When We Touch

I elbow her in the ribs. I know the source of that fire and brimstone, and I feel fine. It’s simply another of my mother’s methods for trying to control me—forcing me to be here, to listen to her judgmental bullshit coming from Marjorie’s mouthpiece.

“Just a little while longer,” I whisper.

It’s Coco’s last year of preschool, I’m making enough money to keep us clothed and fed. My daughter will be back with me in just a few short weeks, and I’ll start sleeping in on Sundays again.

We’re finally released, and Tabby and I are the first ones out the back door. I linger around on the front lawn a few minutes, waiting for my mother to appear with Coco.

“My advice on sex and idolatry is ‘don’t mix tequila with Googling your ex,’” I say, looking up at the small but imposing structure and remembering the one time five years ago when I entered Jack Lockwood in the search bar on Tabby’s laptop.

“That was a crazy night,” Tabby says, giving me a grin. “You were wild.”

I was miserable.

With a rueful smile, I quote, “Beer makes you pee, wine makes you cry, tequila makes you pregnant.”

“At least Coco’s dad was a gentleman and went away.”

I cut my eyes at her just as Betty Pepper makes a beeline for me with Bucky on her heels. “Ember Rose, that cake you made was the star of Donna’s party!”

“I’m so glad!” I give her a hug.

“Hello, jump back!” Tabby calls, and I step away quickly when I see Bucky coming in for his turn to hug me.

He’s dressed in cornflower-blue polyester suit with a shiny gold tie. I glance up to his face, and it’s not awful. He’s just so… weird. He has been since we were kids.

“Hi, Emberly,” he says, and he moves his eyebrows in a way I’m sure he thinks is flirty, but it’s totally creepy.

“Hi, Bucky.”

“You have to make another one,” Betty continues, and her son’s pale blue eyes ogle my boobs.

Like, seriously.

In front of his mother.

“My store manager Thelma’s anniversary is next Friday.” Betty finally notices her son’s inappropriate gaze. “Bucky! Go get the car!” He jumps and scampers off, and the old woman leans in close. “He’s got quite the package—”

“What!” I pull back startled.

“Thelma’s husband!” she scolds. “It’s the dark chocolate variety, if you know what I mean.”

“I know André.” I’m just not sure about this repeat business.

“Just wait til all the guys find out you’re baking their junk,” Tabby teases, jabbing my ribs. “You’ll be the most popular girl in town.”

My mother appears at the top of the steps, and I feel my face go red. Even though I’m too old to believe it, I’m convinced she has a radar for when I’m “sinning.”

Coco saves me. As soon as she spots me, she throws my mother’s hand aside and runs straight to me. “Mommy!”

“Coco bean!” I swing her up onto my hip laughing, her purple and white gingham dress swooshing around us.

Her dark curls are brushed smooth down her little back, and the very top is gathered in a white grosgrain bow as big as her head.

“How did you sleep last night?” I ask when she presses her head against my shoulder.

I only get a shrug. “Granny made me go to bed early with no treats.”

“No treats?” My brows pull together in a frown. “How come?”