Page 39 of Mom Com

Me: Not even a little.

Liv: Can you feel me rolling my eyes, cause I am. He practically slapped Jake in the face with his glove, ready to duel over giving you a ride home.

I laugh, causing Spence to look up from his laptop, where he’s busy with nine-year-old game things I’ll never fully grasp. But when he sees I’m looking at my phone, he loses interest.

Me: He gave me a ride home because you told him to... not exactly chivalry.

Liv: Hey now. I merely mentioned you might need one. Complete innocence on my part.

Me: Besides, giving someone a ride and caring about them are two totally different things.

I feel weird the instant I send it. Debating this while sober feels off-putting and a little reckless. So I add...

Me: Not that any of this matters one way or the other.

Liv: Right, DeLuca, right.

I frown at that. But prolonging this topic is only going to make it look like I’m in denial. So I switch gears.

Me: Gonna get you that will by the way.

Speaking of which, I look around the room, realizing my mother is in the kitchen fixing her after-dinner tea, leaving me a rare moment of opportunity. If I’m fast, I can handle this now. I fold up my laptop where a spreadsheet of my pitiful finances mocks me, making this decision about staying or leaving all the more pressing and difficult. So like a thief in the night, I speed down the hall into the dining room, my socks sliding on the polished wood. It’s not that I want to sneak around, but it’s just easier if no one sees me.

I gently ease open the drawer, looking up once to confirm that I’m alone, my cell phone poised to take a quick picture of the addendum. Five seconds and I’ll be done. Only it’s not where I left it. It’s no longer conveniently lying on top of the drawer, unfolded and easily accessible.

Mother-effer.

I put my phone down and rifle through the documents, flipping through receipts and peering into envelopes, but come up short. It’s simply not here.

“Looking for something?” my mother asks, appearing in the doorway holding a teacup on a saucer like a silent ninja granny.

I startle, my head whipping up. The truth is too obvious for me to pretend away. “Did you move Dad’s will by any chance?” The drawer rattles as I push it close.

“I did,” she says, glancing at my phone, and before I can think not to, I shove it guiltily in my back pocket.

“Where did you put it?” I ask, the guilt now seeping into my tone like an emergency flare pointing to my ineptitude. What is WRONG with me?

“Our copy is in the lockbox in my bedroom,” she says, a lockbox I’ve never had the code for. Doesn’t matter that I’m her closest relative and only child, I’d have to melt the thing open with a blowtorch if there were an emergency.

“Our copy?” I say, and then realize she must mean that the duplicate is with Wilder, which of course makes sense. “Can I see it?”

“Is there something in question?” she asks, putting me on the spot.

“I just wanted to read the rules again, the ownership rules.”

She stirs her tea and places the small spoon on the saucer with a clink. “Forty hours a week of required work and involvement in daily operations,” she says, instead of giving me the paper. Liv’s warning plays in my thoughts. If I tell my mom the whole truth and Liv winds up declaring the will ironclad, then I’ll have caused a rift for jack all nothing. And if Liv does find something, well, that’s a whole different problem.

“Was there something else?” my mom asks.

I stare at her, aware that if I push this, she very well might realize what I’m up to. I sigh. “I guess not,” I say, resolving myself to an equally shitty plan B.

“Good,” my mother says, visibly relaxing. “Oh, and don’t forget, we have the Buenaventura dinner tomorrow night.”

I shrink a little, not just because it sounds horrific, but because I actually did forget, or maybe chose to block it out. But I know all too well there’s no backing out at this point.

“Madeline DeLuca, it’s nearly noon,” my mother says aghast as she enters my dark bedroom and steps over the trail of the clothes.

“It’s Saturday,” I croak in response, even though I’ve been up for hours feeling rotten. I vaguely remember drinking buttloads of water last night, and I woke up with two Advil on my bedside table, which I downed. Even so, I’m pretty sure I’m dying.