Chapter 2: Movie night
That evening after choosing something that appeared applicable to what they wanted, mother and daughter sat down upon the couch, each with a glass of wine, and a fluttering stomach. The film was already queued on the TV, the screen glowing with a soft amber light that turned Sally’s skin the same shade as peach jam.
Jenna sat cross-legged on the couch, her back against the armrest, one knee pulled up to her chest. She wore fresh pajamas—soft flannel pants printed with tiny teapots and a loose, thin tank top that did little to hide the flatness of her chest. Her auburn ponytail sat slightly askew, and she had pulled a fuzzy sock over the foot that rested on the cushion.
Sally perched on the opposite end of the couch—close enough to reach, far enough to still feel the sting of hesitation.
Her loose blouse had been exchanged for an old, oversized sweater that slid off one shoulder with every shift in her posture. The fabric clung in places she hadn’t noticed before, the way it caught on the full curve of her hips, the way it hung off her arms but stretched tight across her chest. She crossed her legs at the knee, then uncrossed them again, her toes curling slightly against the rug.
Jenna side-eyed her mother, catching the nervous habit. “You’re fidgeting,” she observed, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. The tip of her tongue peeked out between her lips as she adjusted the volume.
Sally stilled immediately.
Her fingers uncurled from the hem of the sweater, pressing flat against her thigh instead. The fabric beneath her palms was warm from body heat, steadying in a way the remote in Jenna’s hand could not.
“Old habit,” she admitted, her voice smooth but light, betraying nothing of the storm inside. “The doctor used to tell me I had the nervous hands of a pickpocket.”
Jenna choked on a laugh, the sound bright and sudden. She thumped her chest once, then grinned—wild and unguarded, the kind of smile that made her mother’s heart squeeze.