AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She reached across the car, her hand landing on his upper thigh. “Look, it’ll be good for her to get to know me. In all the years she lived just a couple of streets over, I only met her a handful of times, and—”
“My mother doesn’t want to get to know you,” Sam said, brushing her hand off. “I’m not even sure she wants to know me, much less a tagalong wannabe girlfriend.”
It stung. It really stung. She turned her head away so he couldn’t see her expression, but her sharp intake of breath gave her away.
“Ri—” His voice was regretful, but he didn’t reach out to touch her.
“It’s fine,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “I know things with your mother are difficult. It would bring out the worst in anyone.”
He muttered something she couldn’t make out, and they drove the rest of the way in tense silence. In hindsight, a five-hour drive to visit a woman who didn’t want to see her, with a man who didn’t want her company, hadn’t been her best decision. But she knew—she knew—that dealing with his mother and her bag of issues was a crucial step in taking their relationship any further.
Riley was so lost in thought, she barely registered that they’d come to a stop in front of a run-down house in a long row of other run-down houses. Riley had only been upstate once or twice as a kid, and always to quaint little lake towns. Calling this part of Watertown, New York, quaint would be a stretch. It looked … tired. A handful of the yards were kept up nicely, and some of the homes had cute little shutters, but the majority were a jumble of peeling paint, junk in the front yard, and weeds.
The house Sam had parked in front of wasn’t the worst of the street. But it was close.
“Home sweet home,” he said grimly, as he cupped her elbow and led her toward the front door.
Her hands went a little clammy. One of the unexpected benefits of never having a serious boyfriend after Dan was that she’d never had to do this whole meet-the-parents routine. She understood why this moment got such a bad rap in relationships. It sucked.
“Don’t let her get under your skin,” Sam muttered in her ear as he lifted a hand to knock. “We’re here to make sure she’s alive, wish her a happy birthday, and—”
Riley’s eyes went wide as she glanced in horror at his tense profile. “It’s her birthday?”
But it was too late for him to explain why he’d forgotten to mention that tiny fact, and too late for her to freak out over their not even having a sappy card, because the door opened.
And there was Helena Compton, looking every bit as unpleasant as Riley remembered her, and just as mean. No. Meaner.
“Sam,” the blonde said without so much as a hint of a smile. Her gaze shifted to Riley, and Riley wondered how her eyes could be so identical to her son’s in shape and that distinct pale blue color, and yet so different in expression. Sam’s were guarded, yes, but they could also be warm and kind.
Helena’s eyes were—Riley didn’t even have the right word—cold? cruel?
She stepped aside and let them in, which Riley supposed was a good start.
“Happy birthday,” she managed as she stepped into the small home. It smelled like an ashtray, but Sam had already warned her about that, so she was prepared. Riley had a vague memory of a small kitchen piled high with dirty dishes and a small dining table piled high with crap before Sam led her to the sofa, his not-so-gentle tug on her arm making his instructions clear. Sit. Quiet.
She did the first. Whether she complied on the second would depend on whether Helena Compton behaved herself.
“I told you not to come,” Sam’s mom said, lighting up a cigarette and studying them as she sat down in the recliner.
“It’s your birthday,” he said gruffly. “And you were just in the hospital.”
She blew out a long stream of smoke. “And yet you didn’t come to see me then.”
“You told him not to!” Riley exploded.
Sam groaned, and Helena narrowed her eyes. “Is that so? And how do you know?”
Riley narrowed her eyes right back. She worked at a woman’s magazine. She knew every female play in the book. “Because we were together.”
Sam’s mother gave a mean little cackle. “Of course you were.”
“What does that mea
n?” Riley asked, keeping her voice level.
“Riley,” Sam said, turning his head in her direction. “Leave it.”
“I won’t leave it,” she snapped back. “I’m not Skippy and one of his stolen socks. I don’t drop what you tell me to drop. Your mother clearly wants to say something.”
