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She bats my hand away, a scowl marring her normally friendly countenance.
“That won’t happen.”
I should drop it. We were having a good moment. But this issue, completely valid though it is, always hovers like a dark shadow in our future. The day that I’ll want to bring someone special into my life.
“You never know. This city is full of handsome,nicemen. One could sweep you off your feet.”
She scoffs, and irritation scratches under my skin.
“I, for one, look forward to the day I find someone to love.”
My mother turns a fierce gaze on me, reminding me of a mystical fairy giving a dire warning to a naive heroine in some ancient tale, knowing the girl won’t heed her advice.
“You don’t need a man. They are practically pointless.”
Dad wasn’t pointless, I want to growl. But I don’t because then she’ll excuse herself to the bathroom, and if I try to follow her I’ll hear her sobbing on the toilet.
I do not bring up my father to my mother, especially not in an argument.
“Just because I don’t need something doesn’t mean I don’t want it. Or him, more accurately.”
“Him?”
“Yes. Him. I date men.”
“But that sounded like there is one particular man that you want.” She’s got her shrewd eyes working on piercing my armor of indifference.
“Well, I went on a date.” Panic has me continuing. “With a guy named Joshua.”
Guilt seeps through me like black sludge.
It’s not that I lied. I did go on a date with Joshua. But there won’t be any more. And if I was referring to a specifichim, Joshua was not that him.
Cole is that him.
But I shake my head at that thought. Cole is…dangerous. I think. He looks it anyway. Gives off that vibe with his tattoos, and piercings, and one shade of black clothing.
And making out with him the day after his birthday does not mean he’s my someone to love.
He’s my someone to kiss. Temporarily.
And temporary men are not the kind to get my mother riled up about.
“And what makes this Joshua so special?”
Nothing.
“I’m not saying he is. I just want you to know that I go on dates, and one of these days it might turn into something more. If it does, I would love it if you didn’t lay into the guy simply because he identifies as male. Think you can do that for me?”
She grimaces. “I’ll think about it.”
That’s probably the best I’ll get from her, and I have to admit that it’s progress. Before I can make any other pleas on behalf of the male populace, my mother shocks me with her change of subject.
“I have a box of—of your father’s things. In the car. Things I’m not keeping. You should look through it. Take what you want. The rest I’ll donate.”
“Wow, Mom. Really?”
She stands and smooths her hands over her immaculate skirt. “It’s not everything. Just some things. My therapist suggested it.”
