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She smiled over her shoulder as she made her way back into the kitchen.
“We live in California, remember? It’s pretty nice out today – I’ll ride my bike into town.”
“You’re such a sweetheart. I’ll get a car before too long. You forget that in most of the country outside of three big cities you actually need one to get around.”
“All in good time, my dear – just like everything else that you’re worried about. Now, get up and get ready! You don’t want to keep Mom waiting.”
I laughed as I pushed myself off the couch and hurried into the bathroom to wash up and get ready for the day. After throwing on a pair of jeans and a nice top, I stepped into some white low top Chuck Taylor’s just in time for Clarissa to hand me her car keys and a coffee thermos.
“Good luck with Mom,” she said. “Try not to let her get under your skin, you know?”
We said our goodbyes, making some tentative plans for lunch downtown after she got back from work.
Moments later I was behind the wheel of Sue Ellen, my gut tightening in anticipation of seeing my mom in person for the first time since, not only what had happened with Adam, but the drama between her and Brad. We were both in the wreckage of relationships that hadn’t worked out, and I had no idea what things would be like when I saw her.
My relationship with my mother was strained to begin with. She and Dad had been a perfect balance. He was warm and good-natured and a little goofy, whereas Mom was a little more clearheaded and practical. But with Dad gone, it seemed to me like Mom had let the bad traits take over. Clear-headed and practical had given way to cynical and materialistic. And on top of that, losing her husband had only made her more dead set on me finding a man, despite my having other priorities in life beyond getting an expensive rock placed onto my finger.
And even after I’d gotten engaged, she hadn’t let up. It was like she’d been nervous about my ability to “seal the deal,” to become Mrs. Adam Myles. So, me breaking off the engagement and coming home as single as I’d been when I’d moved to Chicago, left doubt it wasn’t going to go over well.
As I pulled into the ritzy, beachfront neighborhood where Mom lived, I knew I needed to just rip the Band-Aid off and get it over with. The huge villas of the expensive area loomed over me on both sides, the luxury cars in the driveway a stark contrast to the paint worn Bug I was driving. But I still preferred Sue Ellen to any dumb BMW. I was happy with my life, happy that I had my independence. If Mom couldn’t see that, well, then it was on her.
My little pep talk worked. At least, until I pulled into the half circle driveway in front of her huge house. As my eyes tracked up and down the three-story home, sleek and modern with glass walls that made it look like something out of LA, I couldn’t get over how good she was living. Sure, she’d had a pretty big payout from Dad’s insurance policy that she’d made some smart investments with, but the home I was looking at was far more than what that should’ve afforded.
I killed the engine and stepped out of the car. The beach was close enough that the crash of the waves on the shore was a low roar, and the smell of sea water was thick in the air. I stepped up to the front doors and prepared to knock. But as I raised my fist, a familiar voice piped in.
“There you are, Dreamy.” It was Mom, her voice coming in through a speaker somewhere. I looked around and the only thing I could find that might’ve been the source was a small electronic device on the wall to my left, a blue ring in the middle.
“Uh, Mom?”
“I can see you through the camera. Come on in, the doors open.”
“Good. Because I’m getting some major 2001 vibes talking to you through this thing.”
Mom said nothing in response to my dorky joke, the blue light turning off.
I opened the door and stepped inside, the interior of her palace of a home just as impressive as the outside. The space was expansive, with lots of whites and light grays dominating the décor. Many of the glass floor-to-ceiling walls were open, sea air flowing through the home.
It was nice – I had to admit. I’d never much gone for fancy homes and all that, but Mom sure knew how to treat herself.
“In here, Dreamy.”
I followed her voice through the house, eventually stepping into a gigantic, open kitchen. The room was decked out with top-of-the-line appliances, copper pots hanging over the island in the middle. The windows looked out onto the beach, and the kitchen bar was topped with fresh fruit and bagels and tons of other good stuff.
Seated at the kitchen bar was my mom, Trish.
“There’s my little one.”
She set down the tablet she’d been looking at and stood. Mom looked great for her age – not that being in your mid-fifties was old, of course. She had a slender, toned body and was dressed in her usual Lululemon leggings and matching top, both a bright pink, with Nikes on her feet. Expensive jewelry glittered in the sun as she stood up. She had the same blonde hair as me, though hers was in immaculate beach waves instead of my simple ponytail. Her hazel eyes were the exact same shade as mine. One look at the two of us together left no doubt that we were related.
She strolled over to me, a clean-smelling perfume wafting behind her. Mom wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close against her. It was all very standard mom – a warm, slightly over-the-top greeting that I knew would be followed by a barrage of pointed questions.
“Hey, Mom. I like the pla—”
I didn’t get a chance to finish before her hazel eyes flashed, as if she’d just realized something.
“I had this amazing spread delivered from downtown and I completely forgot the coffee. Hold on.” She craned her head and called out. “Analyn? Come in, would you please?”
In an instant, a trim but muscular, pretty woman in her thirties appeared, her skin and hair both dark.
