Sweet and Salty (Marshall My Heart #1)

16. Chapter Sixteen

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

L aura

Wearing this smile feels like wearing high heels that are a size too small.

“Hi, Mom!” I walk toward her and accept her embrace.

She gives me a little extra squeeze, like she knows exactly what I’ve been thinking. “You okay, hon?” Her voice is soft.

“Of course.” It’s a little bright, but she lets it slide.

She takes my hand. “You look gorgeous as always. Come inside. Frannie’s here, and so is little Davey.”

Thank the gods. Nephew time means I won’t have to be as on. “Perfect.” I rub my palms together in mock glee. “He owes me after making me topple the Jenga tower last time.”

“No, I don’t!” Davey, the little five-year-old fireball, makes a beeline for me, jumping off the porch so I have to catch him.

This is exactly what I need. Soft hair and the kind of fierce love you only find in kids. My jaw finally starts to unlatch and the memory of my conversation with Chris recedes into the back of my mind.

“Davey!” Mom admonishes. “No jumping. What if Laura dropped you?”

“Auntie Laura never drops me.” Davey wraps his thin arms tightly around my neck and squeezes nearly hard enough to cut off my air supply. “She’s the bestest auntie there is.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Frannie steps onto the porch as well, a bottle of beer dangling from one hand. “Hi, Laura. You look great.”

“So do you.” Frannie always looks great. Today, she’s in a short-sleeved white V-neck cotton top that shows off her toned arms, and she has on dark green khakis with a red polka dot bandana holding back her mane of dark brown hair. If there were a photo of a modern day Rosie the Riveter, that would be Frannie. “I didn’t know you were in town. Rory said maybe, but I never trust him.”

“Daddy never lies,” Davey says solemnly.

“That’s what you think.” Frannie shakes her head. “I’ve got to fly out again tomorrow, but I’ll be back next week. Hopefully.” That means it’s highly unlikely. If Frannie stays in one place longer than two months, I haven’t yet heard of it.

“Are you coming to Daisy Gustavson’s wedding? The whole town’s invited.” Mom’s voice sounds like a plea. She hates having her kids strewn all over the country, and Frannie’s mobile job makes her an easier target than Bobby, who’s tied to the LA Slingshots. Plus, I think Mom finds it reassuring that she can see where Bobby is in the world merely by checking the hockey team’s website. No such luck with Fran.

A shadow passes over Frannie’s face, but she tosses her hair again. “We’ll see.”

I swing Davey to my hip and make my way up the stairs. He’s almost too big for it, but not yet, and I’m not ready to give up on carrying him. There’s something about holding a small human that gives me all sorts of warm fuzzies.

“We’re having tacos tonight,” he says solemnly, then leans closer to my ear. “Grams let me make the wacky moly.”

“That sounds delicious,” I whisper back. “Wacky moly is my favorite.”

Sage as an ancient mariner, he nods his head, his dark brown curls bobbing up and down. Rory needs to take him for a haircut, but he probably hasn’t had time. I’ll offer after dessert tonight. “Grams says it’s all about the avocados.”

“That’s why Grams is the smartest.” I cross the threshold of our childhood home, ignoring the crushing wave of memories, and set him down on the rainbow-colored welcome mat.

“She is, but you make the best cookies.”

“Smart kid, buttering up your auntie. Lucky for you, I brought these.” I reach into my handbag and pull out a cellophane bag tied with a bright red-and-blue ribbon. “Chocolate chip. Goes great with tacos.”

Davey’s eyes widen. He takes the bag then sprints down the hall whooping like he’s cheering for the home team.

“You spoil him,” Mom says, wrapping an arm around my waist.

“We all spoil him.” Frannie takes a sip from her beer. “He deserves it, after everything Magdalena put them through.”

We look at each other and nod. The one thing we all consistently agree on is that none of us are as bad as Magdalena.

“Just don’t mention her name when Rory gets here,” Mom says. “I’ve got to stir the black beans.” She walks down the hallway toward the kitchen with its large blond hardwood island and the knotty pine table with matching chairs.

Frannie and I turn left from the foyer, past the staircase with the photographic evidence of our childhoods on full display, and into the living room.

“So, how’s everything going?” Frannie takes a seat on the low couch, sinking into the cushions we used to jump on before our moms yelled at us to stop. Mom keeps saying she’s going to reupholster them, but with how much she still works and takes care of Davey, it’s fallen to the back burner.

I make a mental note to email all my siblings separately about the potential for a surprise birthday gift for her. Mom’s birthday isn’t until September, but something like that has to take time.

“Mama Bear, pay attention to meeeee,” Frannie mock-whines, drawing my laughter.

“Chill your beans, Frannie Bananie.”

“Ugh, I hate that nickname.” Her mouth twists in a smile of tolerance. “Don’t say that around any of the search and rescue guys.”

“Any guy special?”

She rolls her eyes. Whereas I am doomed to a life of serial monogamy with man-children who can’t be honest or commit, Frannie prefers the once-and-done technique. As she always says, “We both get what we need, and no one gets hurt.” She doesn’t seem to mind the solitude. I should really take lessons from her. I’ve been single less than a heartbeat and it’s going terribly.

“You know how it goes. I’m never in one place long enough for anyone to want to hang around.” There is a new tinge of bitterness in her tone. “I’d rather talk about you. I saw you got Frosting Monkey back off the ground. That’s fantastic.”

“It is. I’ve only posted twice this week, but I’ve gotten multiple messages from fans saying how glad they are that I’m back. I kind of forgot I had fans.” It probably helps that I posted several self-deprecating stories about how bad relationships could be. There’s a nice sense of justification that everyone, excepting Chris, thinks a mobile escape room business is not sustainable in a county more populated with deer than people.

“You have a ton of fans, hon.” Frannie fist-bumps me. “Working on anything fun?”

“This week I’ve got to start work on Daisy Gustavson’s Wild in Love cake.”

“Wild in Love?” Frannie drains her beer. “What kind of wedding theme is that?”

I sigh and lean back against the couch. “Remember Bobby’s senior prom?”

Frannie arches one perfectly tweezed eyebrow. How she has time for brow maintenance between flying search and rescue and working as a traveling nurse all over the country is beyond me. “I remember him coming home early because someone decorated half the ballroom in neon-colored leopard print and the actual tiger cubs they hired for photo ops tried to escape into the buffet.”

I spread my arms wide and shrug. “It was apparently the trial for her own wedding. Don’t ask Rory how many times she’s applied for permits for all sorts of zoo creatures. The wildest one so far was for a polar bear. It’s a good thing Tanner Michaelson’s a Dryden cousin, or the council wouldn’t have approved any of it.”

Frannie shivers. “Poor Rory. He probably didn’t see that coming when he got elected.”

For a moment, I think about the vast chasm between our two lives. What did you do today, Frannie? Probably saved a kindly grandmother, on her way to curing cancer, from some horrible fate. What about you, Laura? I made fondant zoo animals, got gaslit by an eighty-year-old veterinarian, and invented a fake boyfriend.

Frannie nudges me in the side. “Lay off yourself, Laura. Whatever it is you’re saying to yourself, it isn’t true. You know you’re the third mom in our family. Whatever that used tampon of a man said to you, get it out of your very smart, very accomplished brain.”

“I know that.” I do. Really. Sort of. “It would just feel better if some of the things he said didn’t ring true.”

Frannie’s eye roll could be seen on the moon. “I can’t imagine he got his head out of his ass long enough to say something pertinent.”

I slump into the couch cushions, the fabric enveloping me in a cloak of nostalgia. “I am clingy and over-involved in people’s lives.”

Frannie sits up completely straight. “That is not true. You help people, often to the detriment of yourself. Look at this wedding coming up. I’ll bet Daisy has called you no less than twelve times to request changes and you’ve just gone along with all of it.”

“The bride is always right.”

“Not when it comes to zebra-printed wedding cakes and fondant fucking peacocks, Laura.”

“Language, Frannie!” Mom walks into the room, holding a taco-shaped chip-and-dip in one hand and a glass of iced tea in the other. Davey strolls behind her, licking cookie crumbs from around his mouth. “Your nephew is only five. And watch the judgments.”

“Five is old enough to know that fondant peacocks are ridiculous, Mom,” Frannie says, her tone jovial.

“I’ve seen a peacock at the zoo,” Davey proclaims. “When’s my dad coming?”

“Soon, hon.” Mom sets the chip-and-dip on the coffee table between all of us. I’ve only been there approximately ten minutes and already it feels just like my childhood, a whirlwind of food and joking and subtle reminders to sit up straight. The only thing missing is Ma.

A sudden ache gapes in my chest. I sip my iced tea, hoping to drown the sensation, but it doesn’t work. What am I doing with my life? I have an ex-boyfriend who’s demanding money, an overly involved family that’s worried about me, a career that’s stagnant.

I want something to go right. I want Ma. Ma always knew what to say or what to do. The feeling of missing her is so strong, so intense, it’s like a sob that can’t be held in.

“I’ll be right back.” I set my drink on the coffee table and head for the door. No one will notice. Frannie and Davey are getting out the Jenga set and Mom is headed back to the kitchen for more appetizers.

Five minutes. That’s all I need. Five minutes to miss Ma and pull myself together.

I pull open the door and smack into a sturdy male chest covered in soft flannel.