The Right One - Felice Stevens Page 0,82
dirty.”
Leo’s dick hummed to attention. “Sounds like my kind of after-school activity.”
“Come on. Let’s go inside.”
Hand in hand, they walked up the path, and Leo rang the bell, inexplicably nervous. Physically, his mother had been progressively going downhill all summer. It was one thing to hold grudges and long-standing resentments while she was well enough to pick a fight with him, but doing so now? That didn’t sit right with him. He’d be no better than Robert was in smacking him around.
Natalia opened the door, a smile breaking over her face. “Leo. It’s so nice to see you. We were just about to start dinner. Your mother will be happy you came by.”
He held back his usual sarcastic quip and instead gave her a faint smile. “I’m glad you think so.”
They followed her to the main living area. His mother was sitting at the kitchen table. As they approached, he felt his eyes widen. She was in full regalia—eyelashes on, scarlet lips, diamonds glittering in her ears and at her throat, and she wore a blue, low-necked silk dress.
“She looks as if she’s going to dinner at a five-star restaurant instead of eating at the kitchen table,” he muttered under his breath.
Morgan answered him as quietly. “Probably because she knows she’s stuck here. It makes her feel good to dress up and pretend. It doesn’t harm anyone.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
Morgan tugged his hand. “It’s all she has left. I think it’s sad.”
He glanced at his mother, and for the first time saw her for what she was—a lonely, unhappy woman, knowing she lived with a ticking time bomb inside her. The ugliness in his chest drained away. “I think you’re right.” He dropped Morgan’s hand. “Hi, Mom. How’re you feeling?”
“It’s not the weekend, is it? Why are you here?”
In the past, her complaining voice would’ve set his temper flaring and he’d snap at her, but his talk with Morgan had put things into perspective. No matter what, his mother couldn’t be satisfied with her life. She didn’t know how. Her enjoyment had always been based on acquiring things, from having the most designer purses or shoes, to the admiration of her so-called friends. Leo couldn’t imagine her doing what Morgan’s mother had done—taking a long train ride with home-baked cookies simply to see him. Theresa wouldn’t, not if there wasn’t anything in it for her. His happiness alone wasn’t a tangible enough expression of his love. So gone were the usual anger and impatience, leaving nothing in their wake but pity.
“We have the afternoon free, so I picked Morgan up after his classes and decided to pay you a visit. And now we get to have dinner with you.” He swallowed hard. “Since you look so nice.” The compliment lay bitter on his tongue.
Her thin hand fluttered over the empty plate. “Oh. I-I appreciate it.” Like a queen, she tipped her head toward Morgan. “And thank you for coming with Leo. That’s very nice of you.”
At least she acknowledged Morgan’s existence this time, and Morgan latched on to the compliment. “We’re happy to do it. That’s a beautiful dress.”
She preened and touched the collar. “Thank you. Leo’s father always loved me in blue.”
Leo tensed but said nothing.
“It brings out your eyes. They’re exactly the same color as Leo’s.”
Okay, that’s enough. There’s nice, and then there’s going overboard.
“What are you planning to have for dinner, Mom?”
A tear rolled down her cheek, and he recalled one of the doctors telling him after her first stroke that one of the aftereffects was indiscriminate crying.
“I was feeling nostalgic and asked Natalia to make me grilled cheese. Do you remember?”
Did he remember…? “Yeah, I do, but I didn’t think you would. It was a long time ago.”
“A lifetime.”
It was…his whole life.
“Do you want me to make it for you?”
Did he actually say that? He must have, because his mother’s red lips formed a bright-red O, proving his words were as surprising to her as they were to him.
Morgan’s hand settled on his back. “That sounds delicious. I didn’t know you could cook.”
He left Morgan’s side and opened the kitchen cabinet to pull out a pan. “It’s the one thing I know how to do in the kitchen.”
He took thick slices of cheddar cheese from the fridge, and after buttering the bread, heated the pan. Once the bread with the cheese was in place, he lowered the heat.
The surprises continued as his mother engaged in actual conversation with him. “It was the only thing I knew how to