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She crosses her arms over her chest and stares out toward the patio doors like she’s a petulant child and I just told her she can’t play outside with her friends.
Goldie Hawn’s face appears on the screen and she goes full badass bitch, storming into her ex-husband’s office, and I can’t stop myself from glancing back and forth between Goldie and my mom. Gorgeous face, blond hair, long dark eyelashes, petite yet curvy figure, I never really realized this until now, but Stella Page might as well be Goldie’s doppelgänger.
I can only hope to age that damn well.
Stella huffs and meets my eyes. “Carly, I’m not an invalid, you know.”
“I know you’re not.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, Mom, and frankly, I prefer it. But right now, you need a little help, and I need to be the one to give it. Once your tailbone heals, you can go back to your wild ways, and our family dynamic can return to normal. You know, where Willow is the only party pooper.”
I don’t know how wild one can get while living in a senior independent retirement village, but if anyone can manage it, it’s Stella Page. Of that much, I’m sure.
She breathes a harsh breath in and out of her nose. “Well, at least hand me my phone, will ya?”
“Of course,” I say and snag her iPhone from where she left it in the laundry basket.
Once it’s in her hands, she puts on her reading glasses and gets down to business. I don’t know what that business is, but I imagine it’s trolling Facebook to find out the latest “news.”
I offer a silent prayer to the Big Guy Upstairs that she’ll stay like that for more than a minute. I know I’m thirty-six years younger than the broad, but hot damn, she’s wearing me out.
Back to the love seat across from her sofa, I plop my ass down and try to slog through all of Brody’s emails.
Each one has a ton of updates about what inventory he’s ordered and what he’s stocked and previous clients who have already booked ski instructions for the winter months, and I know with all the work he’s put into them, he’s expecting me to actually read them.
There are so many numbers and lists and appointments that my eyes cross over each other twice. Strangely enough, his tone feels…happy. Excited, even.
It’s almost like he’s enjoying the fact that I’m not there, getting in his way…
Immediately, I switch to my text inbox and shoot him a message. It might sound like I paid more attention than I did, but I know Brody well enough not to worry. He knows all of this shit way better than me.
Me: I saw all of your emails. It all sounds good. Thanks for keeping everything in order while I’m with my mom.
Brody: No problem! Do you know how long you’ll be in Florida?
I haven’t really decided how long I’ll stay in sunny Florida, but after the way today has gone, I know I can’t leave any time soon. Dr. Samson was explicit about the first three weeks being the most critical.
Me: Since Stella isn’t the best at following doctor’s orders, it’s best if I stay here for a little while to keep her out of trouble.
Brody: LOL. Your mom is a trip.
I snort to myself and type out a response.
Me: Tell me about it.
Two winters ago, my mom visited me in Vail for a few weeks.
She did what Stella does best—won everyone over with her vivacious, outgoing, bubbly personality. Brody, Nina, pretty much all of my employees and friends fell in love with her.
Put my mom in a room full of strangers, and she’ll become the life of the party within fifteen minutes. Not even kidding.
Brody: Well, take all the time you need, Car. We’re good here. There’s no rush for you to get back.
Me: Call me crazy, but it feels like you’re enjoying my lack of presence a bit too much.
Brody: Me? What? No way.
Me: Liar. You’re loving every minute of it, Mr. Productivity.
Brody: I can’t deny that I get A LOT more done when you’re not around.
I smirk and type out another message.
Words that I need to say, and he deserves to hear.
Me: Thanks for taking care of everything while I’m gone. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
Brody: We’re basically family, Car. I got your back.
Me: Ditto, Bro. Can you do me a favor?
Brody: Of course.
Me: Don’t work yourself into the fucking ground, okay? No long hours.
The last thing I want is for him to start pulling insane hours because I’m not there.
Brody: I’ll try my best.
Me: There’s no trying, Brody. Only doing.
Brody: Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you say, boss.
I almost send him another message, but I’m quickly distracted when I notice my mom is now standing in front of the coffee table with her phone perched up like she’s about to record herself.
