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She nods. “Nothing says thank you like a full stomach. Well, that, and a special dessert.” My mother winks at me, and I’m no longer feeling so hungry. I donotneed hints about my parents’ bedroom activities.
For the next few minutes she updates me on the neighborhood gossip in between sips of her drink, and I find myself enjoying her animated storytelling. When I was a kid, this was all I wanted; my mother spending her time talking to me rather than shooing me away. Now, apparently, I’ve reached an age where I’m not such a bother to have around. As long as I don’t think about it too much, I can keep the memories from stinging.
“And your uncle is working on some big things. You really should talk to him about getting your old job back.”
“I have a job.” This isn’t the first time she’s pushed me on my decision to work at the shelter.
“But it’s such a good opportunity. Not like messing around with those dirty dogs all day. And you were the best he had.” She gives me an indulgent smile over her shoulder. “No one is as fast as my little prince.” One of her perfectly manicured hands covers her mouth, feigning embarrassment over the slip. “Sorry. My little Dash.”
Trying to change the subject, I blurt out the first topic I can think of. And of course, my mind is never far away from one thing.
“I met a girl.”
Shit. Bad topic choice.
“Really?” My mom’s eyes grow wide in actual interest. “Tell me everything about her. What makes this girl good enough for my boy?”
I grimace. “If anyone isn’t good enough, it’s me for her. I met her at the shelter. She was adopting one of the dogs. She’s sweet. And beautiful. Like gold.” I’m waxing poetic, but I don’t have a lot of people willing to listen to me obsess over Paige. “She’s smart but doesn’t hold it over you. And weird, but in this adorable, sexy way.”
Fuck. I sound like a lovesick fool.
And even my mom, one of the most self-centered people I know, easily picks up on it. “You sound like your father when he first met me.” She grins and preens at the memory, while I experience a dark, sick feeling in my gut.
I don’t want to be anything like my father.
“Where’s she from?”
I avoid her gaze. “She’s local. Grew up here.”
“What neighborhood?”
“Don’t think you’d know it.”
Her eyes get hard, drilling into me, and I try not to fidget.
“She’s not from around here, huh? Lives in a big house? Parents making big bucks?”
I keep my mouth shut, fiddling with the peeling plastic of the kitchen table.
“Don’t do this to her.” My mom’s command shocks me into meeting her eyes.
“Do what?”
“You know. This.” She waves her spatula around to indicate the dilapidated house filed with its temporary treasures.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lie.
“Rich girls want to stay rich. This is how rich you’re gonna get, and that’s onlyifyou start working for Mike again. Do you think this is what she wants?” Her once happy voice has taken on a scathing quality.
For the first time in my life, I’m getting a glimpse at my mom’s true feelings. The disdain she hides toward her own life. And again, I wonder who she was before my father.
“I don’t plan to live like this.”
“Neither did your father. But this is where he is. This is where I am.” She stirs the beef noodles.
This might be my only chance for an honest answer, so I push for more than I ever have before. “What was your life like when you were growing up? Before Dad?”
She doesn’t answer for a long time, her entire focus on the stovetop. When she does talk, it’s as if I never asked the question. “You talked to your brother lately?”
