Page 8 of Your Two Lips
“Listen, I’m gonna take off. Early day tomorrow,” Finn said as he stretched his arm up to scratch the back of his neck. The move shifted his hoodie open and exposed even more of his broad chest. Heat and wetness surged to my sex at the sound of his deep voice, melting my panties. When was the last time that happened? Had it ever happened with just someone’s voice?
“I’ll see you guys on Saturday. Emily … welcome,” he said before a small smile lifted the edge of his deep red lips, and he waved his goodbyes.
He was completely uninterested in my panties. How disappointing. I thought we shared a look after the nipple thing, but apparently not. And unfortunately, neither Jake nor Lucas came close to Finn’s impact on my underwear.
I needed to work on my sexy game without the help of Mr. Big Man. Damn. I bet he would have been a brilliant teacher.
My drink was empty, and I didn’t want Lucas to buy the next round and get ideas. “I should get going.” I stood and reached under the bar for my coat and bag. “Thanks, ReeAnn. This was fun.”
“You have the directions for Saturday?” Carrie raised her eyebrows.
“Yep.” I waved my phone at her, then turned toward the door.
Lucas had recognized me, but after those first questions, he didn’t bring it up again. My shoulders relaxed with relief. I wasn’t that girl anymore. I was working my way to someone new, one breath at a time.
5
EMILY
Mother’s Dayonly reminded me I had lost my mother, and I would never carry a child. After weeks of TV commercials and in-store displays honoring moms, the losses grew heavier. Earlier this morning, alone under my fluffy blanket, I allowed the sadness in.
I didn’t talk about my loss. After Mom died, I cried with well-meaning friends from the dorm. It made them uncomfortable, and they scrambled for an easy solution, saying, “she will always be with you in your heart” or “you have an angel in heaven to watch over you now.” I didn’t want an angel in heaven. I wanted Mom back on earth.
They couldn’t make me feel better, and I couldn’t make them feel better about that. I was too crushed to help with their burden. In the end, we all felt worse. So, I told my worried friends I was fine. I wanted to shut them all out. It was … easier.
After the hysterectomy, I only told my therapist about the undiminishing sorrow of my grief. Grief for the child and future I lost. I grew up assuming my life would include pregnancy and making my mom a grandmother. She would have been a great one.
It was a bone-deep loss to realize those things would never be, and there was nothing I could do about it. Medication and therapy helped me deal with it, but the loss would always be with me, and reminders were everywhere, especially in the bright springtime before Mother’s Day.
My phone pinged the arrival of a text, pulling me out of my fog as I waited in the hall for my next client to undress and settle on the massage table. It was only Friday, and this weekend, the second Mother’s Day weekend since my surgery, was already a rough one. I needed to stay busy and distracted as much as possible.
Unknown:Hi Emily, it’s Carrie. I got your number from ReeAnn. I hope you don’t mind. Angela, another mountain biker, and I are going to try this new restaurant for happy hour tonight. Join us? Talk biking and I hear the view at this place is fantastic.
That sounded good to me.
Me:I’m at the spa until 4:00. Will that work?
Unknown:Absolutely. We’ll pick you up there?
Me:Yes! See you then.
Perfect. Meeting more people, especially women mountain bikers, was precisely what I needed this weekend. I always felt strong on my bike.
Carrie texted when she arrived, right on time, and I hopped into the back seat of her sporty little Nissan.
“Emily, this is Angela. Angela, Emily.” Carrie made the introductions, and we were on our way to the restaurant. As we chatted about jobs and biking, I realized I hadn’t been to this part of the island since those long-ago summers with my family. Then Carrie turned onto a familiar drive, and my stomach dropped.
“What are we doing here?” I asked Carrie from the back seat.
“Happy hour.” Her eyebrows creased in question as she peered back at me in the rearview mirror.
“Here?” I looked around as we approached the house on the island’s edge. The garage doors had been replaced with a solid wall, and the terraced landscaping was converted into terraced parking. Oh. My. God.
“It opened recently. I checked online, and it’s pricey, but the happy hour had some good deals.” I leaned over the center console from the back seat and stared straight ahead. “Are you okay, Emily?” she asked.
“This house … I used to live here … in the summer. This house was our summer home when I was a kid.”
“Are you serious?” Carrie asked and glanced at Angela, then back at the house. “Wow.”
