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“Someone sounds defensive.”
“I’m not defensive, but it wasn’t a punch.”
“Says the punchee,” she murmured, pulling her keys out of her blazer pocket.
“Puncheeisn’t even a word,” I corrected, “and no one is going to come after a girl who’s barely five feet tall and speaking the truth.”
“I’m five four, for the record,” she said, and then gestured to the left. “My car is down by the park, so I have to go that way. It was nice seeing you again, and I look forward to your further instructions as I quake in fear and question my decisions.”
“My truck is also down by the park,” I said, “so we can discuss your decisions for a few more moments.”
“Such a lucky day,” she said, her mouth in a smart-ass smirk, and started walking.
“The luckiest.” I caught a whiff of her perfume, something light and fruity, and I was curious to see what kind of car she drove. My bet was a very practical Honda CRV, or perhaps an Audi sedan. “So tell me about your life, post–shitshow wedding. Are you seeing anyone?”
She looked over at me like I’d sprouted a second head. “Seriously? That’s your question, Mom?”
“I’m not asking for any reason other than I found your take on relationships to be interesting,” I said, unsure why I had even asked the question. “Settle your ass down.”
She made a noise in her throat and slid her hands into her pockets. “I amnotseeing anyone, and that makes me ridiculously happy. Since the wedding I’ve purchased a new car, adopted two cats, totally redecorated my apartment, and there is no man in my life telling mewhyhe doesn’t like my choices.”
I wholly believed that she drank her own Kool-Aid regarding love, but it also sounded like she was trying a little too hard to sound happy. “Names, please.”
“What?”
“I’m going to need your cats’ names. It’s my job, as a man, to let you know my opinion on your decision.”
“Thatisyour job, isn’t it?” The wind blew her hair across her face—shereallylooked good with that haircut—and she said, “Their names are Karen and Joanne.”
“Um,” I said, surprised by her boring choices. “Huh.”
“Huh? That’s your response?” She turned a little, grinning, and walked sideways so she could look at me when she said, “Come at me, Max. Let me have that manly opinion.”
“Well,” I started, clueless as to why anyone would choose such ordinary names. “Did you name them posthumously after people?”
She shook her head. “Nope.”
“Was it a random choice, like you were selecting the first two names when you searched ‘mom haircuts’?”
“Nope again,” she replied in a singsong voice.
“Well, whatever the reason is, I think you selected the most vanilla, boring cat names I’ve ever heard.”
“Exactly,” she said, sounding victorious.
“And was there a reason for this?”
“There was, in fact. I named them to irritate my mother.”
“Oh, please share this story.”
Her entire face lit up as she grinned and said, “My mom’s best friends are named Karen and Joanne, and they are gossipy, judgmental harpies. And even though she knows I don’t like them, she will call me and go on and on about whatever drama those two are embroiled in at book club or golf league. ‘Karen and Joanne ordered deviled eggs and were beside themselves when the caterer brought a cheese tray instead’—inane crap like that, right?”
I laughed as I realized where this was going. “Right.”
“So now every time she has a Karen-Joanne story, I share myownKaren-Joanne story, things like ‘Karen coughed up a hair ball in the kitchen this morning, and Joanne tried eating it.’ ”
“You,” I said around my laugh, “are a horrible child.”
