Blushing Pink (3 page)

On top of that, Ben's best man was Brian Doren—someone Reese had shared a long, soulful, tongue-tangling kiss with two years ago, and had never seen since. (And speaking of red-hot passion, that kiss was probably the closest she'd ever come.) Seeing Brian again might be
very
uncomfortable, but Reese had already devised a plan: When she ran into him at the wedding, she was simply going to play it cool and act like they'd never met. How could she possibly go wrong?

Inching forward in her car, she smelled the heavenly aroma of fatty grease and fried, processed meat. She figured she might as well have one more really great meal before she got to her mother's house. That was when junk food would cease being fun. Not that her mother
meant
to be annoying—she just couldn't help herself—and she had this maddening habit of interrogating the family about their diet, always wanting to know what they were eating and
why.
Reese had already exhausted every conceivable answer, even: "Junk—because I'm using food for love." Still, her mother never got the hint.

Basically, Joanna Brock was a slave to her own high culinary standards. She'd been a French chef for twenty years, and now that she was retired, she was running a French dessert business out of her home, and had French food on the brain twenty-four-seven, even though the entire family was Irish (with just a splash of Italian).

The last Reese had heard, though, Joanna had expanded her obsessions. According to Ally, their mom was now completely addicted to
The Wedding Story,
a TV show on the cable station TLC. What had apparently started as a reference for planning Ally's wedding had turned into an extensive recorded collection with verbal annotations. (Their mother was sort of a strange little woman.)

"W'ome to Bur'ing; can I ta'order," an annoyed-sounding voice grumbled through the call box.

"Oh, yes, hi!" Reese chirped eagerly—a habit she'd formed years ago because fast food servers always seemed just a little too misanthropic. Her hope, of course, was that if she laid on enough obsequious gratitude, no one would tamper with her food. "May I please, please have a double cheeseburger with extra pickles—"

"Val'ml!" the voice barked.

"No, no thank you. Not the value meal—but thanks for asking!"

"An'thng else?"

"Yes, please. May I also have a medium Diet Coke, not too much ice—but only if it's no trouble!"

The voice snarled the total price, but Reese couldn't make it out, so she grabbed a handful of bills from her glove compartment and steered around to the pickup window. When she got to it, a scowling pubescent boy with symmetrical acne on his cheeks and a fuzzy hint of a mustache snatched her money and shut the window wordlessly.

She waited. And waited. Made sure not to roll her eyes in case they had a hidden camera somewhere. And waited. Soon cars on line behind her starting beeping—long, dragged-out sounds that could only come from leaning on the horn like an ass. Still, it was flustering. What did they expect
her
to do?

Come on, come on.

Finally the maroon-clad preteen returned with her food and change. "Oh, thank you, thanks a lot," Reese said ingratiatingly. He didn't bother responding, or explaining what the delay had been. In fact, after he deposited her bag and soda, he slammed his screen shut and turned back to his mike.
Okay.
Reese's cup of soda felt like a brick, it had so much ice. And then she glanced down at the change in her lap, and realized it was wrong. She had handed him at least six bills, and gotten back only forty-two cents.

Another horn sounded. She thought quickly. Okay, she supposed she could deal with being shortchanged, and diet soda really wasn't good for her anyway, but if there weren't extra pickles—

Beep! Beep! Beeeeeeeeeeeep!

As horns blasted, Reese threw her car into drive. She pounded her foot on the accelerator and blew out of the line. Soon she was on Route 46, having shamelessly bowed to peer pressure. But then, that was pretty fitting. There was something about coming home to Goldwood that always smacked of mental and emotional regression.

Hey, she could live with that.

Chapter 2

Reese turned her car into the comfortingly familiar driveway of the stone-and-brick house she'd grown up in. It was set high up from the street, with lush evergreens enclosing it, as well as densely planted rhododendrons that would've been blooming a gorgeous deep pink if it weren't December.

After she set the car in park, she cut the engine and sighed. No matter where else she ever lived, she knew she would always love this place. It was cozy but secluded, like the other homes on the street but special. She hadn't lived there full-time since that teenage angst known as high school. She'd gone to college in Boston, stayed there for her master's degree, and then moved to New York after Crewlyn had offered her a fellowship that included city housing. Still, she'd always have a room in the Goldwood house; her mom wouldn't have it any other way.

As a matter of fact, her mother had recently remodeled Reese's old bedroom in expensive Victorian decor with the hopes that she'd move back after graduate school. Assuming, of course, that Reese was still single then, which wasn't too wild an assumption.

"Hello?" Reese called out, shutting the heavy oak door behind her and immediately turning the dead bolt—a habit she'd formed after having five dead bolts installed in her New York apartment. The two duffel bags she'd taken out of her trunk were weighing her down, so she dropped them by the stairs. "Anyone home?" she said, walking down the front hall toward the kitchen.

"Oh, hi, sweetheart!" Joanna called. "In here!" Reese followed her mother's voice, and rounded the bend through the kitchen to the family room. She found Joanna curled up in a little ball on the sofa, covered by a patchwork quilt. There was a fire crackling in the fireplace, and some maudlin
Wedding Story
piano music resonating from the television.

"Hi, Mommy," Reese said, smiling, and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek.

Joanna angled the remote and pressed "stop." Reaching up, she hugged Reese tightly. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so glad you're home. Have you finished your toast for Ally's wedding?"

"Mom, I don't even have my coat off."

"Oh, well, I was just interested," she said innocently, and gave her another squeeze. Reese kissed her cheek once more, and pulled back to shrug off her hooded fleece jacket. "Oh, no, is that all you wore for a coat?" Joanna asked, alarmed. "For goodness' sake, it's December! Don't you have a winter coat?"

"Yeah, but—"

"We're gonna buy you a winter coat while you're home."

"I have one—"

"Sit, sit. How was your ride? Let me hear all about it."

"There's really not much to tell. What's new around here?"

"Nothing, really. Just last-minute stuff for Ally's wedding."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about her dress."

Joanna put a soft, delicate hand to her forehead. "Please. Don't even get me started."

Reese grinned. "Right, okay. So where is everybody?"

"Ally's out with Ben, and your father's in his study. By the way, there's left over
poulet a la crime
in the fridge."

"No, thanks. I had something on the way over."
Stupid, stupid.

Joanna's head shot up. "You did? What did you eat? What?"

"Um—"

"Not fast food, right? Please tell me it wasn't fast food." Reese hesitated, and Joanna groaned as if in pain. "Oh,
please,
not fast food."

"It was just a cheeseburger, jeez." Reese felt a little embarrassed now, which was silly because this was her mother, but somehow the woman always managed to make her feel like a complete fool.

"Oh, but
why?"
Joanna asked, and fell back against the sofa cushions in martyrdom.

"I don't know...."

She sprang back up. "Look, honey, I'm not trying to be a pain. All I'm saying is, why on earth have a greasy burger when you can eat something healthy and well-balanced here? You know I have good food. At the very least, you can always pick on the foie gras and brioche."

"Okay, can we move on now?" Reese said, flopping down on the opposite couch.

Joanna shrugged in response, as if it were no big deal, but she was obviously still itching to preach more on the extremely overdone topic.

"What were you watching?" Reese asked, knowing full well, but she was determined to deflect the conversation.

"Oh, I was bored, so I took out a tape of
Wedding Story."

"Oh."

"Disc fourteen, episode two-b. Rodney and Claire."

"Ah. Well, put it on; I'll watch, too."

"Okay, great." She settled back under her quilt. "Did your roommates go home, too?"

Reese shrugged. "I guess. Well, two of them graduated this semester, and the other wasn't there when I left." Graduate living was nothing like undergraduate; roommates came and went, and were usually too busy to stop and chat along the way.

Joanna nodded and pressed play.

Reese watched as Rodney and Claire's story unfolded. It was one of those nauseating "the minute I laid eyes on her, I knew" stories.
Yuck.
Not that Reese was cynical about love—she wasn't. In fact, deep down, she was a romantic. But she
hated
hearing people claim they "knew" the moment they looked at someone, because real life didn't work like that. If it did, she would still be with her ex-boyfriend, Pete, instead of getting an occasional postcard from him in South America, where he'd bolted three years ago to do volunteer work.

She had looked at him, and only
thought
she knew. That was the point.

"Isn't that so
sweet?"
Joanna crooned, clearly taken in by the televised emotions playing before her.

"Uh-huh."

"I love this episode," she gushed, "because Rodney is such a nice, quiet, intellectual type." Reese held back a gagging gesture. "Like Kenneth," she threw in. Reese said nothing. "So how
is
Kenneth?"

"Fine."

"Well, he's still coming to Ally's wedding, right?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"But have you made plans to see him over break? Besides the wedding, I mean. When do you think you'll see him? I want him to come to the house again so your father can meet him. What's he doing for Christmas?"

"Mom," Reese interrupted, holding up her hand. Her mother might be an adorable little bundle but she was also a force that must be stopped. "I don't know what's going on with Kenneth, okay?"

Joanna's eyebrows shot up with alarm; she popped upright on the couch again. "Well, what do you mean? Did you two have a fight? Oh, no, what happened? What did you do?"

"Me? I didn't do anything," Reese replied. "Look, I just... it's hard to explain. I don't really feel like getting into it right now."

"But—"

"Anyway, it's not like Kenneth and I are having an official relationship."

"Well, not
yet,
but I thought—"

"You thought I could get my 'hooks' into a nice, quiet intellectual, I know." Joanna didn't bother denying the charge. "Face it, Mom, the only reason you like Kenneth so much is because he reminds you of Remmi Collindyne's husband. You even said so."

"That's not true!"

"Uh-huh."

"Yes, he has a similar demeanor as Remmi's husband—who's a wonderful provider, by the way—but I like Kenneth for who he is."

"You met him once."

Joanna held up her hands. "Honey, if it doesn't work out with Kenneth, so be it. That's fine. But I don't want you to ruin an opportunity, that's all. You need a man who's sweet and smart, and one who'll put up with all your quirks."

"Mom, please—what quirks?" Suddenly Joanna got all wide-eyed and shrug-crazy. And Reese decided she didn't really want the answer anyway. Besides, it was futile to reason with her on the subject of men, because no matter what Joanna said, she
was
obsessed with Reese "hooking" Kenneth Peel, and she
was
obsessed with emulating the Goldwood Women's Club president, Remmi Collindyne, and her self-proclaimed picture-perfect life.

Reese said, "Fine, I'll keep my eye out. Now let's drop it."

"But you've got to be open-minded, honey."
Mom's version of dropping it.
"You're not gonna have a solid relationship unless you give people a chance." People meaning Kenneth.
Very subtle, my mother.

"And, I mean, you've got to take some chances, sweetheart," Joanna was saying. "You know, you've gotta be
in
it, to
win
it."

She's applying Lotto slogans to my love life—this is getting depressing.
"Let's change the subject, okay?" Reese asked, stopping just short of begging.

"Okay, okay," Joanna said, holding up her hands even higher. "Fine, whatever you want. I'm only trying to help you."

Reese locked her jaw and fixed her eyes on the TV screen—or more specifically, on Rodney and Claire, who were now smashing wedding cake all over each other's faces, getting icing clogged up each other's noses, and laughing like it was hilarious.