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“It’s happening. I’m here, aren’t I? With my clothes. Would I be carrying them around with me like some ragamuffin if I had anywhere else to go?” Even as she spoke, her gaze drifted to Mia’s bulging backpack. She’d never fully lost the habit of carrying a couple of changes of clothes with her—both for the gym, and because she’d always had that fight-or-flight instinct finely honed. “I only packed the essentials,” she added weakly, apparently gauging from the silence that her ragamuffin comments weren’t welcome here. “I’ll need to go back for the rest.”
“Hmph.”
Mia sat beside her and took her hand. “Would you like something to drink? Maybe a cup of tea? My sister stocks chamomile.”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” My mother’s glance told me succinctly that she wasn’t appreciative of my lack of manners, but she was lucky I was just being cool to her. I was far too close to the edge lately, and I’d been down this road way too often.
Self-preservation dictated I not be the dumbass one more time.
“Sure thing. Just one moment.” Mia stood and climbed over my mother’s legs on the way to the galley kitchen. “Tray? Can I speak to you for a second?”
Inwardly, I sighed. Ganged up on again.
“Sure thing, darling.” I headed into the kitchen and braced my arm on the cabinet above Mia’s head. “Don’t start.”
She fussed with the teapot and the wicker basket of teabags Carly had set out. Mia’s sister was an odd combination of wild teenager and middle-aged grandmother, and you could never be sure which side would emerge on a given day.
Mia, on the other hand, was all badass, and she showed me that by baring her teeth.
“She’s your mother,” she said under her breath. “Show her some respect.”
“Right. Like the respect she showed you with that ragamuffin crack.”
“She’s allowed to think the way she wants. I understand why a woman in her…position would see me as a bit rough around the edges.”
I laughed harshly. “Her position requires sitting around and holding lunch meetings. Yours you’ve earned through blood, sweat and tears.”
Mia filled the pot with water from the sink and cast a glance over her shoulder at where my mother sat on the sofa, hands folded, and stared off into space. “Do you think she really did it?”
“Probably. She’s done it before. Problem is it never sticks.”
“I thought you said she’d never left him.”
I gave into the frustration I had on a short leash and banged the nearest cabinet door shut. “Does it count if it lasts less time than a trip to the john?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother jump. I swore under my breath. I was handling this all wrong.
“This isn’t the week for this bullshit,” I muttered. “She has fuck-all timing. You need to be focused. I need to be focused.”
Mia set the tea to steep, angling her body toward mine. “She has a suitcase.”
Shutting my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Noticed that, huh?”
“We have to make room.”
My eyes flew open incredulously. “Where?”
She lifted a shoulder and cast a helpless look around the cramped apartment. It was bigger than the one she’d had when we met, but that wasn’t saying much. Three people living there was pushing the boundaries of sanity. Four—and one of them being my uptight mother—would risk certain death.
And not mine.
“We have to help her,” Mia said, reaching overhead for a mug. She frowned at the chip missing from the handle and rummaged around for another one. “We need new cups.”
“No, we don’t. She’s not at the fucking Ritz.” I snatched the nearest mug and snapped it down on the counter.
Mia only lifted a brow. Leaning in, she said, voice low, “If I was my sister, I’d say you were so bitchy because you needed to get laid. But you couldn’t have gotten any more laid yesterday and still be standing.”
I didn’t want to smile. This was serious business, and we weren’t in the position to deal with any extra BS this week.
