The Secret of You and Me - Melissa Lenhardt Page 0,68
it was only Nora who’d made me feel this way, I’d been partly right: Nora was the love of my life. “Oh my God.” I turned away and grasped my stomach, fluttering with desire, love and fear.
“You feel it too, don’t you?”
I opened the refrigerator door and shoved my head inside to cool myself off. “Yeah.”
I turned around and leaned against the refrigerator. We stared at each other, both aware that our relationship was inching closer to the point of no return. The questions were: Could I make love to her and let her go again? Could I stay sober if she didn’t choose me?
Magic 8 Ball says, Outlook Not Good.
Still, I never considered turning back.
I moved forward, pulled her to me and kissed her softly. “Get rid of Alima soon.” She nodded.
We left the laundry room, Nora loaded with Ziploc bags of prepped peppers and onions while I carried two half pans of marinated fajita meat. My mother stood at the end of the hall, a puckered expression on her face that switched into a scowl when she saw Nora. We passed her without a word.
Tiffany, Jamie, and Kim were waiting in the kitchen when we returned, drinking beer and eating my mother’s guacamole. The men and Millennials surrounded Alima, who was nodding and smiling.
“The rumor’s true, then,” Jamie said, eyes on Nora, whose expression remained inscrutable.
My stomach dropped to my feet. I wouldn’t put it past Jamie to follow us and eavesdrop outside the laundry room door. God, I’m an idiot. “Which one? There’re so many,” I said.
“That you two made up.”
“We have. Best friends again.”
“It’s so admirable, Nora, for you to forgive Sophie for what she did,” Tiffany said.
“Are you seriously slut-shaming Sophie for something that she didn’t do alone?” Nora said. “Charlie’s dick was involved, too.”
Kim choked on her beer.
“You guys scram. I need to make dinner,” I said.
“I’ll help,” Kim said between coughs.
Tiffany and Jamie offered, too, but I told them I had it under control, too many cooks in the kitchen and so forth. Honestly, anything to get rid of them. I needed time alone to let my heart stop racing, for the flush on my chest to lighten, for me to push down the desire that still thrummed through me.
The guys called out to Nora through the sliding glass door. “NoNo! Come out here and tell us your war stories!”
Nora laughed and shook her head but walked out onto the patio where the men each hugged her in turn. Joe picked her up off the ground and twirled her around like he used to do when he and I were dating. “Kim, you too. Go spend time with Nora,” I said. “I’ve got this.”
“I want to talk to you later. Alone.” Kim smiled and squeezed my arm. I gave her a weak smile. Nothing good could come of that.
My mother greeted me with disapproval. “Thanks for making the guac, Mother.” I lit the gas burner and placed a skillet on it.
“What were you doing back there?”
“Making out.”
My mother put her hand over her heart and, for a split second, I thought she was about to drop dead.
“You did that to spite me.”
“No, I did that because I wanted to kiss Nora.”
“You’re making a spectacle of yourself,” Brenda hissed.
“No, I’m not. There are only three people in this room who know what happened, and none of us are going to say a word. You invited yourself, so stop puckering your mouth like you’re sucking on a lemon, and act like you’re having fun. Or leave. Your choice.”
“Can I help?” Alima sauntered into the kitchen.
“No,” my mother said. She lifted her nose in the air. “You’re our guest.”
“Alima Koshkam, this is my mother, Brenda Russell.”
“Charlie introduced us,” Alima said.
“Alima? What kind of name is that?”
A smile played on Alima’s lips. “Iranian. What kind of name is Brenda?”
My mother’s head wobbled on her neck, and I had to turn away to keep from laughing. I poured olive oil into the hot skillet along with a couple of tablespoons of butter. The peppers and onions sizzled when I dumped them in. Logan and Joaquin walked into the kitchen loaded with bags.
Though I was running behind, too many people in the kitchen would slow me down. I worked best alone and under pressure. “Mother, why don’t you go have a seat. I’ll have Charlie pour you a glass of wine.”
“Just a small one.”
I motioned for Logan to tell her dad and helped Joaquin unload the bags.