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We settle and the waitress approaches, handing me a piece of polished wood with a list of cocktails inscribed down the length of it. I smile my thanks and run my eyes down the list of luxury drinks.
‘You should try this one.’ Judy glides a perfectly polished fingernail down my menu. ‘It’s scrummy.’
I read her recommendation. You’re So Gangsta. I laugh, reading the hashtag next to it: #FeelingLikeABoss. I look up at her, and she winks on a small grin.
‘I’m having Heaven Is for Sinners.’
My gaze drops to the menu again, finding the quirky hashtag for Judy’s choice. #FeelingMischievous. I smile, returning my attention to Theo’s mother as I place the menu down. ‘Why do I sense an ulterior meaning to your suggestion of what I should have to drink?’
‘I love the height of the pedestal my son has placed you on,’ she tells me, quite offhand, and with absolutely no bad feeling threaded through her statement. ‘It’s even higher than the one he has me on.’ Judy gives me a coy smile, signaling the waitress and ordering our drinks.
When we’re alone again, I decide not to dance around but to ask her outright what’s playing on my mind. Because clearly something is. ‘Does that bother you?’
A small stretch of silence spreads across the table, not uncomfortable, but not particularly comfortable, either. She’s considering my question. I’ve already figured out that Judy is a bit of a lioness when it comes to Theo. She was the only woman in his life until I appeared on the scene. Or exploded, more like.
I wait, nervous, for Theo’s mum to give me her answer, not liking the thought of being in competition with her or vying for her son’s attention. She sighs and reaches over the table, taking my hand. ‘Izzy, darling girl, I only want to see him happy. You make him happy.’
‘And if I upset him?’ I ask, continuing with my strategy of being straight to the point.
‘You already have, haven’t you?’ She points a knowing look at me, gripping my hand when I try to pull it free, a little shocked that he’s obviously shared our little disagreement from the other day, when I refused to confide in him after my meltdown at Stan’s tattoo studio. ‘I’m not condemning you,’ she says softly.
‘Then what are you doing?’
‘I’m trying to support you.’
She is? That’s strange, because I don’t feel very supported at the moment. I feel more threatened. ‘How?’
She sighs, releasing my hand and moving back to give the waitress room to place our drinks on the table. I reach for the heavily engraved stem of my glass and slide it towards me, then lower my mouth to the short straw. I take a sip of the slushy cocktail but can’t fully appreciate the delicious taste when I’m feeling so apprehensive.
‘Izzy, I see the way he looks at you,’ Judy says. ‘The connection is so powerful, I can feel it myself.’ She touches the breast pocket of her suit jacket. ‘Right here.’ I look up at her, seeing nothing but genuine happiness in her gaze. ‘I’ve always held hope that he would one day let someone in, give someone a chance to love him like I do. But I doubted there was a woman out there strong enough to take him on. His club. His personality. His reputation.’ She pauses and regards me across the table. ‘His phobia.’
‘He’ll get better at that,’ I say, feeling like I’m trying to reassure her. Is she questioning if I’m strong enough to handle Theo?
‘I truly believe he will, Izzy. And you will never know how much comfort that gives me.’
‘I think I do,’ I reply quietly, glancing down at my glass. ‘Can I ask you something, Judy?’
‘Anything.’
I look up at her. ‘His phobia—’
‘Except that.’ She cuts me off, a hand held up to support her stern words. ‘Ask me anything, but, like Theo, I never want to discuss that.’
I try to force my increasing curiosity back, but her inflexible tone makes it difficult. What on earth happened? ‘Okay,’ I concede, not liking the sudden edge of sadness on her face.
‘Like he hasn’t pushed you, you shouldn’t push him. It’ll drive him away, Izzy. Please don’t do that.’
‘Okay,’ I say again, feeling so very guilty. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’ She looks almost haunted as she delicately lifts her glass to her lips, staring into her drink and taking what looks like a needed sip. But there is just one more thing I have to ask. I keep thinking about it, but haven’t plucked up the courage – or found the right time – to approach it with Theo. Maybe his mother would be best to discuss it with first. ‘Do you think Theo would benefit from therapy?’
She smiles, as if in amusement. ‘I think you are the only therapy Theo needs.’
