Midnight Sommelier - Anne Malcom Page 0,22

with glee. “No, I’m not at all serious. But my dad is good company. He just makes a bad first impression. And I think that the Black Mountain moms have traumatized him to where he makes me go grocery shopping in fear of encountering one of them. I’d like for him to know at least two normal people in this town.”

I stared at her. Was this little minx telling the truth or was she on some ill-fated mission to set me up with her father?

“Okay, first of all, isn’t your dad too much of a badass to be scared by a bunch of overprivileged mothers in yoga pants? And second, if you think we’re normal then you’re batshit crazy, girlfriend.” I sipped my wine. “I took your dad as more of a lone wolf type anyway.”

Something moved in her eyes. No light this time, something darker. Sadder. “I know he seems that way but he’s really not. Before we came here, he was a lot more social. He had more people around him. A family. He’s used to that. Now all he has is me, and I’m worried about him.”

My stomach clenched. Another child worrying about their parent with a mature kind of sadness they shouldn’t have.

I moved forward, squeezed her arm. “You’ve got to worry about having fun at this party tonight. Sneak a beer. Flirt with a boy. Go crazy. Let the parents do the worrying for a change.”

She smiled, glanced at herself in the mirror, and agreed. I sent her and Ryder off to the party, put my son to bed, poured my wine, and readied for season three of The Vampire Diaries. But my mind was on that dark man in the big house next door, wondering what kind of demons he might have. If they might play well with mine.

The call came about an hour before Ryder’s curfew. I didn’t strictly enforce such things because I didn’t need to. Ryder had a good group of friends. In fact, he was friends with everyone. There was no teasing, no one shunning him because of his identity. There was something magnetic and warm about my son that was all thanks to David. Made him popular with all facets of the high school hierarchy.

It could’ve been a recipe for trouble if Ryder were anyone else.

But, of course, he was Ryder. So he never had a strictly enforced curfew because he never broke it. Sure, he’d come home now and again smelling of beer, but as long as he wasn’t driving, David and I did not punish him. Heck, at fifteen David gave him his first beer.

We weren’t under any illusions as to what our teenage kids would do. My parents were strict but fair and definitely wouldn’t have allowed underage drinking. That didn’t stop me from getting blackout drunk at fifteen. Luckily for me, I had good friends who looked after me. Also lucky for me I was a good enough liar to convince my parents my hangover was food poisoning.

I never wanted our boys to lie to us about such things. Sure, I didn’t want them to drink as teenagers. But I wasn’t an idiot, nor was David. We knew it would happen. So we didn’t demonize alcohol like many parents did. We cautioned against it. We told Ryder not to touch hard liquor until he was old enough to buy it himself. We also told him he could always call us for a ride home and would never get in trouble.

He’d only ever called once, after his first breakup and first broken heart. David and I sat with him until the early hours of the morning, partly to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit, but mostly to comfort him. Our boy felt deeply. He was upset over that breakup for months. Then he met Jake.

But after that, there had been no more calls. And of course, then David died. Such a trauma at such an age could’ve been a recipe for trouble. Ryder could’ve dealt with his pain by using alcohol to try and numb it like his mother did. But he barely went to parties, did anything sociable because he wanted to stay at home and watch over me.

I’d let him because I was so deep in my own grief that I couldn’t see what I was doing. How much I was relying on him. I was also selfish and terrified. I didn’t want him to leave the house, didn’t want him