Page 10 of Afternoon Delight

Meg

Like any true artist, Mom didn’t let censorship impede her vision.

The next morning, she handled all the products like cans of soup, focused on their color and shape, not where they’d end up. I was proud of her—patronizing, I know—but I’d always thought of her as a killjoy. Even though Mom had gotten pregnant with me while Dad was married to someone else.

Yeah. Mom had her own history of not keeping it in her pants. I was the unplanned result of her affair with her boss.

That had made me philosophical fourteen years ago, when I had realized Joel was screwing his dental hygienist. I understood how that happened.

I’d had a rough pregnancy with Roddie so, in some respects, Stacy had done me a favor.

I wasn’t in the mood for sex, and she assured me it was consensual.

I had to ask, since I was Joel’s HR manager.

We’d just moved to Toronto, where Joel opened his practice.

We were deep in debt. Shelby was at a new school.

I didn’t want to lose my home, job, and husband while nursing a newborn, so we went to counseling.

I forgave him and wrote a nice reference letter for Stacy that Joel signed.

He didn’t do it again. Until two years ago. That I know of.

Last May, however, he admitted he’d been screwing the woman from the car dealership’s service counter while I was helping Mom hospice Dad. Best part? He told me when Wanda was in labor with his son, Freddie.

Once again, I was more inconvenienced than outraged. Wanda had fucked a married man, sure, but a married man had fucked her. I knew who the real culprit was when it came to the infidelity.

Besides, Wanda had also done me a favor. I was genuinely glad to be out of my marriage. I’d felt trapped since the first time Joel cheated. Since we married, if I was super honest about it. For twenty years, I’d been a hamster on a wheel—running myself to death but stuck in place.

No. I’d been the wheel. Joel had been the hamster. He got a lot of use out of me; I was there for him, never the other way around.

Being the wronged party gave me a high seat on the horse, but it wasn’t like that for Mom.

If anyone suggested she’d broken up Dad’s marriage, she’d correct them and say that Dad had always been married to his practice.

That’s why his first marriage failed. She was third or fourth fiddle after his patients, me, and probably fishing.

They loved each other, though. I saw it. Maybe she made sure I saw it. She always made clear Dad wasn’t a cheater who’d taken up with a tart—something I was happy to say about Wanda if my kids weren’t around.

Mom worked especially hard to prove their mutual love to Dad’s family, even though his mother and sister were relentlessly awful to her.

Gram-gram was gone, but Aunt Linda, who’d always been tight with Dad’s first wife, barely spoke to Mom at his funeral.

Some people are jerks—even when they give your daughter Gram-gram’s earrings and money for your grandkids’ college funds.

I accepted both and wrote Aunt Linda a thank-you card.

That was Mom’s influence. She always took the high road. When everyone came to town for Dad’s funeral, Mom insisted on having Aunt Linda and her family over for dinner, even though I offered to take them to a restaurant. She wanted them in our home—to prove it was a home.

The relentless judgment of Mom as a homewrecker was the reason she had always been relentless about keeping me in line. She was hell-bent on making sure I wouldn’t be criticized—or become a source of criticism on her mothering skills.

To forestall that possibility, she criticized me mercilessly, which is why I was equally critical of her. It was the circle of life.

That’s also why I’d always seen her as uptight and sexless.

After her oopsy-pregzee with her married boss, Mom’s only path to redemption had been to never do anything remotely immoral or fun again.

Being the mother of a pregnant, unmarried teenager had been inconceivable—haha.

So she had talked me into marrying Joel and here I was.

But the truth is, Mom had seen things. She worked in a doctor’s office. She knew how bodies worked. She knew sex was human.

She also had a sense of humor—when she let it out to play.

Along with the table runner, she’d brought a pair of pillows with heart-print cases, a heart-shaped chocolate box, and a teddy bear with XO stitched on its belly.

She arranged them around every heart-themed sex toy she could find in the store—the butt plug with a heart-shaped jewel at its base, the mask with heart-shaped eye covers, the glass dildo with suspended hearts, the flavored lube with the hearts on their packaging, and the panties with a heart-shaped crotch cutout.

She even brought a miniature chalkboard and easel, on which she’d written:

Get your heart on for

Valentine’s Day.

“Mom.” I pretended to be shocked, but I was genuinely impressed.

“Oh, please. It was low-hanging fruit.”

“Perfect slogan for the testicle toys.” I pointed at her.

“Tsk.” She brushed chalk dust from her hands and glanced around. “Shall I do something with that table?”

“Sure. But I also need a theme for the re-launch. Do you have any streamers at home?”

“You want something classier than paper streamers, Meg. I’ll see if I can find my fairy lights. I had a box of electric tealights at some point, too.” She tapped her chin and scanned the shop. “When is Mardi Gras? Maybe we could use the beads and masks?”

“That would be fun in the swag bags. All I’ve got so far is a condom and a coupon.”

“When are you planning the re-launch?”

“The sooner the better, but I want to check next door to make sure they’re okay with it.”

“Why wouldn’t they want you to bring foot traffic to their door?”

I thought of Dale. “They’re my landlords. It’s polite to ask.”

I’d briefly seen Zak again yesterday when I bundled up and went out to wash the window. He poked his head out of the antique store and said, “I’ll do it with the squeegee.”

Ten minutes later, I got a far-too-brief demo of his economical movements. We hadn’t spoken since.

Mom grabbed her purse from behind the cash desk and was heading to the door when it opened.

“Oh, excuse me.” She politely stepped aside.

I looked up, heart skipping. But it wasn’t Zak.

A lean Black man walked in. He had wide shoulders and a muscular build beneath a red tracksuit with stripes down the sleeves and legs.

“Good morn—afternoon,” I corrected myself. “Browsing, or looking for something in particular?”

“I was hoping Georgia had returned.” His voice was deep and smooth. Soothing.

“She’s still off sick. I’m her friend, Meg. I’m covering the store until she’s back.” I stepped forward and offered my hand.

He shook it. “Negasi.”

“This is my mom, Vickie. She’s compensating for my lack of artistic flair.”

“You’re not her sister?” He shook Mom’s hand, too.

“Oh.” Mom fell for the compliment and flushed with pleasure. “I wasn’t that young when I had her. And I’m sorry to run off, but I’ve been put in charge of swag bags for the re-launch. I hope you’ll come. Meg will fill you in.”

“You had me at swag bags. Nice to meet you, Vickie.”

Mom left, and he turned back to me. He was really good-looking, with that bored, half-lidded gaze that oozed sexy indifference. I wondered how well he knew Georgia.

“When is the re-launch?” he asked.

“This is why I’ve asked Mom to help. She’s shameless,” I said wryly. “I’m still planning. Maybe a week or so? I guess we’ll have snacks and raffle off a gift basket or something. I could take your email and send the details once it’s finalized?”

“Do that. I’ll tell everyone at work.”

“Thanks.” I picked up the tablet. “Where do you work?”

“Right now? Dinner theatre in the old church on Clover. It’s usually plays and musicals, but they brought in our drag production for the spring run. It’s called Pretty Please.” He underlined his jaw with flat hands, tilted his head flirtatiously, and fluttered his lashes.

“Fun. Where are you from?”

“L.A. That’s how I know Georgia. We’ve worked together at different times. She told us they were looking for something. That’s how we got the gig.”

“Did you two sing together? She has a great voice.”

“She really does.”

“I’m excited for your show. Mom’s birthday is coming up. Is the food good?”

“It is, actually.” He nodded.

“Perfect. Email?”

“Negasi Jackson...” He spelled it.

“Got it. I’ll text Georgia you stopped by. Did you want to leave a message?”

“No. She was going to help me with something once she felt better. I saw the shop was open and figured she’d come in.”

“Soon, I hope.”

“Me too. See you at the show.” He winked and left.

I texted Georgia to say he’d dropped by. Then, since the store was quiet, I stuck a note on the door explaining I was visiting Twice Is Nice and slipped across.

The bell jangled. An older man with white hair and an argyle vest greeted me with a beaming smile. His blue eyes and offset grin were exactly like Zak’s—still handsome, but more weathered and crinkly around the edges.

“You came back for the medicine chest! I knew you would. I saved it for you. The one with the glass door, right? Or was it the mirrored one?”

“Um, no.” Oh, shit. Georgia had told me how to handle Dale if he came into her store acting confused, but not the other way around.

“The wardrobe?” he asked with a small frown. “It’s here. Let me show you.”

“Actually, I was looking for...”

I trailed off, scanning the store for Zak as I followed Dale into a cluttered impression of a Victorian drawing room.

Narrow paths wound between aged wooden furniture.

Splashes of color came from needlepoint cushions, bold lampshades, and saucy red vinyl stools.

It smelled like cedar and mothballs and my grandmother’s attic, where I’d played with my cousins as a child.

I felt snug and safe, and I wanted to poke around for hours just to see what I could find.

“A magician bought one of these for his disappearing lady trick.” He opened one dark wooden door of a six-foot-tall wardrobe. “Do you know how he did it?”

“How?” I was instantly rapt, excited to learn a magician’s secret.

“Layaway.”

A guffaw escaped me, mostly because he had led me right into that joke. I was sure he had told it a thousand times.

“Which is something we could arrange for you.” Zak’s voice startled me into turning.

He wore his jeans and boots with a pale blue Henley, sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

He was wiping his hands on a cloth as he smoothly continued the pitch.

“We could also convert it into something more suitable for today’s lifestyle.

A television cabinet, perhaps? Or a baking pantry? ”

“Very slick. I’ll take two.”

“Be careful. We have two. This is Meg from next door, Dad. You haven’t met her yet. She’s running the new shop next door. This is my dad, Dale Halligan.”

“Hi, Dale.” We shook hands.

“Meg. Right. The new shop. I remember.” Dale nodded, but confusion clouded his eyes.

I felt a tug in my chest. He didn’t remember, but thought he should. That distressed him. I could tell.

“My hands are covered in turpentine.” Zak showed me his wide palms, dry white lines traced into every whorl and crease. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.” I averted my eyes from his departing jeans, asking Dale, “Have you had this shop long?”

“Oh, yes. Almost twenty years. My wife, Tammy, inherited her grandparents’ farm when we married.

She began refinishing their furniture as a hobby and sold it through here.

When the bachelors who owned this store wanted to retire, she used the money from the farm to buy the building.

We have three tenants—two upstairs, and Debra next door.

The twins come by to help after school, but they’ll be off to college soon.

Tammy thought she’d be alone here, but I got my buyout package from the railway and she railroaded me into working with her.

” He touched his nose, inviting me to enjoy his pun.

I gave him the chuckle he was looking for, but it was tempered by the realization that his spiel had come out via muscle memory. Dale had missed at least a decade and a half. I didn’t see anyone who looked like a Tammy, so I was pretty sure he was missing her, too. My heart panged with compassion.

“Oh. You take books.” I noticed a table where leather-bound books were spilling out of boxes. “My mother has my father’s medical textbooks. Would they be worth anything?”

“Let me show you what to look for.” He opened a book and gave me some tips on determining whether it was a first edition.

“Like anything, it’s a matter of doing your research, then finding a buyer.

Books are more personal than furniture, so they’re harder to sell—but everything is wanted by someone. The trick is making the match.”

“There should be an app, like dating. Swipe right if you’re interested in Diseases of the Ear, Nose, and Throat.” It was a solid joke, but the wrong audience.

Dale nodded politely, setting down the book he was holding.

“Did you need something?” Zak came back in time to hear me bomb. “Or is this a social call?”

“A little of both.” I turned to face him. “I was curious about your shop, but I want to do a splashy reopening next door. I thought it might affect you, so I wanted to ask first.”

“When?”

“Thursday next week? I’ll put it on social media, obviously, but I’m hoping to get some spots on the radio and entice people to drop in on their way home from work.”

“The microbrew will love that. We’ll stay open late, too. Keep the street bright.”

“Really? That’d be great. Thanks.”

“A street party? We should talk to Debra about that.” Dale started toward the door.

“No, Dad—” Zak caught him back.

I winced an apology and pointed to my untended store.

Zak nodded, and I left him patiently repeating to Dale that Debra wasn’t there anymore. I really did need to appreciate my mom more. I couldn’t imagine how helpless Zak felt.

At least he’d been okay about the relaunch. With the date decided, I could turn my attention to getting the word out and hoping customers showed up.