Page 411 of The Doctors Will See You Now

Immediately, my eyes rolled of their own accord. I chalked it up to muscle memory but also silently offered up my thanks to the gods above that this was just a phone conversation. No doubt, my mother wouldn’t have appreciated a reminder of how much of a pain in the ass teenage Charlotte used to be.

Sue Hollis hated only three things: eye rolling, orange juice with the pulp—apparently, it isn’t “real” juice—and the fact that she’d visited Dollywood three times without ever actually seeing Dolly Parton in person.

“Yes, I’m one hundred percent certain it’s a good investment,” I answered calmly. I was more like ninety percent sure, but leaving doubt in a conversation with my mother was like leaving evidence at a crime scene. She’d have me in cuffs in no time.

I knew she meant well and only wanted the best for me. It didn’t mean her current line of questioning wasn’t annoying as hell, but her intentions were there.

“When is the auction?”

I glanced at the clock on Nick’s dashboard. “In about thirty minutes. I’m on my way there now.”

“Are you on the phone and driving? That’s so unsafe, Lottie. Just last week, Vilma, you know, from two condos over? Well, she was driving over by the beach, and one of those texters hit her. Made her insurance go up by twenty percent.”

“No,” I answered vaguely. “I’m not talking and driving. And I’m not texting and driving either. And Vilma is legally blind. Are you sure it wasn’t her fault?” Now was not the time to have an in-depth conversation with my mother about my relationship with Nick, and completely covering the topic with a pile of bullshit seemed like the best way to go. The last phone conversation I’d had with her, I’d told her all about him and our new relationship, and that call had lasted a full two hours. It had been when she’d started mentioning weddings and grandchildren that I’d nipped the sucker in the bud and ended the call.

“Who’s driving?” she continued to interrogate, not in the least dissuaded by my insults to a fellow geriatric.

“Nick is driving, Mom.”

“Aww,” she cooed into my ear, and I knew I needed to find an exit route from this phone call stat. “Sounds like things are getting really serious with you guys.”

Cripes. She’s redirecting and heading for the marriage territory again…

“Uh-huh,” I muttered and cringed at the same time, all the while my mind kept shouting, Abort! Abort! Get the hell out of there!

“Have you guys started talking about the future yet?” she asked and then whispered, “Like moving in together or marriage or babies?”

Why did my father have to be golfing right now? I really could have used him as backup.

“What did you say, Mom? Are you still there?” I pretended I hadn’t heard her. Yeah, it was a shit thing to do, but it was all I had.

Nick glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and offered a knowing smirk. “Liar,” he mouthed, and I flipped him the bird for lack of anything better to do. He chuckled while my mother continued to prattle into my ear.

“I said, have you guys started talking—?” she started to ask, but I spoke over her, as if she weren’t there at all.

“Mom? Are you still there?”

“I’m right here, Charlotte,” she answered. “Can you hear me now?”

“Mom? Hello?” I questioned again, but before she started walking all over her house, trying to find the perfect reception spot, I added, “I think our connection is bad. I’ll call you later, okay? Love you, bye!” I clicked end on the call.

Nick tsked under his breath. “You’re such a liar. Even I could hear her through the phone.”

I knew it wasn’t the most daughterly thing to do, but I had an auction to focus on. My mind wasn’t capable of handling a game of twenty questions with my mother.

“I’m nervous,” I excused myself. “My brain couldn’t handle any more chitchat about our relationship with my mom.”

Nick glanced at me out of his periphery as he switched lanes and headed toward the Brooklyn Bridge. “Why are you nervous?”

“Because I’ve never been to an auction before,” I explained. “And God, I really want this house.”

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” he said and reached out with his hand to pat my thigh reassuringly. “We’re going to do everything we can to get it for you.”

A three-story town house located in Brooklyn, with the easiest commute to Manhattan on the A train, it was everything I needed in a home. Not to mention, the time had come for me to stop renting my shitty apartment and settle down into something that was my own.

I was tired of living in Chinatown, and more than that, I was ready to have my own place, my own home. It was a milestone I’d been saving up for over the past eight years, and finally, I’d reached my goal and found my perfect house.

But first, before I could break out the bottle of celebratory champagne, I needed to go to a sheriff’s auction and put in a bid. And my bid needed to be the winning bid. And somehow, someway, I needed to accomplish both things without bumbling up.