Sparks - Wendy Higgins Page 0,8
mom?”
“She’s a total beach hippie.” I smiled thinking about her. “She collects sea glass and makes jewelry with it. She does workshops at local boutiques and galleries. She had her own shop until she got sick.”
“She got sick?” he asked.
I nodded, feeling a flash of fear like I did every time I thought about it. “I’ll tell you the abridged version. My parents tried for years to have a baby, but never could. Imagine their surprise when I came along when she was thirty-nine.”
“Oh, shit,” he laughed.
“Yeah. They thought it was perimenopause at first. So, I’m the only child and my parents were significantly older than my friends’ parents. My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was sixteen.”
“Damn. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. She’s doing pretty well now. How about your family?”
“Mom is Sandy, dad is Bill. Recently relocated from Raleigh to Charlotte. I’ve got an older sister in Baltimore and a younger brother in Savannah. We make an effort to get together at our parents’ house every Thanksgiving without fail. Unless I’m overseas. In that case, they throw a fake Thanksgiving when I return.”
“Aww, I love that!”
His smile when he thought about them was wholesome and sweet. “They’re good people. Tell me all about this Barbie Bootcamp.”
I was way too excited. I started from day one explaining how I’d seen the advertisement online about Omega Skies interviewing at a local hotel, and then the interview process, and how I was flown to Houston for six weeks of training. I roomed with Holly from Ohio with her midwestern politeness. Oh, and how all the trainees from northern states made such fun of me for saying y’all. And then I told him about the training process: memorizing the various planes, FAA regulations, constant series of written tests, followed by the physical tests onboard the planes. Drills with the instructors shouting, your heart pounding, knowing so many lives were in your hands. It wasn’t until all of that was mastered that you got to learn how to run a beverage service.
He was an apt audience, taking in every single detail as if I were explaining the elixir of life, and asking detailed questions. He laughed in all the right parts, making me feel like I was clever and witty. I was feeling pretty full of myself. Especially after he refilled my drink and the third cup of vodka hit my system.
I put my hand on his wrist. “No, I’m serious. He was like, ‘You just killed one hundred and fifty people! How do you feel?’ And she just started bawling and collapsed to her knees. We were all so exhausted. It was like three in the morning but so humid. We were drenched in sweat.” I looked at Shawn and he seemed to have frozen stiff. I glanced down to where my hand was on him and my thumb was like, stroking his skin. I took my hand away and he seemed to relax.
That was weird. Oh, my God. Was he married? I looked at his left hand, my stomach in my throat. No ring. I let out a huge breath. So why the reaction? Did I make him nervous when I’d touched him? That was hard to believe. And I wasn’t getting a gay vibe, that’s for sure.
He ran a hand over the back of his closely-shaved head. “It’s crazy that y’all did your drills in the middle of the night.”
“I know. It was the only time the planes were available, and it’s so hot in Houston in August.”
“Another drink?” he asked me.
“Not yet. Thanks.” I still had half of mine, but he’d sucked his down.
I watched as he got up to get a refill and then made a loop around the room to check on everyone. He was a great guy. A little older than me at thirty-one, but what was seven or eight years in the scheme of things? Nothing. And he was interested in me as a person. So, what was the catch?
I hadn’t been interested in any guy since Don, nearly six months now. It was time for me to move on. A wave of sadness and regret washed over me at the thought of Don. I couldn’t think of him without remembering coming home after sitting on the beach for hours—trying to lessen the sadness of our breakup—only to find he and my mother at the kitchen table, both crying. I’d broken his heart and he hadn’t taken it well. Neither had I,