“But it is a big deal,” I respond smugly. “You never bring boys home with you.”
“Well, we’ve been seeing each other for a while now,” he sniffs.
“So does that mean you’re not seeing anyone else now?” I ask, not caring how nosy I’m being. I hear Sam groan on the other line. “Did you guys have the talk?” I continue in a sing-song voice.
“Yes.”
“I love this.”
“I hate you.”
“Has your mom asked if he’s the one yet?”
“Goodbye, Summer.”
“Bye, Sam.” I smile before hanging up.
I’m exiting the bathroom when I nearly crash into my mother. “Summer,” she says in a tone that implies I’m about to get a serious talking to. “You left Mitch all alone in the dining room.”
“I had to use the bathroom.”
She gives me a knowing look. “You were in there an awfully long time.”
“Well, you see, I dropped my container of cocaine, and it took me forever to save as much as I could.” I tap the side of my nose, making my mother’s scowl deepen.
“Do you ever think your sense of humor is one of the reasons why you’re still single?”
“It’s actually my defense mechanism, and it is one hundred percent the reason I’m still single.”
She lets out an angry sigh. “For once, can you please just try?”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I would try if being set up was something I actually wanted? You said you weren’t inviting anyone over while I visited.” I point angrily down the hall toward the dining room. “And here we are, with one of your friends’ random kids in our house. Another Nyx family holiday, ruined by your desperate need for grandchildren.”
I know as soon as I say the words, how harsh they are, even before my mother takes a step back in shock, but I can’t bring myself to take them back. I’m pissed. I drove all the way out here thinking it would be just us two, and she couldn’t even give me that.
I push past her and stalk into the kitchen, grab the nearest bottle ofwine, and start pouring it into the first wine glass I see.
My mother is right on my heels as she enters the kitchen and stops in the doorway, crossing her arms and tapping her foot impatiently.
I pour the glass nearly full and smirk at my mother’s disapproving look. I take a healthy sip before addressing her. “Why do you do that?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Constantly try and set me up with whatever available man you can find?”
She sighs. “I just worry about you.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine, Mom.”
“You’ve never been great at dating, Summer. I just don’t want you to ignore your possibilities and find out down the line that you were too late.”
I pause and consider her for a moment as she wrings her hands together. My mother met my father just as her career was taking off. She had been a promising lawyer, and she and my father had been on opposing sides of a case. She always madetheir story sound so romantic, as if they were meant to be. But my mother always believed that because they met later in life, and neither was willing to put aside their job for a family at the time, that was the reason she struggled with fertility issues. She had miscarriage after miscarriage after miscarriage, and when she finally had me, I was born premature. Then my father had a stroke when I was three. I don’t remember him. My mother blamed their age on her struggles with birthing and on the fact that I grew up without a father.
Is she just worried that I’ll follow in her footsteps?
“We agreed that no one else would be here, Mom,” I say quietly.
“And you promised to be here yesterday.”
