When We Touch

“Emberly?” My mother quickly steps into the foyer when we enter.

I gesture to Coco asleep on my shoulder, and she gives me a tight-lipped nod. Impatience tightens my throat, and I reconsider my earlier plan to spend the night here. The idea of waking up alone in my bed with the balcony doors wide open and Jackson right outside sends my imagination down a rabbit-hole of impossible possibilities.

Not going there.

At the same time…

Not going there with my mother either.

She silently hated Jackson when he was here the first time, and her hatred turned verbal after he left. The last thing I can cope with on top of everything else is the nonstop lecturing, warning, badgering, questioning.

Without hesitation, I step into the shower with Coco in my arms. She whines in my ear, and her little arms tighten over my shoulders. I tilt the showerhead so it’s not pointing in her face and wash the salt water out of our hair.

I read somewhere ocean water is actually really good for your skin and hair. It’s probably fiction, but I decide tonight to believe it and don’t bother with the soap or lathering us up too much.

Grit gone, I wrap us in a thick, expensive towel and head to bed.

* * *

“I guess she has to go to preschool today,” I say, carrying Coco into the kitchen where my mother sits at the small table immaculately dressed and holding a cup of coffee.

I, by contrast, am in my cutoffs and the maroon tank I wore yesterday. My hair is twisted up in a messy bun, and Coco is on my hip, complaining that she can’t spend the day “baking,” riding bikes, and swimming in the sea with me.

My mother studies me. “I thought you might need her with you yesterday.”

“Why?” I deposit my daughter in a chair at the table and step over to pour myself a cup of coffee.

As much as I hate to admit it, I do appreciate having coffee ready when I wake up… in an air-conditioned bedroom with my little girl’s foot against my face.

“I thought he might try to see you.” Momma is still watching me, and those words pull me up short.

“You knew he was back?”

“He stopped by the house Sunday evening.”

Betrayal flashes in my chest. “You didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t see the point.” She sets down her cup and leans back in her chair. “I knew he’d find you eventually.”

Eventually… She could have fucking warned me. She could have saved me that lightning strike.

Sarcasm drips in my tone. “I’m surprised you risked her being around such a negative influence.”

She sniffs and lifts her coffee. “Most men are put off by other men’s children.”

I try to swallow the knot in my throat. I always knew Marjorie Warren was sneaky. Now I’m convinced she’s just plain evil.

“Colette will go to school today.” That gets a whine out of my daughter. My mother’s response is firm, albeit far more gentle with her granddaughter. “There is more to life than baking.”

I let that jab go, turning to my baby instead. “I can’t wait to hear all about the new monster.” I hug her tightly, rubbing her back and kissing her little shoulder. “I’ll make a cupcake for him.”

Suddenly Coco is far more interested in returning to school. I pick up my bag and give my mother one final glare before leaving.

If I thought it would sell, I’d create an ass cake with her face in the center. As it is, I have a penis to make. And some other, more respectable items.

Either I’m lucky or he’s inside one of the buildings. I see no sign of Jackson when I arrive at my place. Wheeling Dixie into the alley, I quickly fasten the chain, though it’s not really necessary in Oceanside, and enter through the back door.

A few moments later, my apron is on, and I’m shaking out the flour to make the puff pastry crust for the fruit tart. I left a list of ingredients with Tabby yesterday. A quick check in the refrigerator, and I see she bought them all.