two of you should move in with us,” I blurt in desperation. “We have plenty of space. Too much for two people.”
“Dana.” Carl groans, and Taylor looks as if she’s been slapped.
I know what’s going through his mind. He can’t stand being in the same room with Mooney for more than a couple of hours. How would he manage to share a house with the boy for who knows how long? But I know Taylor. As soon as her love-induced, or lust-induced, stupor wears off, that garage apartment will horrify her. She likes pretty things: flowers, hardwood floors, landscaped backyard pools. Comfortable things: thick carpets, modern appliances, central heat and air.
She pushes the gas pedal harder. The needle jumps to eighty. “Relax, Daddy. We wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you. Besides, I like the apartment.” She never could lie convincingly. Her marital status may have changed, but that hasn’t.
As Taylor turns on screeching tires into our neighborhood, I stare out the window. Goodbye, red roses…mistletoe…red velvet cake…string quartet. Goodbye, my reason for getting out of bed in the morning for the next few months. “Why, Taylor?” I ask quietly. “I was planning such a beautiful wedding for—”
“That’s why, Mom.” She whips into our driveway. “You were planning. I knew that’s what would happen. No matter how hard I’d try to stand my ground, you’d turn it into your wedding, not mine.”
“Young lady…” Carl says, but his voice trails off and he doesn’t finish the sentence.
“It’s true,” Taylor huffs. “She doesn’t think I can do anything right without her input. Even plan my own wedding. It would’ve ended up being all about what she wanted, not Mooney and me.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I’m too stunned, too hurt, to speak. Carl remains silent, and I can’t help wondering if he agrees with her.
Taylor hits the button on the garage opener hooked over the visor. The door glides up. She pulls inside. As she helps us carry our bags into the house, nobody speaks.
Carl scratches his head. “I need a shower.” He kisses Taylor’s cheek. “Are you happy, punkin?”
She blinks her big blue eyes at him and smiles. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Well, then…” Carl sighs and hugs her. “Congratulations, baby.” He doesn’t sound any more excited than he looks, but Taylor either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
She beams. “Thank you, Daddy.”
Pulling his suitcase behind him, he leaves us alone in the living room.
I kick off my shoes and collapse on the couch. Taylor slouches beside me, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was a little hard on you in the car. I know you’re disappointed about the wedding.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetie.” Ignoring my aching bruised feelings, I smile at her.
“I know you and Daddy don’t like Mooney.”
“It’s just—he’s not—” I hesitate. “Daddy and I wanted you to have—”
She narrows her eyes. Her nostrils flare.
“I need to get to know Mooney better, sweetie, that’s all. I’m sure he’s a wonderful person.” At least I hope he is. Somewhere beneath all the hair and rock-jock attitude.
“He is.” Taylor’s eyes dare me to doubt that.
I take her hand. “The truth is, I’m a little worried about how the two of you will get by and—” Her fingers tense; I give up. “I guess I should be thinking about a wedding gift. Is there anything in particular you want?”
“I’ve been talking to Mooney about that.” She pops upright beside me. “We would absolutely love to go to Hawaii for our real honeymoon.”
I lift my brows and start to tell her no. No way in hell. Not a chance. She didn’t consult with us before she spent her college money on a rushed elopement. She deprived her parents of watching their only daughter wed. Deprived me of the experience of planning a wedding with her. It will take some time and several glasses of wine to get over all that.
But I’m no stronger than Carl. One look, and her excited eyes get to me, like always. How can I disappoint her? Making her happy makes me happy. And when she’s sad, I’m sadder. True, I think she made a mistake marrying Mooney, but my parents thought the same thing about me when I married Carl. In time, they grew to love him and, though right now I can’t imagine it, I’m hopeful we’ll learn to love Mooney, too.
“I’ll talk to your dad.” I pat her hand.
She throws her arms around me. “Thank you, Mom! You and Daddy are the best. I love, love, love you.”
The magic words. Taylor learned their power at an early age. “I love you, too.”
Once upon a time, she was as guileless, innocent and easy to deal with as she looks. Eager to please and easy to please. A breath of fresh air. All it took was a sunny day or a smile and a kiss to make her happy.
Then she turned two.
Taylor sits back. “I’d better get home to my husband. My husband! Can you believe it? I’m Mrs. Mooney Maloney!”
“No, sweetie, I can’t.” I don’t want to. On the plane, I was so absorbed with thoughts of planning a wedding, I didn’t pay serious enough attention to Carl’s misgivings about the marriage. How will my high-dollar, directionless daughter and that even less-directed boy ever be able to provide for themselves in the manner Taylor expects?
Looking at her now in her hundred-and-eighty-five-dollar jeans, primping her hundred-and-fifty-dollar-a-month hairstyle with professionally manicured fingernails, I almost feel sorry for Mooney. Almost. How did that aimless young man manipulate my beautiful daughter into marrying him? What kind of underhanded stunt did he pull?
My heart drops as I’m hit square on by a dreadful possibility. “Taylor…you’re not…?” Swallowing, I stare at her, sick inside.
“What?” She frowns, then widens her eyes, covers her mouth with one hand and laughs. “Mo-om! Pregnant? Ohmygod! No! Not yet.”
Not yet.
Taylor stands. “Oh, Mom, by the way, could I borrow a little money? We really need groceries. Mooney gets his check on Fridays. We’ll pay you back then.”
Weary, I blink at her. I’ve made her life too easy. Troy’s, too. I’m afraid they don’t know how to fend for themselves, and it’s my fault.
Pushing to my feet, I say, “Sure, Taylor. Let me find my checkbook. How much do you need?”
CHAPTER 3
On the fifth ring, Troy answers his cell phone. “Hey.”
Relief. The sound of his voice springs tears to my eyes. I blink them back. “Hi, sweetie. How are you?”
“Good, Mom.”
“What are you doing?”
