Page 19 of The Uncomplicated Café
CeCe cracked open a cold bottle of orange soda, watching her mother work. To a casual observer, Durene Dupree simply lovedto cook. But CeCe knew cooking was a healing salve as much as a hobby. “How are you doing, Mama?”
“Fine, sweetheart. Why do you ask?”
Oh, I don’t know, CeCe thought.Maybe because your loving husband broke his promise, yet again.Suppressing her urge for sarcasm, she asked, “Have you heard from Dad? Does he know when he’s coming home?”
“Not yet. But I heard someone else is in town.” Her mother tossed a smile over her shoulder. “Why didn’t you invite Jayce to dinner? I haven’t seen that boy in far too long.”
“He had plans tonight. But he promises to come see you soon.”
“Well, you should’ve joined him. I keep telling you a young woman should not be spending her weekends at home with her mother. Go out, have fun with your friends.”
“And miss a delicious home-cooked meal? No thanks. Besides, there’s something I need to tell you.” Her mouth dry, she took another swig of soda. The creamy liquid did little to assuage her nerves.
“Help me get this food on the table first.”
Grateful for the delay, CeCe obliged. Once seated, and after they’d said grace, CeCe waited for her mother to take her first bite of flaky salmon, hoping it would soften the blow.
Her mother chewed slowly, her expression unreadable as CeCe explained Jayce’s predicament—emphasizing his altruism—and her agreement to help. When she’d finished, she sucked in a breath, her apprehension stealing her appetite.
Her mother set down her fork and dabbed her mouth with the cloth napkin.
Say something, CeCe silently pleaded, stewing in the agonizing silence.
Setting the napkin back in her lap, her mother met her gaze across the table. “Your salmon is getting cold.”
CeCe’s heart squeezed. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“And what should I say,ma chouquette?” She evoked the term of endearment with a heavy note of sadness. “Lying? Pretending to be something you’re not? You’re a twenty-seven-year-old woman, not a little girl anymore. You know better. This isn’t how your father and I raised you.”
“Hedidn’t raise me,” she mumbled under her breath, but not soft enough to go unheard.
“That isn’t fair. He’s your father and deserves your respect.”
The shame of disappointing her mother mixed with lingering resentment creating a potent concoction that blazed hot across her skin. She could feel the fire of long-suppressed wounds—of a thousand unspoken thoughts—burning in her gut, threatening to erupt like emotional lava.
For too long she’d kept quiet, not making a fuss or expressing her feelings, simply accepting the status quo like a good daughter. “Then let’s talk about pretending.” Her voice quivered, hoarse with impending tears. “I learned from the best.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“You, Mama. You taught me how to bury the truth. Why won’t you admit that Dad’s actions—or lack thereof—hurt you? That every time he misses a phone call or postpones another trip home, it digs the wound a little deeper.” CeCe’s clenched fists trembled in her lap, but once she’d unleashed the words, she couldn’t stop them. “I know his indifference, or lack of consideration, or whatever polite term you want to give it, kills you. But for some reason, you pretend like everything is fine and dandy all the time. At leastmylie is to help someone. What does yours accomplish?”
Her eyes burned, but no tears fell, granting her an agonizingly unobstructed view of her mother’s stricken expression. Why had she gone down this road? Hadn’t she cometo comfort her mother, not cause her more heartache? Or had she really come seeking her approval?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, struggling to stand as her legs weakened beneath her. She wanted to take back every word she’d said, to apologize and make things right between them, but the line between honor and honesty had irrevocably blurred.
Now that she’d spoken her mind, could she ever undo the damage? Where would she even begin? And for goodness’ sake, why hadn’t her mother said anything?
Strange shadows flickered across her mother’s strained features in the candlelight, and her dark, glassy eyes glimmered like bottomless pools of black water. She’d retreated inside herself, so deep CeCe feared she couldn’t reach her. At least, not in her current state of emotional emptiness.
By unburdening her own pain, she’d wounded the one person she most longed to protect. And after what she’d done, she wasn’t sure how she’d ever live with herself.
Chapter Twelve
JAYCE
Jayce loungedin the Adirondack chair, sipping a tall glass of Mia’s homemade lemonade that she’d spiked with a handful of sour gummy worms for some extraoomph, as she’d described it. The smiling faces of his friends—Mia, Evan, and his girlfriend, Nadia Chopra—glowed in the soft firelight, their silhouettes framed by the midnight-blue ocean behind them. A perfect evening.
Well, itwouldbe perfect when CeCe arrived. She’d promised to join them after dinner with her mom. He expected her any second, to share in the bonfire-on-the-beach tradition they’d loved as teenagers.
