Page 72 of Pucker Up
I suppose that was the problem with having a mother as a psychic; she knew what I was thinking, even if it was crappy thoughts like “I don’t want to turn out like my mother.”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. She might be flaky, but she was kind and she was my mom. I made a promise to myself right then and there, over a pile of Honeycrisp apples, that I would be nicer and kinder to Fern Lauper, and maybe ask her a question or two about visions and energy every once in a while.
“I’m happy you’re here,” I croaked.
“I know.” She smiled.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Mom.” I paused with the carton of milk in my hand. “If the visions go away when you love someone, how come I could see you when you were in California, and how can you see stuff about me?”
Did we secretly hate each other?
She took a bite of an apple. “Good question. There isn’t an official handbook for this stuff, but a mother and daughter bond is unique. I carried you inside me, and I will always have a part of you with me. That’s the way I look at it.”
“I like that.” I swiped at the tears on my face. “Although, don’t go snooping on me.”
Fern laughed. “I love you, Marigold.”
“I love you too, Fern.” I squeezed my mom almost as hard as she squeezed me. “Now, we better start cooking if we want to have your gross curry ready for dinner.”
We set to work. Mom put me on chopping detail as she ground spices by hand. My phone pinged a couple of times. I wondered when Dad was going to be home from the arena. I cleaned off my hands and picked up my phone. It wasn’t Dad, it was Ace. The text didn’t have any smiley faces or fun GIFs; it was two simple words, and they sent a shiver down my spine.
Call me.
“Mom, I’ll be right back.” I put on a sweater and my boots and stepped outside. The phone rang three times before Ace picked it up.
“Hey.” His voice was cold.
“Hi. I got your message.” My heart pounded in my ears. Something was wrong. “What’s going on? Do you need me to bring something to your place later?” I tried to keep my tone as light and fun as possible.
“Don’t come over, Goldie. It’s over.”
“What?” It was worse than I thought. “Ace. What’s going on?” Just that morning he had been mentally moving me in to his fancy lake house, and now he was breaking up with me?
“You know what’s going on. I think it’s irony. That’s the fancy word for it.”
“Ace, what are you talking about?”
“You wouldn’t date a player, but if I’d have known who you really were, it wouldn’t have been an option for you.” His voice was getting louder and angrier.
“I was going to tell you,” I whispered.
“When?” he shouted. “After I already fucking fell in love with you? Fuck, Goldie. I can’t date the coach’s daughter.”
The world around me slowed and I sat down on the stoop of the carriage house. “I tried to tell you yesterday, but you wouldn’t let me.”
“Goldie, you shouldn’t have kept this from me.” He seemed to be settling down, or at least the yelling had stopped.
“I know,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”
The line went quiet. “Goodbye, Goldie.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but he had already hung up.
My instinct was to run downtown, burst into his loft, and make it right. But I couldn’t fix it. Ace was right; I shouldn’t have kept that secret from him. What was worse? The secret, or the fact that I was the coach’s daughter? If it was the latter, it could be fixed.
Ace was wrong. He technically could date the coach’s daughter. He wouldn’t be breaking any rules. But if it was the former, the secret, there was no fixing it. I might have seen it as a secret, but clearly Ace saw it as a lie, deception.
The shock from the call took a few seconds to wear off before the tears came. I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed. It was the kind of crying that shook your whole body, the all-consuming kind. I wailed so hard that I didn’t notice the door open. A blanket was draped over my shoulders and my mom sat beside me and held me until I was drained. Literally. I burned through my supply of tears.
