“Wow, good for you. Way to rebound!”
She shakes her head. “Oh, there’s nothing going on between Antoine and I,” she insists. “We’re just friends.”
I cock a brow. “So you say.”
She blushes a little. “He’s really great, and very handsome but… I just ended it with Mark.”
I want to tell her to forget all about Mark, the scoundrel, and jump into bed with Antoine. We only live once, after all. But for some reason, I don’t say a word. I’m still thinking about my role in all this, and the guilt is driving me crazy.
Although it truly had to be done. I’m so glad she didn’t go ahead with the wedding. God, I can’t imagine having Matt as my brother. He definitely revealed his true colors, and just as I suspected all along, he’s a complete, utter asshole. Deep inside, I knew his whole Mr. Perfect act was too good to be true.
I enjoy a sip of my orange juice. “So Oscar punched Matt in the face last night.”
She sets down her fork and knife. “What?!”
“We were at this bar, and I told Matt that I wasn’t interested in dating him anymore, and I guess I must have offended him because he lost it and started throwing insults at me. About my clothes, my status. Crap like that—”
“What a little ass.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess.”
“I guess not.” Mom suddenly seems so sad, and I know she’s gone back to all those years ago. “I can’t believe he’s still bullying you. I thought he’d grown up. I guess I was wrong.”
“He’s not worth another second of our time, Mom. Not another word. And neither is his father.”
She grabs her glass of juice, and lifts it up in the air. “Hear, hear.”
She quickly gets back to her crêpe. “Hey, Antoine and I are going to see the Eiffel tower on the Bateaux Mouches tonight. You want to come with us?”
I brighten up at the idea. “Sure, can Oscar and Corrie tag along?”
She smiles. “Of course.”
“We don’t have much more time in this beautiful city,” I point out. “We better make the best of it.”
Mom’s face falls. “Yes, you’re right.”
I know she’s thinking about Antoine. “You can always FaceTime with him,” I tell her. “You can chat on Facebook, and send long romantic emails. It’ll be fun.”
She blushes. “He’s just a friend,” she insists.
I smile because I know she’s full of it. Women of her generation could never jump into the bed of someone new, so soon after the end of a relationship. It would just be uncouth. But I know she’d love to.
I eat my last bite of delicious omelette; egg white with spinach and mushrooms. I watch Mom enjoy the last of her breakfast, and I debate telling her the truth right here, right now. How great would it feel to get this off my chest? It’s really weighing on me; a heavy burden has settled at the back of my mind, like a hunk of junk taking too much room in the garage. Wouldn’t it be great to rid myself of it?
My pulse quickens as I start. “Mom…”
She looks up at me and grabs her glass of orange juice. “Yes? What is it, sweetie?”
She can tell from my expression that this is serious. She seems extremely curious. I can’t go back now — I’ve opened the gates and she’s coming in.
“I have something to tell you,” I venture, but I don’t quite know where to start.
“Yes?” she says, getting more curious by the second.
Where to start? From the beginning, I guess. My heart is pounding now. “A while ago, remember when Corrie told me about Mark, and I, uh, tried to talk to you about it…”
Her eyes are glued to me, intrigued.
