Blurred Lines (Love Unexpectedly 1)

My dad’s eyes light up, but at the last minute, he glances at me.

I smile and wave a hand as I head back toward the kitchen. “Do your thing. Mom and I are going to go drink wine and man-bash.”

“Leave me off your hit list!” Ben calls after me. “Remember who pulled your disgusting hair clog out of the shower drain today!”

I poke my head back in the room. “Will do. And you remember who does your laundry, and most of the dishes, and keeps you stocked in that nasty protein powder you like, and who got rid of your latest psycho sugar baby—”

Ben turns the baseball game up to an ear-blasting decibel, and I grin, having proved my point.

Although, truth? I don’t so much mind the household chores. I may have a touch of neat freak running through these bones.

My mom’s pouring us each a glass of sauvignon blanc when I return to the kitchen.

To my surprise, she jerks her head toward the living room at the front of the house—a room we, like most families, use at Christmas and…that’s it. We usually talk in the kitchen as she cooks and I pretend to help.

“Enchiladas are in the oven, salad’s already made,” she explains. “Besides, I want someone to appreciate the new throw pillows I splurged on. Your father’s compliments ended at They’re pink.”

I follow her into the room. “Silly Dad. They’re clearly raspberry.”

She lifts a glass to me. “Vindication! Thank you.”

I look her over as we settle into opposite chairs, but I do so subtly, knowing that she’s trying so hard to put being sick behind her. As well she should, because she looks amazing.

“So,” she says, the second I take a sip of wine. “Has he called yet?”

I shake my head, knowing immediately that she’s asking about Lance. “Nothing. Not even a freaking text since the night he dumped me.”

Mom purses her lips. “I suppose that’s not such a bad thing. A clean break is probably better than a long, drawn-out painfest.”

“That’s what I thought!” I exclaim, leaning forward. “And it’s so true in theory. But, in reality, it’s making me feel a little…forgettable. How can Lance just put, like, five years of togetherness out of his mind like that?” I snap my fingers.

She takes a sip of wine and watches me. “You miss him?”

I glance at my glass. “I miss…yeah, I guess.”

But my tone is

lukewarm, and her eyebrows lift. “Maybe you miss being in a relationship more than you miss Lance?”

I bite my fingernail. “Um, kind of…”

She gives me a puzzled look, and I know why. She and I have the type of relationship where I tell her everything. But right now, I’m holding back on her, and she knows it.

“I miss sex,” I blurt out, giving a frantic look toward the entry of the room to make sure my dad is still in sports heaven with Ben.

“Ah,” she says, sitting back in her seat.

To my relief, she looks merely understanding instead of uncomfortable. Seriously. She’s the best.

Mom purses her lips. “Was Lance…Was he—was it bad? With Lance I mean?”

“Not really,” I say, knowing what she’s asking. “It had become, um…infrequent, toward the end. Which I guess should have been a warning sign. But lately I’ve just been thinking, I’m young, I’m healthy, and I just want—”

“Sex,” she says.

I take a sip of wine. A big one. “Yeah. And please tell me you’re not going to call all your friends tomorrow and tell them your daughter’s a hussy,” I say, mostly joking.

She grins. “Please. If anything, I’ll be bragging about what an awesome mom I am for being able to have this conversation.”