C-O-N-T-R-I-T-E
“Mom, I messed up.” Claire dropped into the blue suite sofa and buried her head in her hands, phone glued to her ear. Vibrant and cheerful, the sun was rising, but she felt the chill in the air through the triple-paned window anyway.
“Uh-oh. Tell me what happened.”
“I... fuck. I don’t know how to say it.”
“Eek. I’d tell you to watch that language, but you must have a good reason for dropping that f-bomb,” Val said sympathetically.
“I don’t love Ryder.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. The trip isn’t going well?”
“I, uh... I’m such a bitch.” She bit her tongue. “Sorry.”
“You could never be a bitch.” The b-word rolled off her mother’s tongue awkwardly, but with a fierce determination that loosened the lump in Claire’s throat.
“Have you ever had a crush on a guy that wasn’t Dad?”
“Of course. It’s natural to find other men attractive. As long as it’s never more than an appreciation.”
“I kissed his brother.”
Long pause. “Oh my.”
“Yup,” she mumbled, popping the last letter with finality.
“Did you have a good reason?”
“There’s never a good reason for kissing your fiancé’s brother.”
Gasp. “Engaged? Honey, you didn’t tell me that.”
“Well, we’re not actually engaged. Long story. But a few days ago, it’s what I thought I wanted.”
“I can throw out a few reasons Ryder isn’t the one for you. Should we start there, or do you want to focus on the brother?”
“That is part of the issue. I can’t get my mind off his brother.”
“Did you tell Ryder what happened?”
“No. I plan to break up with him first.”
“Good plan.” Long pause. Heavy sigh. Maternal supportive judgment. Claire wished she had gone for a video call so she could add the puppy dog eyes.
Claire blurted out, “Ryder says Grady is a player. But I’m not sure I believe that.”
“He did kiss his brother’s fiancée.”
“Thanks, Mom. So helpful.”
“Well he did. That alone doesn’t exactly reflect well on him.”
“What about me? I’m the one in a serious relationship.”
“Not to worry, you’re not off the hook. Who instigated the kiss?” Val’s voice was stern but loving. But what Claire really needed was a hug. Or wine on the front porch while the hot afternoon sun settled into night, like they’d do when Claire’s grad school classes would end early.
“Me. Maybe it was him. I’m not sure who started it, but we are both very guilty. And there was definitely whiskey involved.”
