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"I'm very fucking polite." I slide my hand into my pocket. "I'm a fucking gentleman."
Mom's eyes light up as she laughs. "Do gentlemen marry women who haven't met their mothers?"
"Apparently."
She makes that mhmmm noise. Her posture is still confident, in control. She's wearing her usual loose sweater, jeans, comfort shoes outfit.
She looks the same as always.
Except that she isn't wearing her wedding ring.
I try not to stare at her unadorned left hand, but I can't help it.
"You haven't told me how you two met," Mom says.
"I haven't?" I make my shrug effortless. "You'd think I'd mention that."
"I would." She stares through me. It's not penetrating the way Mal or Kit's stare is. There's something soft about it. Understanding. "You were home for a week and you didn't say a word about a girlfriend."
I clear my throat.
"Joel, I understand that you aren't happy your father and I have divorced. I'm not mad that you wanted to skip our party." Her voice softens. "You can be upset. That's okay. You're allowed to grieve however you want."
I want to not talk about this.
"Your model of love, of marriage, was broken. It's normal for that to hurt."
"Daphne tell you to say that?"
"No. Sweetie, my parents divorced when I was young. And back then… it wasn't nearly as common. I know how much it hurts. But it wasn't your fault. It was us making that decision."
I appreciate that Mom wants to help, but I don't want to discuss this shit. She sees the divorce as sunshine and roses. I see it as darkness and lilies on tombstones.
There's no middle ground here. There's no way we're going to agree.
I need to make a joke. I need to laugh it off. I need to convince her I'm fine with this.
At the very least, I need to change the subject.
But when I rack my brain for something, anything, to say, I come up empty.
I can't laugh this off.
But I can keep my hands occupied. "You want coffee?"
Mom nods. "Sure."
I fill two mugs with what's left in the carafe and hand one to Mom. Both of us drink it black.
My gaze goes to Bella as she slinks out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.
"Kit seems to like her," Mom says.
Good for him. Fucking traitor. Not that I can talk. I would have done exactly the same thing in his shoes.
"Don't blame him sweetheart. He was worried about you."
"Was he?"
