Page 6 of His Choice

Aaron smiled before sucking noisily on his straw again. “Coffee-flavored water,” he explained. “Still tasty.”

Chapter Three

Cliff

“Mom?” I called when I walked through her front door.

“Upstairs!” she shouted back.

I ascended the steps to the second floor. She was standing in front of a full-length mirror across from her bed, checking out her outfit. My mother was fifty-five. But Keller had been correct about her. She could pass for twenty years younger, thanks to the plastic surgeries, facials, Botox, gym memberships, and benefit of using my personalized grooming team. Whenever I took her somewhere outside White Pines, people mistook her for my wife. I knew better than to correct them.

“Does this dress send off a vibe?” she asked, pressing the fabric against her hips.

It was a lowcut black cocktail mini-dress, which accentuated how fit my mother was. Keller’s comment that my mom was ‘fine’ made me grimace again. Apparently, I could add my former students to the list of men who found my mother hot. If I had my way, she would tone down the overtly sexy clothes she often favored.

“Yes. It sends a message that you don’t want to wake up alone tomorrow morning,” I quipped.

She ignored me. “Zip me, will you?”

I walked over to raise the zipper while she held up her hair. “Where are you going dressed like that?”

“The corner of Main and Townsend Streets in Hopsborough. I read that’s where the other hookers hang out,” she replied sarcastically, before turning to face me. “Honestly, you’re such a prude and so judgy. I should never have sent you to Sunday school. That’s what I get for listening to your grandmother. I should have known to ignore her advice after she told me your father would be a great catch.”

“I should probably call Grams. I don’t think I’ve spoken to her in like three weeks.” Calls with my grandmother weren’t pleasant. They usually consisted of her criticizing my mother, just as my mother often brought up her beefs with my grandmother. Still, I didn’t want to one day reckon with having ignored Grams while she’d been alive.

“Honestly, Cliff, you always stray off topic,” my mother pointed out, not for the first time in my life. “Get to the point. I don’t want to keep Clem waiting.”

“Clem? The owner of Central Diner?” I asked. They had known each other for years. Although it had been clear to me for a long time that Clem found my mom attractive, she had never shown interest in return. He was older than her, rather average looking, and made a modest income. He was a nice guy and respected in the community, but I didn’t see what was in it for my mother. Typically, she was drawn to younger men who’d give her a good time in ways I didn’t want to envision, or older rich men who’d bring joy to her life in other ways, like providing gifts and trips.

“What’s wrong with Clem?” she asked as she walked to her cabinet to rummage through her jewelry.

“Nothing,” I answered. “I just didn’t think you liked him that way.”

She glanced back at me like I had said something confusing. “What way? He has tickets to an off-Broadway production of Moulin Rouge in Burlington. He asked me to go. It beats staying home and darning socks.”

“Darning socks? What is that?” I wondered.

Mom shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe it’s screaming ‘darn’ at one when its match mysteriously disappeared in the washing machine. Are you going to tell me why you’re here or not?”

“I stopped at the diner this morning. Imagine my surprise to see a sign asking people to support me on a show I haven’t signed up for,” I informed her.

She smirked. “Ah. So, this is a yell-at-your-mother visit. Well, make it quick. I need to leave within five minutes.” She held up two different pairs of earrings. “Which do you think goes better with this dress?”

I exhaled in frustration. “The dangling ones.” She put the other pair back on the dresser and began to fasten the jewelry I had chosen. “But if you thought the others looked nicer…”

Mom caught my reflection in her mirror. “Darling, only a foolish woman disregards fashion advice from a gay man.”

“That’s a stereotype,” I mumbled.

“Maybe,” she replied. “But I get more compliments when I listen to you, so in your case, it’s a fact.” She moved on to the other earring. “Clock is ticking.”

I huffed, then tried to hide a smirk. “Well, there’s no entertainment in shouting now that you’re prepared for it.”

After fastening the other earring, she shook her shoulder-length brown hair, then patted it in place. “Maybe someone will cut you off on your drive home and you can have fun cursing them while leaning on the horn.” She started past me. “Call me before you come next time so I don’t need to rush you out.”

“Wait. At least explain yourself,” I demanded. “Mom, I could make you look very foolish if I wanted to. What if I told everyone that I never agreed to the show?”

“Go ahead, if you really don’t want to do it. I’ll say I was mistaken, and that will be that.” She crossed her arms. “But you won’t do that, because deep down, you wanted me to push you into saying yes.”