“Sounds like you were giving her the blues about him.”
Lynne’s tone was bored, but I knew she was hyper-alert, and analyzing every word out of my mouth. I was 13 when my father married her, three years after my mother’s death. Right on the brink of my teenaged rebellion phase, Lynne had come in my life, with no intentions of allowing a smart-mouthed little girl to run the household. For about two years, I pretended to hate her and six-year old Melanie, her child from her first marriage, but secretly, I’d been relieved. I needed a mom, and the little sister that came along wasn’t too bad either.
I smiled at her. “Were you eavesdropping, Lynne?”
“Ain’t no eaves around here, but I may have been doing a little dropping.” She laughed at her own joke, and it was so contagious I couldn’t help but laugh with her.
“Well, since you heard it anyway, yes, I was giving her a hard time about working with her brother. He wasn’t very nice to me at the wedding.”
She nodded her head as she picked up the bowl of peas to carry inside. “That the reason you got off the plane looking like somebody stole the last biscuit from you?”
“Part of it.” I stood to follow her into the house, averting my eyes as she glanced back, but she waited for me to elaborate before she would move out of the door. “That was the same weekend I signed the final paperwork from the … thing with Rafael.”
Lynne lifted an eyebrow at me as she dropped the bowl into the sink to rinse. “Thing? Call it what it is. It was a divorce. You got a divorce, no shame in that. Not with the way that man was carrying on.”
I didn’t respond, but I remained in the kitchen with her, taking a seat at the granite island as I breathed in the scent of the sautéed bacon, garlic, and onions that would go into the pot with the peas once they were cleaned to Lynne’s satisfaction. She placed the canisters of cornmeal, sugar, and flour in front of me, then slid the baking powder across the counter. “I’m on cornbread duty too?” I asked, watching as she retrieved the eggs and milk from the refrigerator.
“Yeah, I don’t know where that sister of yours is.”
I grinned. “She’ll be here.” My stepsister was 23 years old, and a fresh college graduate. Chilling with her mom and sister on a Sunday afternoon wasn’t exactly her idea of a good time, but I knew she — and my dad, who was out playing golf— would be right on time for dinner.
“Oh I know that girl ain’t missing any meals. You, I was a little worried about.”
Looking up after I measured the last ingredient into the bowl, I made sure to keep my expression neutral. “Why’s that?”
“You’re looking a little thin round the middle. I raised you, Victoria, I know exactly how you treat yourself when you’re feeling down. You get all focused and intense, running yourself ragged tryna keep busy so you don’t have to think about your troubles. You put all that effort into taking care of everything but yourself.” She stared at me, daring me to contradict what she was saying, but I couldn’t. Not truthfully anyway.
“I’ll be ok, Lynne.”
“Oh I know that, Sugar. I know you’re going through a little rough patch, but you’ll bounce back. Now you know that old saying, don’t you? Best way to get over a man is to get up unde—”
“Come on, Lynne, don’t do that,” I said, laughing as I poured the cornbread batter into her heavy cast-iron skillet.
“I’m serious! How old is this Avery boy? What he look like?”
I shook my head, blushing as I thought about Avery’s athletic body. “He’s mid-thirties. Tall…dark… very handsome.”
“Well there you go!” Lynne exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “He’s obviously single if Des wants you to fix him up, right?”