Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

No one spoke as they digested that.

So I did.

“Colette is a lost cause, and this would be a waste of time and emotion for Remy. She’s also dying, and the fact that this will be a waste of time and emotion for him is one of the last memories he’ll make with her.”

“She is his mother, Wyn,” Bernice noted.

I did not point out I very much knew that, however much I didn’t like it.

“Your mom is your mom,” Bernice went on. “No matter how much some of them don’t deserve it, and Colette sounds like she really doesn’t deserve it, you never give up on them. Remy will never think this is a waste of time or emotion, even if nothing comes of it, and the memory he’ll have is that he tried. He needs to do this, his way, when he’s ready, and all you can do is be there for him when it’s over.”

With that, I was reminded why I loved Cock and Snacktails nights so much.

My friends were life.

“Damn, that’s some wisdom right there,” Manon whispered reverently. “Can I come to Cock and Snacktails from now on?”

And that was life too, watching my daughter soak in the knowledge of her elders, respecting it rather than fighting against it.

To her question, simultaneously, she got three yeses and one no, the no being me, but only because she was at school and didn’t need to be driving up ad hoc every time a C&S was called.

Thus, she gave me big eyes and gasped, “Mother!”

“Until you graduate,” I added. “Though, you can come if you’re home.”

Her face cleared and she grinned. “Oh, okay then.”

There were smiles on the other Brady Bunch blocks of the Zoom call, but even in their small squares, I could see concern in their eyes for the maelstrom we were facing here in NOLA.

“We’ll be okay,” I assured them.

“And we’ll be here,” Kara replied.

Yes, my friends were life.

We didn’t dally after that seeing as it was sex night for Kara, a spontaneous sex night for Bernice, and Manon and I had to get ready for dinner. So we all went our separate ways.

I had my face close to the bathroom mirror, ass tilted, wearing panties and a bra and perfecting the tail of my winged eyeliner when Remy propped himself by his shoulder in the doorway to the bathroom.

I turned my head toward him.

He’d already changed for dinner, wearing tan pants and a black button-down that was given the full tuck, making the casual combo that slight bit more formal, which was needed for dinner.

But his broad shoulders, muscular thighs and thick hair, which had been tamed by running his fingers through it, gave his look that super dose of sex appeal.

He was beautiful. He might not be perfect, but he was pretty damned close to it.

And he was mine.

I took firm hold on that knowledge before I spoke.

“Where have you been?” I asked gently.

“Hanging with Dad. Having a chat with Melly. Talking to Bill about what’s next with Myrna. Leaving a message for Lisa to source a bird bath to replace the one I broke today.”

That was Remy, never really one to be idle or let things slide.

“Okay.”

“And making some decisions.”

Oh boy.

I turned fully to him, his eyes swept the length of me, and really, I had no idea how I’d convinced myself my husband had stopped being attracted to me. We’d had a heavy few weeks, the last few days the heaviest, and still, the expression on his face right in that moment shouted that was a lie.

“Honey,” I called when he seemed stuck in the act of staring at my hips.

His eyes lifted to mine.

“I’m going to talk to Mom, and when we get back home, I’m going to talk to Myrna.”

I decided not to say anything, and not only because I didn’t know what to say.

“With Mom, I don’t know how that’s going to happen, or what I want from it, but it has to happen,” he declared.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“With Myrna, I hold some responsibility for what she’s doing, and she needs to hear that.”

Oh hell no.

I straightened and opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, Remy went on.

“I can use what happened to me in my childhood as an excuse. I can do that with what I did to our marriage. I can do it with how I treated Myrna. But Wyn, baby, how can I sit down with my mother and talk to her about who she is to me, what she did to me, what she’s still doing to Dad, knowing a long time ago she knew it was wrong, and she didn’t find some way to stop herself from hurting people she loved. And in the now, when she’s dying, find some way to reach out to us and assume culpability for how she fucked up her entire family’s life, and not assume culpability for what I’d done in mine?”

He had a point there.

He wasn’t finished.

“I never loved Myrna, but she’s a human being with feelings, and actions speak. I let her move in. I might not have made promises, but I did have a relationship with her, and I can understand how she expected that to grow because that’s what happens.”

“In some instances,” I retorted. “In others, it doesn’t. People break up, Remy. And when they do, they don’t stalk the other person’s child or break into his wife’s house.”

“I’m not excusing what she’s done. I’m copping to my part in it.”