Page 4 of Honey Bun
Arman had seen something in me, and his nearness had awakened a part of my soul that had been dead. As he returned to his car, my heart thrashed. Once upon a time, I’d left him at my father’s demand, and my world had shattered after that. I was worried I’d made another mistake.
My mother opened the door, hugged Aurora, and directed her to the kitchen table, where a chicken dinner was set. She took a deep breath as she stared at Arman’s car, which was still on the street.
Right. We are here again.I closed my eyes and let my heart settle. Until I had a means of paying for anything and finding a job, we had to stay with my mother. She might have agreed with everything my father had ever said, but at least she hadn’t pushed.
I watched Arman’s car drive down the street. I’d made a mistake by letting him go again. But wanting to be with him was a silly wish from a long-ago summer.
My mother took my bag. “Were you just talking to one of the princes of Persia out there?” It was a horrible old nickname for Arman and his family that my father had started. He’d used it as a dividing line between us and them.
I followed her into my old room. “Our car broke down. He found us on the side of the road and gave us a ride.”
She glanced across her house. My daughter was out of sight. “Just because he was nice enough to give you a ride doesn’t mean you should start consorting with his kind. You’re a married woman.”
The words of my father. Unlike me, my mother had never questioned anything she’d been told. My father had never been violent, but he’d taken privileges from us. However, his beliefs didn’t fit with mine. I didn’t think God divided us into groups with separate rooms in heaven and only picked certain people. It was our actions that counted.
I opened the door to my old room, which hadn’t ever been changed since I left. My cheerleader outfit still hung on the wall hook. “Kind? Because of his religion? Or just because he’s rich?”
“Both. God doesn’t let his sheep sleep with the lions.”
Again, she sounded like my father. He’d died two years before, but she hadn’t become enlightened since then. I gripped her arm to thank for her kindness in letting us in but told her my truth. “Mom, we’re only here temporarily until I figure out where Aurora and I can go and until I can afford a divorce. Don’t start, okay?”
She went to the door. “You can start by going to the house of the Lord and asking forgiveness for your sins.”
Or maybe I won’t go to Reverend Jerry, who agreed with everything my father said and pushed me to marry Bob.I only said, “Right. Maybe later.”
I put my suitcase in the closet and took out my ancient, cracked cell phone and Arman’s card.
His life was so different from this. Maybe if I saw him again, after a shower, I would realize he had some faults I’d never noticed. I’d get over the what-if fantasy if I saw just one horrible fault.
My heart stirred at the plan. I shouldn’t tempt fate, but I typed out a message to him:Drinks sound great. Meet you at seven.
Dots appeared, and I smiled and waited. I’d never texted anyone except my daughter. Then I read his answer:I’ll pick you up.
I tensed. I hadn’t caused my mother more drama, but she would likely kick us out if I got together with Arman. But he was the first boy I’d ever kissed, and he’d never been far from my mind.
I typed:No. I’ll meet you there. Don’t be late.
Once, I’d been a girl like my daughter, and her independent spirit clearly guided me that day. Sure, it was my time to protect her and find a new way for us to live, but I needed a clue for that. Now that her father was out of the picture, I needed to show her I could guide us both to a better life than we could have imagined. Or at least, I hoped so.
So I decided to go see Arman and watch intently to find faults and quash that fantasy so I could focus entirely on my life and what I needed to do.
Chapter Two
Arman
I stood at the bar and waited, though I’d already procured a table for us. I wasn’t interested in a drink, really. My skin had the pins-and-needles feeling I’d had as a teenage boy, waiting for her like I had on the beaches that summer.
As the doors flung open and Madeleine stepped into the restaurant, my successful life disappeared, and I was young and free. I held up my hand and waved to her.
Her brilliant smile was a beacon of hope. I went to meet her, and the second I brushed against her skin to greet her, my heart pounded. The most cultured Manhattanite lacked her natural attractiveness.
I directed her away from the crowd to get her to myself. “You look lovely.”
She stayed next to me, and her natural rosy scent tickled my nostrils like a dream. “I showered, and I feel better.”
That was another thing that made her unique. Most women I’d known took hours to get ready. I walked her to the back of the restaurant, where there were only a few people cheering about a game on TV. “I got us a table.” Once we arrived at the corner, I held her chair for her, and she sat. “I was happy you texted.” I slid into the seat next to her.
“Thanks. I needed to… breathe.”
