have.

“It’s okay to admit that things have been rough around here and that was a catalyst for you taking more control of your future.” Her look was tender. “I do want more for you than what I’m living through.” Her voice sounded detached, as though she were seeing long ago images in her mind. I could practically hear it when she snapped back to the present. “I have no regrets, though. The choices I made were right for me, and I look forward to seeing where your path takes you.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better.” I felt hesitant about saying anything. I wasn’t sure if we were talking about that yet or not.

She sighed. “Me too, honey. I have to be honest, I’ve been worried that watching me and Dad would make you steer clear of finding love.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Just because we didn’t work out doesn’t mean that love is a lie.”

I turned back to the canvas and lifted my brush to make the first stroke that would eventually turn into one of the petals of the flower, and thought about what she’d said.

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