The Other F-Word Read Online Free Page B

demanding and Marley could be brash, but Billie always put things in a delicate manner, characteristic of the way she wrote stories.
    “Well, you don’t have to worry about me,” I said, taking the seat next to her. I put my arm around her shoulder and kissed her head. “Now come on and let your momma tuck you in tonight.”
    I turned off the lights to Billie’s room, blowing her a kiss before shutting the door. The ice-blue walls and floral bedspread were just her style—soft and feminine. Instead of going straight to my room, I stopped at Stevie’s and took in her eclectic yet elegant black and white damask wallpaper and orange accessories. Finally, I looked into Marley’s chocolate brown and hot pink room. It was just like her—tomboy chic. Poor Rick hadn’t even complained about the colour scheme. Perhaps that was why she’d let him have his way when he’d wanted to paint the master bedroom in their new house pale blue. Little did my daughter realise he’d chosen that colour because it reminded him of her eyes.
    I loved being a mother, even though I’d failed so many times. The worst part was feeling helpless, unable to alleviate my children’s pain. I’d felt it all with Marley—all those nights she’d woken up screaming, clawing and punching. The harsh words hadn’t been aimed at me, but they’d always managed to slash my heart. They were meant for her father. I owned them just the same. The next day was always the most traumatic. My daughter never remembered, but if she caught a glimpse of a scratch or black eye she’d caused the night before, her guilt became unbearable—there weren’t enough words in the English language to remedy guilt. That was when I’d started playing her music. It was my way of always communicating with her. We’d all started doing it, and not just for Marley. It was a form of relief for all of us. Rick had moved in with us for a while. Part of that was to help Marley, who’d never been good with change. But it had been for me too. After my accident last year, I’d needed extra assistance with all my doctor’s appointments. I was a stubborn woman, like my daughters, so it never came easy to ask for help. Fortunately, I hadn’t had to—those two had been there for me in every way. I was a hundred per cent back to normal now, except for the dull pain in my heart that my children had their own lives now.
    I walked into my room. The only one with stark white walls and second-hand furniture. I’d been so busy helping the girls decorate their spaces, I’d never thought about mine. I turned my iPod on, knowing the music would soothe me to sleep, then changed into my flannel pyjamas, my thoughts churning to the handsome man in the limo. He was young. Much too young for me. Why did he look so familiar? He wasn’t at the wedding. I’d have noticed him. Oh, God! Did he go to school with one of my girls? Damn…that was awkward. I might as well pin a sign to my shirt that read ‘stranger danger’.
    I lay in bed, trying to think about anything except him. As usual, my mind wouldn’t obey. The playlist wasn’t helping either. Every song was sexual. Why did I choose this?
    Then the music changed and with the old, familiar song, a smile formed on my lips. I realised why Mr Hot Limo Boy was familiar. The memory came flooding back as Rodriquez’s smooth, sultry voice commanded I climb up on his music.
    * * * *
    Fourteen months ago
    Stevie’s bachelorette party was in full swing. The drinks flowed, numbing me to that perfect state of bold bravery. I laughed as I got my groove on with Dillon, Billie and Stevie’s girlfriends at Club Cassbar. I’d questioned the midnight-blue sequined tank top Stevie had insisted I wear. Marley had said it was conservative, but it didn’t feel that way as it squeezed my breasts together, creating a Cyclops boob. Maybe it was the top, tight jeans and dangling earrings I wore. Maybe it was the Cosmos, or the three shots I’d consumed. Maybe