Snippet of the Day
“Where did you meet this man?” Her mother’s eyes squinted at her, her glasses resting on her head.
Sara sat on the brown, battered recliner, watching her iron the freshly washed curtains, not that they were dirty, but her mother had washed them anyway. She worked diligently, ensuring that all her spare time was occupied. Sara couldn’t remember the last time her mother went out and did something for fun.
Sara sat on the brown, battered recliner, watching her iron the freshly washed curtains, not that they were dirty, but her mother had washed them anyway. She worked diligently, ensuring that all her spare time was occupied. Sara couldn’t remember the last time her mother went out and did something for fun.
“He works at Bath Gates Garage. I stopped in there for gas after work one day.” Sara wouldn’t mention Dale’s fatal accident. She glanced at the analog clock in the kitchen, a yellow, plastic face of the sun with a goofy grin on it.
Her mother stared at her through a cloud of steam. “What’s his name?”
“Jake Delran.”
“Do you know anything about him? Do you think it’s wise to just go off and spend the Thanksgiving holiday with him?”
“I’ve already had one date with him.” Sara laughed at her. “He seems very nice...and yes, I think it’s fine to spend the holiday with him.” She frowned. “You’re working. What am I supposed to do?”
“Your tone is snippy.” Her mother glared. She yanked the white curtain off the ironing board and began feeding the rod through the gathered seam.
Sara stood up and walked toward her. “Don’t you think it might be nice for me to have a male companion?” She stared at her hard. All Sara found was a stubborn, annoying pout, one she’d had to look at for years. “I know that you don’t care much for men...but I sort of like them myself.”
“Be careful, Sara.” Her tone was icy.
“Let’s be honest here.” Sara held her hands up, pleading for a bit of truth. “When this man left, who you say was my father...that was it for you.”
Her mother turned her back, stepping up on the stool to hang the curtain. Sara walked around the stool to face her.
“You could’ve found someone else. You allowed one person’s selfish actions to deter you from integrating with an entire population.” Sara stared up at her. She’d hit a nerve. Her mother’s ruddy skin was flushed, the flesh of her jaw quivering.
“That was my choice,” she said through gritted teeth, brushing her mousy brown hair away from her face.
Her mother stared at her through a cloud of steam. “What’s his name?”
“Jake Delran.”
“Do you know anything about him? Do you think it’s wise to just go off and spend the Thanksgiving holiday with him?”
“I’ve already had one date with him.” Sara laughed at her. “He seems very nice...and yes, I think it’s fine to spend the holiday with him.” She frowned. “You’re working. What am I supposed to do?”
“Your tone is snippy.” Her mother glared. She yanked the white curtain off the ironing board and began feeding the rod through the gathered seam.
Sara stood up and walked toward her. “Don’t you think it might be nice for me to have a male companion?” She stared at her hard. All Sara found was a stubborn, annoying pout, one she’d had to look at for years. “I know that you don’t care much for men...but I sort of like them myself.”
“Be careful, Sara.” Her tone was icy.
“Let’s be honest here.” Sara held her hands up, pleading for a bit of truth. “When this man left, who you say was my father...that was it for you.”
Her mother turned her back, stepping up on the stool to hang the curtain. Sara walked around the stool to face her.
“You could’ve found someone else. You allowed one person’s selfish actions to deter you from integrating with an entire population.” Sara stared up at her. She’d hit a nerve. Her mother’s ruddy skin was flushed, the flesh of her jaw quivering.
“That was my choice,” she said through gritted teeth, brushing her mousy brown hair away from her face.
“Great, Ma, but it’s not mine.” She paced around the living room, the mustard-colored walls closing in. If her mother hadn’t gotten pregnant, her father probably would’ve stayed, sparing her from becoming enslaved to cleaning and an endless list of ritualistic chores. When Sara was fifteen, she had confronted her mother with her theory. Donna Logan had dealt with her comments the same way she was dealing with them right now. Her face reddened, her lips pressed so tight the blood ran out of them. Her answers were short and clipped.
Sara went into the cluttered galley kitchen for a glass of water, standing near the window, looking down into the street. If she didn’t want to face the truth, then so be it. Her mother frightened her. Every time she saw her, Sara felt like Ebenezer Scrooge. The only difference was she wasn’t sitting in front of her own headstone, and dirt didn’t bother her. Scenarios like this were worse. When Sara looked at her mother, she saw the genetic risk of what she could become.
OPEN SPACES- EROTICA ROAMCE- PARA/NORMAL
http://www.bookstrand.com/open-spaces
Sara went into the cluttered galley kitchen for a glass of water, standing near the window, looking down into the street. If she didn’t want to face the truth, then so be it. Her mother frightened her. Every time she saw her, Sara felt like Ebenezer Scrooge. The only difference was she wasn’t sitting in front of her own headstone, and dirt didn’t bother her. Scenarios like this were worse. When Sara looked at her mother, she saw the genetic risk of what she could become.
OPEN SPACES- EROTICA ROAMCE- PARA/NORMAL
http://www.bookstrand.com/open-spaces
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