Page 14 of His Choice

“Hey, Ms. W. Looking fine,” he added with a grin before getting into his own mess of a vehicle. My mother seemed to watch his cute little butt as he hauled himself up into the driver’s seat.

“Mom, didn’t you just recently chastise me for not calling before visiting? To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked, hoping to interrupt her cougar instincts.

She pushed the glasses back up her nose. “Mothers have a pass. It’s their maternal instincts that determine when a check-in is necessary. And now, it’s time for one with my favorite child.”

“I’m your only kid,” I reminded her.

“That’s why you’re my least favorite, too,” she replied with a sly grin. “Try to change that by being nicer to me.”

“Fine. I’ll start by biting my tongue and not calling you out for leering at young Keller Alden,” I said. “Who is already taken.”

My mother brushed past me into the hall. “Darling, a lady never leers. I was simply admiring how nicely his jeans fit. I’m so glad his generation is past that baggy look to the point where clothes were falling off.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumbled, not buying that for a moment.

“You know, maybe if you had been kinder to him when he was your student, he would be with you now instead of Mitch Winslow. He told me you were quite the crank at school, too. Alas, now you need to do this silly show to find a boyfriend.”

“Silly show? The one you pushed me into doing?” I exhaled in frustration.

She removed the glasses and put them in her purse. “Is that how you remember it? I recall telling you it was your choice.”

I shook my head. “Well, yes…”

“See? Dear, you’re much too young to be losing your memory. You might want to see Dr. Barnes about that. Are you good about getting physicals?”

“Yes. In fact, I just went a couple of weeks ago. He told me my blood pressure was on the high side. I explained to him why.” My stare at her should have prevented the need for clarification.

“I hope he told you to cut back on the red meat and cheese then,” she answered. “Let’s go into your living room. I’ve been shopping all day in these heels, and your lovely Chesterfield sofa is screaming out to me.”

I followed her into the room, watching as she threw herself onto the couch dramatically before repositioning like Cleopatra lounging on a chaise.

“Do you want anything to drink?” I asked.

“The usual,” she replied. That would be a martini. I beckoned James to ask Thad if he’d make the cocktail for her.

“What? No date tonight?” I asked, dropping myself onto the chair opposite her.

She toyed with her necklace. “Not for lack of suitors. I thought it was more important to see how you’re doing before the big debut tomorrow. And to give you a few tips.”

“Tips? Mom, are you going to tell me to try to look more approachable? I can’t help how my face looks in repose,” I said defensively.

She appeared troubled by that. “Cliff, you need to stop obsessing. Maybe that’s why your blood pressure is high. I never said you weren’t handsome, because…well, how could you not be? You’re my son, after all.”

I rolled my eyes. “You have enough ego for both of us, Mother.”

“Ooh, the calling me ‘mother’ card,” she observed with a grin. “I’ve caught you in a mood. It’s a good thing I’m here to cheer you up.”

“When will that begin?” I asked.

She ignored me. “Truth be told, your looks are from your father. He might have been a worthless abusive bum, but everyone agreed he was a looker and an enchanter. He swept me off my feet… He was just so handsome. You resemble his younger self.”

I flushed. “I’ve only seen a couple of old photos…”

“You lack his charm, though,” she added, bursting any bubble of good will she had floated. I frowned. “Oh, I mean that in both a positive and a constructive way. Your father used his charisma to manipulate and hurt people. That would never be you, Cliff. You’re a good man, and you don’t expect anything you don’t work hard for. And you certainly can turn on the rizz, as the kids say, when it’s appropriate—like entertaining guests or engaging with people in town. It’s just that inevitably…” She waved a hand in the air that scanned my body from head to foot. “Whatever this is…the cynical, self-doubting…mother-hating side of you emerges.”

“I’m not cynical and self-doubting,” I protested.

She narrowed her eyes. “Subtle.”