CeCe Carroll Tastes Like Winter (epub)

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.Mom changed.She molded herself into what she thought was the figure of the perfect wife; and, instead of being appreciative, Dad went looking for someone else.I know she had good intentions, but it’s the path she chose to live.I feel terrible distancing myself from Mom as much as I have these past few months, but I don’t know what else to do.I guess I’m hoping, in the end, it will be good for her and she will rise like a phoenix from the ashes and become the strong, steady mother—woman—I know she can be.The woman she once was before she lost herself in love.They continued yelling, and unable to take it anymore, I leapt to my feet.“Stop! Just stop it, already! Stop bringing me into your arguments.Mom, choose to forgive Dad or not.Dad….” My voice breaks.“After all Mom has done for us? Really?” I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.“But the both of you, enough already!” And I stormed upstairs to my room.A few minutes later, I heard a knock at the door.“Please leave me alone,” I said, my pillow muffling the sound, “please.”I was surprised when whoever was knocking, probably my mother, obeyed and walked away.I’m grateful to be alone, especially now when their fights, their hurt, drains me, suffocates me.All of Mom’s attention—even that hurts.I don’t want them to seek me out so they can have an ally on their side.I want things to be like they were.But they can’t be.At least the lasagna we had for dinner was good.Mom cooks when she is stressed, and if nothing else, my taste buds appreciate it.My attention drifts back to the Discovery channel.I’m still hungry, even after the cereal I ate.I should have stolen another piece of garlic bread before making my exit last night.It was buttery and delicious, and even the arguing couldn’t spoil that.That reminds me.I believe I saw Mom making a pie yesterday evening.Mom is the pie expert, and we never made it to dessert.I peer down at the remaining bland little Os swimming around in my milk.Pie sounds a heck of a lot better than cereal.I go investigate.***As I’m clearing the last crumb from my plate, my phone buzzes with a text from Genna.It’s rare for her to have a day off from practice, so I am surprised to see her message.“Meet me at Juniper’s in thirty? There is a double fudge sundae with my name on it.”I glance at the microwave clock and see it’s ten thirty in the morning.It’s too early for ice cream, but considering I already stuffed my face with pie this morning, who am I too judge? This wouldn’t be the first time we made the trek to our favorite local diner for chocolaty, creamy goodness at such an hour.I sense there is a reason behind her need for such fat-laden calories, so I text back that I will see her then.Without bothering to shower, I change into jeans and a tank top and slip on a pair of canvas boat shoes.I add my own note to the counter, placing it next to Mom’s and Dad’s, to alert them that I too am out and will be home later, who knows when, and to call my cell if they need me.Grabbing my keys and jumping into my car, I drive the short distance to Juniper’s.I expect to be early, but I can already see Genna shutting her car door and heading inside.She stops when she spots me and allows me time to catch up.“Why the desperate need for ice cream?” I cut to the chase.Genna and I are too close, been together too long and through too much, to beat around the bush.She shoots me a look, her narrowed eyes signaling now is not the time.“Ice cream first.”I nod and follow her inside.The diner is full as it usually is on weekend mornings, but we are able to get a booth right away.The waiter frowns at Genna when she orders her sundae, but he says nothing.The last thing I want after my morning, spent vegging on the couch eating pie, is more sweets, but in a move of solidarity, I order my own bowl, keeping it simple with a scoop of vanilla.I wait for our order to arrive, and Genna to down a few bites before I push her again.“Okay, out with it, Gen.What’s up?”She pushes out a pained exhale in response before launching into a tirade.“I get that I’m co-captain and that the position comes with certain responsibilities, but Coach expects me to play mother hen and counselor and to deal with every little problem these girls have, and it is exhausting.”She then launches into a mile-a-minute rant on the team conflicts she is going through—including, from what I gather, one teammate hooking up with another teammate’s boyfriend and the resulting catfight that took place in the locker room.She rants and raves and sighs and acts as though she is going to pull her hair out then rants some more all between bites of sundae.And like a good friend, I sit and listen and nibble at my own dish, adding the appropriate head nods and verbal affirmations to signal that I understand her pain.How dare Coach put her in such a situation!Finally, she sets down her spoon, pushes her bowl away from herself, and leans back, looking drained.“Thanks.I had to get that off my chest before I kicked some serious girl ass and put them all in their place [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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