Page 98 of Something Borrowed

She shrugged, feeling ridiculously pleased.

“And you remembered my favorite color as a kid?”

“Well,” she said, “let’s not give me too much credit. You literally cried when I explained that Ernie was a puppet and that in real life we couldn’t have fuzzy orange skin.”

“It’s still a disappointment,” Michael said. “Orange would cover a great deal of blemishes.”

Vic took in her handsome son—no bias in that description. He’d gotten the best of her features and his father’s. “Like you’ve ever had a blemish!”

“Says you, the queen of effortlessly flawless,” he teased back, but then his voice took on an uncharacteristically serious tone. “We like to make sure all our flaws are more than skin deep in our family, hey?”

Vic inhaled sharply. It was true. Painful though. She wanted to brush it off or pshaw it away—but then she looked at Michael. Really looked. He was as put together as ever, freshly shaved, his hair impeccable—and clearly just cut, with razor-sharp lines and that slightly longer, tousled top that he liked, and she knew women did too. There was something different about him though, at least from the last time she’d seen him in person. He still looked gym-fit—but maybe a little too chiseled. Had he lost weight? And were there slight shadows under his eyes, or just a shadow in his eyes?

You want a close relationship with your son, and this is how it starts. By not ignoring barbs and pretending everything’s blemish-free. By feeling pain and not running from it—or him.

She winced.

“Yeah, you got that right,” she said. “And I guess it’s time we change it, hey?”

Michael’s mouth gaped slightly. She’d surprised him. Shocked him. Her being honest about emotions, about there being problems, shocked him. She was so ashamed.

She reached out and patted his arm, gingerly. Craving closeness but sure he’d bat her touch away like he’d been doing since he was sixteen or so. And bat her away he did—but gently.

“It is time, for sure, but let’s save all that for now. I want to take you out for dinner.”

She smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

“Should we take Gran?’

Vic hesitated, then said, “Yes . . . but not tonight.”

He nodded and laughed.

The week zipped by and they had fun together—and Audra was on best behavior. Maybe their talk had some effect!

Vic brought him to visit The Second Chance Shop, and she was delighted that he loved it and thought Madeline and Gwen were great. They went for long, bundled-up walks, sat in coffee shops, and lounged in the house, visiting and catching up—and playing with Christmas, whom Michael loved as Vic and Audra did.

“Thank goodness for antihistamines,” he said one afternoon, rubbing his face against hers and making her purr. “I hope no one responds to your posts. I think you should pull them down.”

“If I haven’t heard by the end of the month, I’ll do just that,” Vic said. That would be nearly six weeks of posts, surely that was ample time for someone to come forward—and a fair amount of time, if no response came, for her to officially consider herself Christmas’s kahu.

Mostly though, Michael’s focus for their visit seemed to be trips down memory lane for reasons she couldn’t get him to nail down. Eventually she stopped trying to figure out why and just enjoyed sharing stories and elaborating on details he asked about.

“So, what about this Cal guy? Am I going to meet him?” he asked at one point.

Ha! I told you there was no point telling Michael about him.

Vic’s mouth twisted into something she hoped was a smile, and she quirked an eyebrow. “You should know your old mom by now. He didn’t last.”

“You’re not old—and that’s too bad. Or is it?”

Vic shrugged. “It is too bad—and it’s also okay.”

“Well . . . his loss.”

“Thanks, baby.”

Michael was studying her, but she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.