Shopping for a Billionaire 4(17)
Author: Julia Kent

Mom leans against a shiny patch of pale yellow wood where the bark has been picked clean. Sheared off. “I guess it does. I wanted you and Steve to work out because he reminded me of James.”

“And when I brought Declan home?”

“I wanted that even more.”

I snort. “Because it was like reliving James. For you. If I got together with Declan it was James, once removed.”

“No!” Mom’s face flushes bright red, almost purple, and her eyes turn so angry. All that youth that captured her levity and light in her laughter moments ago is banished, replaced by an outrage I rarely see. “Don’t conflate the two. I wanted you to be with Declan because it was immediately apparent from spending ten seconds in both your presences that something very unique is there. The air around you two is charged. You don’t see that often.”

“You didn’t have that with James?”

“No.” She blinks, hard, working to control her emotions. This is a side of my mother I’ve rarely seen. In fact, I’ve never seen this.

“What did you mean Daddy’s the reason you broke up with James?” I ask quietly. We resume our walk, talking long strides, measuring our speed. Amy’s eyes are alert and perceptive; she’s taking it all in without saying much.

Mom looks at the sky again. “You can’t choose who you fall in love with.”

“And you didn’t fall in love with James?”

“I tried.” Without elaborating, she lets that hang there. A child flies by on a scooter and we move to get out of his way, the wind whipping through his hair, pure joy on his face as he races his dad, who is on his bike on the road. The dad is pedaling slowly, moderating his pace so his son can win.

We all smile at the sight. Mom’s face folds in fastest, though, going somber, her eyes a bit haunted. “I tried,” she repeats. “But you can’t force yourself to love someone if it’s not right.”

“And maybe that’s what’s happening with Declan.”

“You’re not forcing anything, Shannon,” she says, gently touching my arm.

“No—not me. Him. Maybe I really wasn’t enough.” I let a frustrated sigh burst out of me. “Or I was too much.” His words ricochet in my head.

“Do you really believe that?”

We round a corner and watch the dad and son fade out over the big hill we’re about to climb.

I can’t answer. My mouth has gone dry and my throat aches. So much information. Too much history. Mom dated James? Mom rejected James? Mom watched me bring Declan home and didn’t say a word? Was that really out of respect or was there something more?

“How did James take it when you ended your relationship?” I ask, deflecting. I don’t want to answer her question.

She gives me a rueful smile. “Not well. James doesn’t like to lose.”

I laugh so hard I trigger a bunch of dogs behind a fence, their furious barking making me laugh even more. “That’s an understatement.”

“He didn’t have a choice. I chose.” Her eyes go to a place I can’t even see, where a love that has lasted more than thirty years lives. Dad’s in there somewhere, and he and Mom have their own world where they are each other’s sun and moon, orbiting each other.

Amy pipes up finally, as if she’s been holding back all along from asking a question that’s burning a hole in her head. “Mom?”

“Yes?”

“How did you meet Dad?”

Her smile broadens. “He was the vet tech for Winky.”

* * *

When we get back from our walk, two issues are clear:

1. We’re still going to eat ice cream.

2. Amanda’s struck out.

“I have the best Google skills this side of the Mississippi,” she groans. “But there’s just this obituary. Not even a mention in the society pages. It’s…weird.”

We’re shoving mouthfuls of sex substitute (and no, not vibrators) into our mouths, my caramel chunks a poor substitute for a man’s mouth, but hey, I’ll take it, when Mom shouts, “Jessica Coffin!”

I inhale a solid piece of chocolate-covered frozen caramel and the world begins to swirl. Can’t breathe. Can’t think. I thump my chest and stare, bug-eyed, at Mom.

“Look at Shannon do her Planet of the Apes imitation,” Mom jokes.

Dark spots fill in the edges of my vision. I seriously cannot breathe, and Mom’s face changes as she realizes I’m not making a sound.

Amy jumps up and is across the room in seconds, arms wrapping around me from the back as one thought fills my mind:

Death by chocolate is very, very real.

You take first-aid classes and learn the Heimlich maneuver and wrap your arms around a dummy and pull toward you. You practice on another human being without hurting them. In the seconds between life and death in real life, though, you don’t realize how hard you have to pull, the force it takes to dislodge an errant chocolate caramel, or the panic that you feel as blood’s cut off from your brain, your entire life in the hands of the baby sister who used to break the heads off your Barbies and roast them on a stick in the fire in the wood stove.

If I’m going to die, there’s a certain irony that it’s like this and not from a bee sting.

Amy, fortunately, turns out to be as much a hero as Declan, and with one rib-cracking yank the chocolate climbs up my throat, scrapes against the back of my tongue, bounces off the top of my mouth, and flies right into Chuckles’ eye, sending him sprawling off the back of the couch and into a wastebasket next to the front door.

A hole in one.

Whoop! I inhale so long and hard it’s like the sound a hurt toddler makes as they gear up for a big old outraged cry. Chuckles beats me to it, scratching his way out of the trash can and howling with outrage.

“My God, Shannon, are you okay?” Mom asks, rushing over with a glass of water.

Everyone ignores Chuckles. He marches over to the front door and begins peeing in Mom’s purse. My throat is raw and I can’t say anything, but a weird hitching sound comes out of me, tears rolling down my face as sweet, blessed air makes its way where the frozen caramel just perched.

“Eye,” is all I can manage, pointing at the cat, who is now peeing on Amy’s shoe. The new Manolo knockoff.

Amy’s studying her hands like they’re an Oscar statue. “I can’t believe I did that,” she whispers. Mom gives her a huge hug and they all watch me, Amanda behind me, her hand on my back with a supportive touch.