before I could fall asleep. “You look really beautiful tonight, Mellie
Rose.”
I turned my head to face him, but kept my cheek against his
shoulder. He was looking down at me, the expression in his eyes unreadable. And
then, so slowly I felt I might be dreaming it, he leaned down and pressed his
lips against my forehead.
“What are you thinking?” he asked softly, lifting his other
hand from behind him so he could brush away a piece of hair that had slipped
into my eyes.
“I’m thinking how perfect tonight is.” I could almost feel
his grin against my hair as he placed a light kiss on top of my head. I just
sighed and snuggled into his arms.
CHAPTER 8
There were few things in life that made
me nervous, though I was finding myself increasingly flustered recently by
Jackson’s presence. Singing in church was a piece a cake, and I could take a
test without breaking a sweat. Even the abandoned house at the end of my street
growing up, the one that most of the boys on the block ran away from in fear,
didn’t faze me.
When I did get nervous, though, it showed. Lip biting and
fidgeting and hair twirling weren’t unusual, but pacing was something that I
saved for truly rare occasions.
It was a rare occasion that September afternoon. I started
wearing down the already threadbare rug next to my bed as I paced back and
forth, staring at the phone in my hand. Josephine had practically shoved it
into my hand and forced me to go upstairs. I wasn’t allowed to go back to work
until I made the call. Every time I mustered the courage to press the green
button, I somehow ended up pressing the red one. I wished I could talk to
Josephine or Darcy instead, but they all refused to talk to me until I called
my mother.
It wasn’t like something bad happened. In fact, the good news
should have made my mom feel relieved about my decision to move to California,
but I was realistic. I knew exactly how the conversation would go. And so, when
I finally did push the Talk button, after almost an hour of stalling, I was
prepared for exactly what happened.
“Hello, Melanie,” my mother answered, after only two rings.
There was no hint of emotion in the voice that came through the phone; it was
flat, almost professional. This was no surprise to me. Lydia Devlin rarely
showed any type of emotion to anyone, even if their relationship was a good
one.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, sitting down on the bed. I held the phone
cautiously, with my finger over the red button, positioning it so I could end
the call easily and quickly, if need be.
Silence.
“I’ve missed you, Mom. How are things?” My voice cracked when
I said it. I hadn’t realized how true it was until I actually said the words
out loud.
“We are all very well, thank you for asking. Anne says you
are doing fine as well.” Anne was my sister-in-law, and the one person who
actually still talked to me. But even she refused to talk to me until I called
my mother.
“Yeah, I am,” I said, knowing that it wasn’t what my mother
wanted to hear. “That’s actually the reason I called. I got a really good
write-up in the LA Times , and I wanted to tell you. I
was hoping I could send you a copy.”
“Congratulations,” she said, her voice still void of any true
sentiment.
“Thank you,” I said, knowing that she really wasn’t
interested in the details. It didn’t matter that the write-up had actually been
a very big deal. A very, very big deal. “There was something else I wanted to
talk to you about too.”
“Yes?”
“Well,” I began nervously, my voice shaking slightly, “your
birthday is coming up, and I was wondering if I could bring you and Dad out to
celebrate.”
The silence on the other end of the phone was almost
unbearable, and though I thought I had prepared myself for anything, the actual
words that came from my mother’s mouth hurt me more than I ever thought
possible.
“We aren’t interested in coming out to see you, Melanie. We
will wait until you
Rose.”
I turned my head to face him, but kept my cheek against his
shoulder. He was looking down at me, the expression in his eyes unreadable. And
then, so slowly I felt I might be dreaming it, he leaned down and pressed his
lips against my forehead.
“What are you thinking?” he asked softly, lifting his other
hand from behind him so he could brush away a piece of hair that had slipped
into my eyes.
“I’m thinking how perfect tonight is.” I could almost feel
his grin against my hair as he placed a light kiss on top of my head. I just
sighed and snuggled into his arms.
CHAPTER 8
There were few things in life that made
me nervous, though I was finding myself increasingly flustered recently by
Jackson’s presence. Singing in church was a piece a cake, and I could take a
test without breaking a sweat. Even the abandoned house at the end of my street
growing up, the one that most of the boys on the block ran away from in fear,
didn’t faze me.
When I did get nervous, though, it showed. Lip biting and
fidgeting and hair twirling weren’t unusual, but pacing was something that I
saved for truly rare occasions.
It was a rare occasion that September afternoon. I started
wearing down the already threadbare rug next to my bed as I paced back and
forth, staring at the phone in my hand. Josephine had practically shoved it
into my hand and forced me to go upstairs. I wasn’t allowed to go back to work
until I made the call. Every time I mustered the courage to press the green
button, I somehow ended up pressing the red one. I wished I could talk to
Josephine or Darcy instead, but they all refused to talk to me until I called
my mother.
It wasn’t like something bad happened. In fact, the good news
should have made my mom feel relieved about my decision to move to California,
but I was realistic. I knew exactly how the conversation would go. And so, when
I finally did push the Talk button, after almost an hour of stalling, I was
prepared for exactly what happened.
“Hello, Melanie,” my mother answered, after only two rings.
There was no hint of emotion in the voice that came through the phone; it was
flat, almost professional. This was no surprise to me. Lydia Devlin rarely
showed any type of emotion to anyone, even if their relationship was a good
one.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, sitting down on the bed. I held the phone
cautiously, with my finger over the red button, positioning it so I could end
the call easily and quickly, if need be.
Silence.
“I’ve missed you, Mom. How are things?” My voice cracked when
I said it. I hadn’t realized how true it was until I actually said the words
out loud.
“We are all very well, thank you for asking. Anne says you
are doing fine as well.” Anne was my sister-in-law, and the one person who
actually still talked to me. But even she refused to talk to me until I called
my mother.
“Yeah, I am,” I said, knowing that it wasn’t what my mother
wanted to hear. “That’s actually the reason I called. I got a really good
write-up in the LA Times , and I wanted to tell you. I
was hoping I could send you a copy.”
“Congratulations,” she said, her voice still void of any true
sentiment.
“Thank you,” I said, knowing that she really wasn’t
interested in the details. It didn’t matter that the write-up had actually been
a very big deal. A very, very big deal. “There was something else I wanted to
talk to you about too.”
“Yes?”
“Well,” I began nervously, my voice shaking slightly, “your
birthday is coming up, and I was wondering if I could bring you and Dad out to
celebrate.”
The silence on the other end of the phone was almost
unbearable, and though I thought I had prepared myself for anything, the actual
words that came from my mother’s mouth hurt me more than I ever thought
possible.
“We aren’t interested in coming out to see you, Melanie. We
will wait until you
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