Surprise Me.... Isabel Sharpe

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      Tricia’s chest ached. Oh, Melanie. The pain she’d continue to go through if she didn’t stop making men the keepers of her happiness. The latest entry on the long list of ways Tricia had let her daughters down, a list that would inevitably lengthen as she caught up on the years she hadn’t been around.

      But she was ready. Primed. Strong. Focused. She’d do whatever it took. “If he was that amazing, why did you leave? You could have rescheduled breakfast with me. You know I would have understood.”

      “Oh.” Melanie blushed, looked down at her bright pink mug, decorated with angels and hearts. A Valentine’s Day present? From whom? Tricia had missed so much. “I didn’t want to skip breakfast with you.”

      Not entirely true. “And.?”

      Her daughter’s head jerked up. “And?”

      “Melanie. You can’t shock me. You have no reason to hide anything from me. There’s some other reason you’re not telling the truth.”

      Melanie met her eyes, hers blue like her father’s, only gentler. It had been a lot of years since Tricia had looked into them with a clear head. “Mom, are you psychic? Seriously?”

      Tricia shrugged. She was, sort of, but enough people had made fun of her that she didn’t bother claiming the title anymore. “Call it women’s intuition. Now tell me. Why did you leave an amazing guy in the middle of a wonderful night?”

      Melanie twisted her mouth, the same way she had when she was small and something confused her. Amazing how little had changed—and how much. “I went to sleep next to him completely blissed out, then I woke up and realized I had to meet you for breakfast, but also…that in the morning, it would be, uh…”

      “Morning.” Tricia spoke without sarcasm. She understood. “Everything that was safe and mysterious and beautiful in the dark, blurred by alcohol, would be stark and over-lit and real. And hard. And I’m not talking about the guy’s you-know-what.”

      Melanie interrupted her shocked look with a giggle. “Yes. Yes, that’s it. How did you know?”

      Tricia answered by lifting her eyebrow. Think, Melanie.

      Her face fell. “Oh, right. You’re the expert.”

      “Was. I’m not proud of it.”

      Melanie lifted her chin, again a stubborn three-year-old. “I’m not ashamed of what I do.”

      “I’m not asking you to be. I wish I’d lived my life differently. That has nothing to do with you or how you live yours.”

      “True.” She took another sip of coffee.

      “What’s his name?”

      “Stoner.” Said defensively. “He’s the brother of…a good friend and coworker. Edgar. Edgar Raymond.”

      “Stoner, huh?” Tricia watched her daughter curiously. No problem talking about Stoner. But Edgar… “You seeing him again?”

      Melanie shrugged, eyes on the counter. “He was asleep when I left.”

      “I’m sure he knows how to find you.” Tricia finished her coffee in silence. She had a lot more to say about all this, but she wasn’t good at motherhood yet, maybe she never would be, and she wanted to think things over before stumbling into any blunders when her reconciliation with her daughters was still so raw and new. “I’m going to shower. Then we can go out later on.”

      “How about Ted’s on Sixty-second Street? It’s a great greasy spoon.”

      “Hey, I’m a native, too.” Tricia smiled, slighted even though she didn’t blame her daughter for forgetting. “I know Ted’s.”

      “Right.” Melanie nodded, looking embarrassed and so beautiful Tricia wanted to hug her and kiss her smooth cheek, so different from the plump baby one she’d kissed so often—there were some redeeming memories. But she didn’t know how Melanie would react, and she wasn’t going to risk affection this early into their reunion.

      “See you soon.” She put her cup in the sink, went down the narrow hallway and climbed the stairs, thinking that after her shower she’d take a few minutes to meditate over the problem with Melanie, see if the collective unconscious had any advice to offer.

      Alana’s path through life didn’t worry her too much. But Melanie’s…Melanie needed maternal intervention.

      And though it was ironic, given that Tricia was exactly the type of mother who’d caused Melanie to have this problem in the first place, she was also exactly the type of mother who could help her daughter change her life for the better.

      EDGAR WOKE UP KNOWING something was wrong. No, not wrong, something had happened. Something huge, something—

       Melanie.

      He opened his eyes. The space next to him in bed was empty. No Melanie.

      Damn it. He’d dreamed about spending a night with her many times—plenty while he was awake. This time he’d swear their being together had really happened. Hadn’t it?

      He rubbed his forehead, trying to clear his fuzzy brain. On the one hand nothing could be less likely. He’d known Melanie two years and been in love with her for both of them. In all that time she’d never given him more than a sisterly glance. So for her to jump into his bed out of the blue and seduce him made about as much sense as conservatives voting for huge tax hikes.

      Except…last week sitting with Melanie on the couch in this apartment, right before Stoner had walked in and made Melanie’s jaw go slack, just before that, she’d been saying something about wanting to date a different type of guy, giving Edgar real hope for the first time.

      Maybe he wasn’t crazy?

      He had to be crazy.

      He blinked, struggled up, then on impulse leaned down to inhale over the pillow she’d used to see if traces of her scent lingered.

      Yes. Oh, my God, yes. He was instantly hard again. She’d really been here. His most potent sexual fantasy and his deepest emotional fantasy—both came true in one mind-blowing unexpected night.

      But how? Why?

      Maybe she was still here? Eating breakfast? Using the bathroom? Watching TV? He got out of bed, stepped into a pair of gray boxers and walked through the apartment. Stoner hadn’t come home. What a gratifying non-surprise. Last night Edgar had dutifully been getting ready to bunk down in the sofa bed when he’d realized that if Stoner followed his usual pattern after a night out with his band, he wouldn’t be back until morning. Damned if Edgar would spend another lumpy, restless night while his comfortable queen-size bed lay empty.

      He finished his rounds. No Melanie, not that he really expected she’d still be here. But also no note. No messages. No “Thanks for last night, it was the best time of my entire life. Call me ASAP. I love you. Melanie.”

      Right.

      His heart sank. The queen of the one-nighters had bolted.

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