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I apologized, then continued to talk to myself, mumbling like someone who’d forgotten to take their meds. “With him? How could she be with him?”
A passing man looked at me like I had a beard. I paced Madison Avenue, dodging the other people on the busy strip, screaming into their phones as though they’d also forgotten their meds.
What should I do?
As I raked through my hair, I took a few calming breaths. At this point, a paper bag would have come in handy, because I was close to hyperventilating.
My mother had made some questionable choices in men since my father died three years ago, but this latest hookup was entirely out of line.
I pulled out my cell, searching for the quietest corner, which was impossible in that noisy street. I stepped into a garbage-strewn alleyway, where the stench only intensified my sudden need to puke.
Seeing my mother naked with a guy’s head between her legs was bad enough. But with Mitchell White—my fucking ex? He was the same ex who had, in that soft voice of his, explained it wasn’t working for him.
Well, it hadn’t been working for me either. I’d met Mitch at a time when I needed to take my mind off Chase. And now, three months after our breakup, twenty-eight-year-old Mitch was fucking my forty-six-year-old mother.
When and how did they connect?
Although he’d dumped me, I’d been about to leave him anyway. The guy was a clean freak who was heavily into astrology and anything to do with the New Age and wellness industry. I could never eat meat around him, and my iron levels had plummeted. As if being starved of animal protein as a child hadn’t been bad enough, I’d hooked up with a passive-aggressive vegan.
So why did I care who Mitch slept with?
Probably something to do with my fragile ego.
Admitting that made me hate myself that little bit more. But that was me: flawed, shallow, and tragically romantic.
Slapping my forehead, I suddenly recalled my mother going to a Tantra retreat recently.
How could I forget? I’d threatened to stick my fingers down my throat as she went on and on about the joys of mutual groping while gazing into some stranger’s eyes.
I wasn’t a complete novice to Tantra either. That was how I’d met Mitch in the first place.
And if anything, this latest chapter in my mother’s colorful sex life was a timely reminder to find another job and move out of my mother’s apartment. That was easier said than done, though. The pre-war Madison Avenue apartment she’d inherited from my grandmother had been my home all my life.
After graduating with a major in English lit, I’d started working at Mad Love mainly because I didn’t want to work for free in an internship.
Two years later, I was still there. I loved clothes. And my mother was a good boss. She paid me well, and she allowed me time off to work on my blog, The Young and Reckless, about entitled Manhattan millennials and their fad diets, clothing faux pas, and juicy gossip.
So far, I’d only designed a pretty heading and a promising mission statement on the “About” page.
Yep. Short attention span, that was me.
I just had to kick this Chase Elliot habit.
How else was I to become that independent, successful woman I’d dreamed of being? As a teenager, I’d been inspired by kick-ass heroines like Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Xena the Warrior Princess.
My phone buzzed, and Chase’s playful smile appeared, making my lips curl.
“I’m free tonight,” he texted.
I stared down at the screen as though he’d sent me one of those inane pick-the-rabbit’s head-among-the-crowd puzzles or some other stupid thing he’d found on the net.
Chase had a ton of time to waste— one of the many advantages of being filthy rich
My mood thawed a little. I almost forgot that I’d just seen my mother with my ex.
But then jealousy pricked at my chest again.
Chase was on Tinder chasing skirt. Other skirts. Not mine. Even though I rarely wore skirts.
