55 - Live for Today

“Will you fucking relax already?” Jon muttered into the ear of the woman who had turned his kitchen into a baked goods display that Starbucks would envy.   

She sent him back to his own bed after putting the kibosh on his “coming out” plans last night, so he had no idea what time these brunch preparations began.  The vast array of muffins, bagels, granola, cereal, fruit and juices plus the savory aroma coming from the oven suggested it was well before he awoke.  The sheer quantity of food plus a neat French braid and make-up the likes he hadn’t seen on her since Montreal hinted that it was well before daybreak.    

The only speck of sanity he could find in this psychotic food prep frenzy was her wardrobe.  The striped apron that usually hung on a hook by the back door was tied over a pair of cut-off jeans and what looked to be a simple red tee.  She was at least wearing her own clothes while amassing enough food for half the fucking Hamptons.

“I’m feeding nine people, four of which have the power and potential to put a major damper on my day,” she defended without looking up from the grapefruit falling to pieces under her culinary scalpel.  “Relaxation is on the schedule right after my third mimosa, and I’ve only had one.”

“Then you need to stop cutting and drink.”  Jon laid a stilling hand over her blade-wielding one.  When the knife rested harmlessly on the cutting board, he slowly pivoted her by the hips to face him instead of  half-sacrificed fruit.  “They’re used to cereal and coffee, Mou.  Add anything more to this this and they’ll turn up on your doorstep begging for food every day until it’s a monumental pain in the ass.  You’ll get a restraining order against my kids and everything will go straight to hell from there.  Do us all a favor and stop before it gets to legal action.”

Her silence might’ve given him reason for concern if her eyes weren’t glimmering like gray dolphins in the surf.  It was a two-part win when dimples chased away the manic chef and replaced her with his girlfriend.

“I adore seeing you like this.”  

He didn’t care what “this” was.  It brought her back to something resembling normal, so Jon would play along.  “Like what?” 

“Barefoot.  Stubble.  Damp hair.  Recycled shorts.”

“It’s not much different than any morning last week.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted with light hands coming to cover the fighting Irishman on his chest.  “A hotel isn’t the same as someplace you consider home.  Seeing a sleepy-eyed you making a pot of coffee is almost as life-changing as finding out you don’t go an hour without peeing.”

“Coffee’s gotta go someplace, and you pee more than I do.”

“Well, yeah, but I know I pee.  Realizing you do is…”  A deprecating shake of her head came with warbled groan of self-disgust.  “Nevermind.  I’m just saying that I like being part of the normal stuff.”

Sun didn’t directly shine in the windows, but the kitchen held plenty of natural light – enough for him to see the feathered facial creases that spoke of a life experienced, enjoyed, and endured.  Even with make-up on, she didn’t possess the illusion of physical perfection.  Delaney was real, and she understood from the very first day that he was real, too.  That’s what he adored.

“I like you being part of the normal stuff.”

He bent to nuzzle lackadaisical lips against hers and was richly reward when Delaney draped her arms around his neck with a soft sigh.  That sigh opened the entryway and offered Jon anything he wanted to sample.  

Intent upon sampling it all, he swept in and immediately identified the tang left behind by that mimosa.  There were also undertones of coffee on the underside of her tongue that he found when curving both hands lightly around her ribs.  The combination made him thirsty for both, but what he truly craved was the unique taste that he could only find in Delaney.  The sweet spice of her tongue gliding against his was better than that first cup of coffee the morning after a show.

“You make the best memories, Bongiovi.”  The plethora of natural light was reflected on her fresh-kissed lips, and he assumed she was staring at the same on his as lazy fingers toyed with the hair at his nape. 

“Just see that you don’t fucking forget ‘em,” he ordered gruffly, reaching for the pilfering hands and holding them out for his inspection.  “You haven’t had your rings on this weekend.”

Her nose crinkled as she gently took custody of them to turn on the sink and pump soap.  “They don’t go with the Hampton preppy look.”

“Neither do you, and that’s not a bad thing, Mou.  Nice to see Petra didn’t dress you today, but where is she?  I thought she was supposed to be helping.”    

“We needed more ovens, so she’s baking in the guesthouse.”

“Jesus Christ,” he huffed to the woman who dried her hands with a striped towel that matched the apron.  “Did you invite half the fucking island without telling me?  ‘Cause that’s the only way all this food is gonna get eaten.”

“I wasn’t sure what everyone liked, and the leftovers will be just as good for breakfast tomorrow.”

“You worry too much.”  He laid a heavy hand against her backside, and the resounding smack still hung in the air when Stephanie ambled in wearing black leggings and an Alison Wonderland shirt.

“Do I need to come back?” she requested dryly without slowing her roll toward the coffee.  

Jon’s daughter was as caffeine addicted as he was.  It would take more than a smack on the ass to deter her from its life-giving goodness, but Delaney didn’t know that and went into panic mode.

“Of course not!  Good morning.  Help yourself to…”  She gestured at the bounty of breakfast laid over the butcher-block island.  “… stuff.  If you don’t see anything that appeals, just tell me what you want.  There’s more in the guesthouse.”

“I’m good with coffee for now, thanks.”

Delaney’s freak out was subtle enough so most people wouldn’t notice, but Jon recognized it for what it was.  He just didn’t know source.  Was she on edge because they’d “officially” announce their relationship this morning or because his daughter knew he just smacked her on the ass?  Or was the connection between their daughters still wreaking havoc with her emotions? 

There was only one out of three he had a chance at easing, so while Steph turned to choose a mug from the cabinet, Jon draped an arm around Delaney’s stiff shoulders and murmured, “Stop thinking about the similarities, Mou.  Just get to know my daughter like you have my sons.  Once you know her as her, everything will fall into place.  Alright?”

Blinking gray eyes tore from Stephanie’s back to Jon’s face, and though Delaney’s dimples were faint, they were present as she nodded.

“Good girl.”  With a gentle squeeze of her nape, Jon then cleared his throat.  ““I know you guys met last night, but Steph, I want to officially introduce to you Delaney Gardener.  She, her twin sister and a friend are in the guesthouse for the weekend.  Delaney, this is the girl that stole my heart with nothing but a toothless grin.”

“Cute but embarrassingly lame, Dad.” Bright eyes the same blue as a summer sky shone above the steaming mug of coffee.

“It’s what dads do.  Read the contract, kid.”

When Delaney turned to pick up the knife and resume cutting fruit, Jon touched her wrist with a slight shake of his head.  She was avoiding Steph, not getting to know her, a fact she acknowledged with a dip of her chin.

Wiping her hands on the dishtowel she’d tossed aside moments ago, she reversed her turn and smiled at his daughter. 

“It’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Stephanie.  After spending a day with them, I’m curious how you’ve managed to keep your sanity with three little brothers.”

“Most of the time, I pretend they don’t exist.”

Delaney noted that the girl’s smile emphasized her resemblance to Jon, and she focused on that similarity rather than the invisible ones that had her dwelling on her own children. 

“I remember doing that a few times with my younger brother.  Poor Max didn’t stand a chance with two sisters.  For some reason that I can’t quite fathom, he still loves us though.”

The feminine version of Jon curled her hands around the red coffee cup and snorted.  “It’s better that I didn’t have a sister.  Trust me.  Jake was such a pain in his younger years, that we probably would’ve engineered an untimely death – and taken video while he lay suffering and dying.”

Video. 

Delaney’s smile fell slack at the single word capable of summoning a brutal memory to the forefront of her consciousness.  If she hadn’t already had Poppy and Violet on her mind, it probably wouldn’t have happened, but she did and it did. 

Jon’s kitchen became her kitchen, and today became a yesterday that happened almost exactly five years ago with imagery that was devastatingly vivid. 

Poppy’s eyes were red-rimmed and cheeks were tear-stained, but sorrow didn’t stop the headstrong girl from ensuring Delaney suffered along with her.  She was vicious in assigning blame and slashing wounds to ensure Delaney absorbed it.

“People took video, Mother!  She passed out on the floor, gurgling while her lips turned blue, and there was some asshole taking video!  Do you want to see it?  I’m sure it’s on YouTube!  Watch it!  See the vision that will haunt me for the rest of my life.  See what you did to her!”

That display of agonizing cruelty had forced Delaney to vomit in the kitchen sink, and the memory of it could very well inspire a repeat performance.   The urge to throw up was nearly uncontrollable, but Delaney determinedly swallowed it back and fought for a smile to go with her choked platitudes.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t have come to that.  I need to see how things are going in the other kitchen.  Excuse me.”

She had to get out of here.  Air.  It would only take a quiet minute to breathe before she could go at this again.  Delaney thought Jon called out the back door after her but couldn’t be sure.  Didn’t care, really.  He wasn’t part of that God-awful time and she shouldn’t be dragged into the remnants any more than he already had, so she escaped without looking back.

 Her goal was the half-bath inside the guesthouse’s front door, and she almost made it.  Wooden porch slats were under her feet when the churning pot of grievous acid became belligerent.  She barely had time to whirl and lean over the railing before it spilled out into the azaleas.

When she finished heaving, Delaney rested her forehead against the porch rail and tried to breathe normally.  Her eyes were closed, but now that the door to that part of her mind was open, she saw Poppy’s beautiful face contorted with hatred and accusation as plainly as she had that day in the kitchen. 

It was the memory she’d spent the most effort repressing, and successfully so up until today.    

Delaney had never watched that video and wasn’t sure it still even existed, but she didn’t need it in order to be haunted.  The recollection of palpable loathing and anguish in Poppy’s eyes could easily plague the rest of her life if she didn’t get her act together.

Deep breaths, Laney.  Stop your heart from beating like a scared rabbit, go brush your teeth and rejoin the people who want you here.  The ones who don’t resent every breath you take.  Yesterday is gone and tomorrow isn’t a guarantee.  Live for today. 

“Laney?  What’s wrong?”

Nothing would ruin this day.  She was dating the most amazing man ever, his kids were going to be thrilled about it, and the rest of the world could go suck an egg because Delaney was mother trucking happy.  The only one with the power to steal that happiness was her, and that wasn’t happening. 

Scrunching her lids tight for an instant, she pushed off the rail with the best smile she could muster and faced Petra’s concern.  “Nothing.  I was just coming to see how the baklava turned out, but I guess nerves and mimosas don’t pair with all the taste testing.  They didn’t sit well.”

“Uh, girl.  That’s such complete and utter bullshit that I’d swear we were on Old MacDonald’s farm instead of in the Hamptons.”

“Here, Pearl.  Take this.”

“How?”  The woman whose hair was fashioned in a twist that was as exotic as the tilt of her eyes held up hands that were already occupied by a filled pitcher and plate.  Her inability to be accommodating sent a fit of pique skittering onto Petra’s lips, puckering them into a frown.

Trust Petra to be ticked that someone can’t help her because they’re already helping her. 

The irony allowed Delaney’s forced smile to fall into something more natural.  These were the moments worth reliving, and these women made it virtually impossible to stay steeped in self-pity.  They should rent themselves out as a comedy duo and visit nursing homes to remind the elderly that life was too ridiculous not to be treasured.

“Petra, nothing’s wrong,” she repeated more convincingly.  “Just a little nervous about what Jon’s kids will say.  I’m going to brush my teeth, grab whatever’s still in the kitchen and head back to the main house, so go on.”

“I don’t believe you.“

Gray eyes latched onto gray with matching determination.  Petra wanted an explanation and Delaney had no intention of giving her one.  The Hamptons wardrobe wasn’t worth the fight.  This was.

“Your problem, not mine. Now go do your social butterfly thing and make brunch comfortable for everyone.”

“Delaney…”

“No, Petra,” she snapped, reaching the end of her patience.  “I’ve tolerated a lot of your freeping highhandedness lately, mostly without complaint.  It’s my turn now, which means you’re going to suck it up and tolerate this without complaint.  There is no other choice but to let… it… go.  Understand?”

Her sister’s puckered frown only became more pronounced, but since Delaney so seldom pushed back, she nodded her chignoned head with a huff.  “Alright, but I’m telling Jon you puked in the bushes.  If you won’t fucking talk to me, then maybe he can do something with you.”

He already has.