Page 59 of Sugar Coated Lies
I want her to have this—over me having her. I’ve never felt that way about anyone. It’s a bit disturbing because I don’t know what it means.
I pack up my stuff and head to the house. Mom has my favorite dinner—Wagyu beef and truffle whipped potatoes—arranged for tonight to celebrate how well I’ve been managing the farm. The thought of inviting Everleigh and her grandfather crosses my mind, but I’m sure it’s too late to invite them, and I don’t know how Miles would do at a new place. My guess is not good.
“What’s wrong, darling?” Mom asks as I finish my bourbon and pecan souffle.
“Nothing.” I stare into the near-empty glass as one of the cleaning staff clears the table around me.
“A mother knows things,” she says, drawing my gaze and a smile from me.
She rests her elbows on the edge of the table and sets her chin in her hands like the girl in the movieThe Queen's Gambitas she waits for me to divulge. “Tell me while your father is distracted. He thinks I don’t know he’s watching golf on the TV at the bar.”
I laugh. Dad left to pour another drink several minutes ago. He does this, wanders off for the special liquor he keeps at his private bar, and we don’t see him for an hour.
“Some problems even you can’t fix for me.”
“Try me.”
I sigh and sip my bourbon.
“It’s a girl, isn’t it? The pretty one at the farm.”
I lift my gaze in surprise.
“See? A mother knows things. What was her name again? It was as pretty as she is.”
“Everleigh.”
She nods. “Yes. I could tell by your eagerness and protectiveness that she was special.”
“I was that obvious?” Well shit. No wonder Easton kept teasing me.
“Only to a mother. We pay attention better than others do. Although I think Tennie guessed as much.”
“I think so, too.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?”
I laugh again. “No. She works and cares for her grandpa. I spent a day with them last week.”
“You did?” She gives me one of those insightful looks that only a mother can deliver.
I fiddle with my cloth napkin, the only remnants of dinner besides the glasses. “She needed help, and I offered to be that help. She wouldn’t have asked,” I make clear. “She’s very independent. But some things you can’t do on your own. I don't know how she manages to do all she does as it is.” I peer up through my lashes at my mother.
She sits still, her expression attentive.
“I want to help her. She needs help. She deserves help. Her grandfather is a handful with his disease. You should have seen her, Mom.” I sit forward. “I watched him so she could go to the grocery store, and he lost it. She called it an episode. He was upset, angry, almost violent in his behavior toward items in the house, and she rushed in without fear and calmed him. She didn’t hesitate; she just knew what to do, and it worked.”
I pause for a moment, reflective of that easy day and how abruptly the mood changed. “She’s alone. Her parents died when she was fifteen. Her grandparents raised her, then her grandmother died when she was in college. She had to drop out of where she was to care for her grandfather. They have no money, but she doesn’t ask for anything other than a job and work.” I shake my head in amazement.
“She sounds extraordinary. No wonder you care for her so much.”
“I do care for her.” It feels strange to admit it out loud.
Mom studies me as if she understands my dilemma. “Do you know if she feels the same way about you?”
“I think so. But there’s work and…”Benedict. I finish off my drink.
“It’s a tough scenario for both of you. Employee relationships are prohibited for a reason. That’s not to say they don’t happen or work out in some cases. But she has much more to lose in this, if you were to try and it doesn’t work out.”
