Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,50
of her arms. “It’s really great to see you. You look fantastic.”
Mom barked a laugh before patting her bald head. “You fabulous liar! I’m placing bets on what shade of red my hair will be when it grows back.”
“Grayish red?” I suggested.
She smacked my butt, then hugged me. “You’re very naughty, Tegan. You should have warned me so I could put a scarf on and not scare poor Dec.”
“Don’t be silly. I wasn’t kidding. You look beautiful. I can’t begin to tell you how nice it is to be here. It’s been a long time,” he said earnestly.
“Too long. Come into the kitchen and tell me all about yourself. Every little detail. Don’t leave out a thing.”
She moved ahead of us into the adjoining space and poured water into the kettle. “Tea? Or would you prefer coffee? We might have beer. I’m not sure. I haven’t done the grocery shopping recently. My pantry is a complete mystery to me. I know I have cookies and tea, though, because the knitting gals were here this afternoon. They brought all sorts of goodies. Or would you like a sandwich?”
“Ma, we’re not—”
“Tea sounds great. Thank you,” Dec intercepted, setting the recyclable bag on the side table next to the sliding glass door leading to the backyard. He peered outside curiously, no doubt cataloging changes as he took in his surroundings.
“I’ll get it. Sit down, Mom.” I scowled when she gave me a dubious look. “I know how to pour water over a tea bag. What kind do you want?”
“Chamomile, please. And don’t forget the cookies,” she replied. She squeezed my arm, then flew around the island and hugged Dec again before settling onto a cushy leather barstool. “Sit. I want to know everything.”
Dec obeyed while I pulled out mugs and an assortment of tea bags. I painstakingly arranged cookies on a plate and took my time pouring water over the bags so I could clandestinely watch them.
Mom’s face was a little puffy from medication, and she’d lost her beautiful red hair a few weeks ago. She’d cried when it fell out. It was the only time she’d broken down throughout this whole nightmare. She’d been angry with herself for the show of vanity afterward. “It’s only hair. It will grow back,” she’d chanted as she’d wrapped a floral scarf around her head, claiming she needed a colorful boost.
But Dec was right, she looked equally beautiful without it. Her bright-green sweater complemented her twinkling eyes. She exuded joy and the same easy humor that had always been part of her charm as she peppered Dec with questions about his music, his band…his life. The poor guy should have been shell-shocked, but he took it all in stride.
“What’s your band called?” she asked.
“Jealousy.”
“Mmm. What instruments do you play? Who are your bandmates? Why did you choose that name? Will you—”
“Geez, Ma. Give him second to answer,” I chided, sliding the teas and a plate of cookies in front of them.
“I’m sorry. There’s so much I want to know,” she said softly.
“Me too. Um, I play guitar, bass, piano. Just guitar with the band, though. My bandmates are good guys, but I don’t really know any of them well yet.”
“It’s too bad there wasn’t a spot open in Tegan’s band. It would have been nice to see you play together. You were always such good friends,” Mom commented, lifting her mug to her lips.
Dec cast a quick look in my direction. “Being on the same label is cool. I don’t know if Tegan mentioned it, but he played on a track for us so we could add it to our upcoming record.”
Mom fixed me with a curious glance. “No, but that’s wonderful. I’ll be sure to listen to it.”
They chatted amicably for a while. I piped in occasionally, but mostly…I observed. It was no secret that Dec had loved my family when we were kids. Especially my mom. They had a funny bond I didn’t quite understand. He used to come by the house ten or fifteen minutes earlier than necessary to walk with me to school. He’d hang out in the kitchen with Mom, sipping OJ and talking about silly topics, ranging from movies they’d watched to foods they liked but never ate while I finished my breakfast and brushed my teeth.
“Your mom sent me flowers a few weeks ago. That was sweet of her. How is she?” Mom asked, pulling me to the present.
“She’s good. She’s still with Sam. They seem happy,” he replied