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My mom’s face lit up. “She finally came to her senses?”
“Yeah, she took me back.”
“Correction. You took her back.” She stood and grabbed her scraper again, turning toward the wall. “Staying here or a hotel?”
“Hotel.”
“I thought you said you were tired.”
“Mom…”
“At least I know something’s still healthy.”
I chuckled. My mom talked about everything, but this was about as far as we’d get on the subject of sex, and that was fine by me. The last time we’d really spoken about things was when she’d given me a pack of condoms and advised me never to have sex drunk.
She attacked the wall but only half-heartedly, her mind still on our conversation. “How serious are you about Maeve?”
“So serious that if I was told I’d spontaneously combust if I went anywhere near her, I’d happily endure it.”
“Always a poet.” She smiled. “And yet never obscure. It’s a magical talent.”
