Nell shook her head. “My mother lives in Australia with my stepfather now. It won’t even be dawn there yet, and I don’t know her current number by heart anyway.”
“You got a father?”
She thought of her dad, smiling in his crisp uniform, on his way off to save the world again. Chin up, Nells. You can take whatever the world throws at you. I’ll see you in a while. “He’s an Air Force flight surgeon. I’ll email him when I get home and we’ll video chat when he’s able.”
The doorbell chimed several times in succession, and was quickly followed by the sound of the front door opening and a woman’s voice calling out, “Hope you’re decent, darlings!”
“Be right down, Mom — don’t come up!” Eamonn bellowed back, then turned to Nell with a hesitant half-grin. “She knows the key code. For when I’m away on tour, and such.” He held out a hand for her to take. “Come and meet her. She’s… oh, probably not much like any mom you’ve ever met.”
Maybe his words should have prepared her as they descended the stairs and turned toward the kitchen; still, she wasn’t expecting the thigh-high white leather boots or the floaty silk chiffon tunic that probably was vintage Zandra Rhodes but put a lot of well-maintained skin on display. A vivid turquoise manicure, giant sunglasses, and feathered blonde 80s hair completed the astounding first impression Nell had of Amanda Joy Yarrow. This woman does not look old enough to have a son Eamonn’s age, she thought wildly.
A gurgle of amused laughter greeted her. “Oh, I was only seventeen when I had him, honey — don’t judge!” the older woman said, as though Nell had spoken aloud.
Honey? “My name is Nell, Ms. Yarrow.”
“Of course, honey — I’m so pleased to meet you! Call me Mandy. Here’s your tea; I got you a London Fog with coconut milk, so it’s a tea latte, really. I hope that suits you.” And Nell found a warm to-go cup pressed into her hands, steaming and deliciously fragrant with the sharp bergamot of Earl Grey and the sweetness of vanilla.
“I see where you get the pet-names habit from,” Nell muttered to Eamonn.
He just shrugged and grinned at her. “Honey means Mom likes you; darling is being generic or sociable; sugar is a storm front warning.”
Overhearing the last bit, Mandy Yarrow chuckled, seeming good-humored and not at all offended. “That’s right, and if I have to resort to sweet thing, I’m probably contemplating murder. You want to sit out on the patio?” She gestured toward the French doors at the back of the townhouse.
“You and Nell go on out with the doughnuts, Mom. I’ll bring some plates and napkins.”
“That’s my Easy.” Mandy snagged the box of pastries from the kitchen counter and headed outside, somehow managing to juggle it and her coffee and still open the doors before Nell could even offer to help. She followed.
At the back of the townhouse, a tiny but very private patio was surrounded by tall fences, further screened by vines and bamboo. A few strategically placed ornamental trees and pots of colorful flowers completed the illusion of a postage-stamp oasis. Mandy placed the doughnuts on the coffee table and settled herself on the lounger, leaving the loveseat for Nell and Eamonn.
“You… even you call him Easy?” Nell asked, sitting down. It didn’t seem like a nickname a mother would use.
“Oh, heavens, yes. My foolish boy likes to let people think it’s just a band name brought on by his reputation with women, but we called him Easy long before he met Smidge or any of that. Before he’d ever been with a woman, far ’s I know.” Mandy propped her sunglasses up on top of her voluminous teased bangs and leaned forward, contemplating the dozen doughnuts in the box before selecting a Boston cream. “Have one,” she said, before biting into hers.
Awkward. Nell took a sip of her tea. Her mind balked at picturing a teenage Eamonn Yarrow, and failed utterly at imagining him a virgin. Surely he was born confident and cocky? Or maybe life on an endless rock tour had given him that. “Why’s he called Easy, then?” she asked.
“Oh, Mom, you’re not going to tell her that old story, are you?” Eamonn said, coming out to the patio with a stack of melamine plates and a roll of paper towels.
His mother gave him a smile that was a mirror of his own — anyone could see he’d got his well-formed mouth and wide smile from her, along with his coloring. “I know you’ve got an image to maintain, love, but you don’t mind Nell hearing where you got your name, do you?”
“Guess not.” He handed his mother a plate for her partially eaten doughnut and passed one to Nell before plunking the paper towel roll down on the table next to the box. “You going to have a doughnut, babe?” The way he looked at the pastries told Nell that he was hungry, and it occurred to her that he might be waiting for her to have her choice before he took one.
“I…” Doughnuts aren’t breakfast. I’m an athlete, she thought, I shouldn’t be eating any of this. But they did look and smell delicious. The bigger problem was that she didn’t want to inadvertently take his favorite one.
“Next time you sleep over, I promise I’ll have something healthy for your breakfast,” he said softly, as he sat down beside her.
Next time? “It’s not that. I don’t want to take whichever one your mom got for you.”
Mandy shook her head, clearly amused. “Don’t worry, honey, he likes all the jelly-filled ones. Take your pick.” There were four jelly doughnuts in the box, along with some crullers and dipped and glazed ones.
I can’t even choose.
Eamonn put a reassuring hand on her thigh. “You liked the raspberry one I brought
