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“And she has a killer body.”
“She does. And I’m assuming she’s great in bed, so we don’t have to go there.”
“Thank you for that.”
“What else?”
“She makes me laugh.”
“Deliberately?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Julia’s turn to take a deep breath. “Well, I grant you that she’s a beautiful girl and she has a killer body, but face it, sweetheart, she’s not exactly—what is it they say?—a rocket scientist. I mean, that swimsuit idea…”
“Not the worst idea in the world,” Norman says. “Besides, I don’twanta rocket scientist. I just want someone who looks good and smells good and makesmefeel good. And I finally found someone who does just that.Youmay not like me very much, Mother, but Poppy looks at me like I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread.”
“Who said I don’t like you very much?”
“You don’t have to say it,” Norman tells her.
Julia lowers her head, guilt surrounding her like a poisonous halo. “You’re my son. I love you very much.”
“Love more or less goes with the territory,” he says. “Liking’s another story altogether. And it’s okay,” he adds quickly. “We’re just two very different people. We don’t have to like each other.”
Julia’s eyes shoot to Norman’s. “You don’t like me?”
“You’re my mother,” he says with mock solemnity, throwing her words back at her. “I love you very much.”
Tears fill Julia’s eyes. It appears her son might have a sense of humor after all. “What an awful thing to say,” she says.
And suddenly they’re both laughing. Julia laughs until her sides ache and she’s gasping for air.
“Are you okay?” Norman asks as the laughter subsides.
“I’m fine, darling.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you,” he says.
“I’m sorry if I’ve disappointedyou,” Julia says in return.
“I could really use that cup of tea now.”
Julia jumps to her feet. “Follow me. And bring the scones.”
“Slow down,” Norman cautions, trailing her into the kitchen and laying the plate of scones on the kitchen table. “Remember your blood pressure. You don’t want to faint again.”
“I’m not going to faint.” She turns on the burner under the kettle. “Have a scone.”
Norman dutifully picks one up and takes a bite. “These are really good,” he admits before his mother can ask.
“Your son has a real gift. I’m eating better than I have in my entire life.”
“Much as I hate bringing this up,” Norman says as his mother is pouring the tea, “I don’t suppose you’ve given any more thought to selling the house.”
“I haven’t, no,” Julia lies. In fact, she’s been thinking about it quite a bit the last few days.
“Look. It’s not that I’m insensitive to your feelings or trying to minimize what your independence means to you,” Norman tells her. “I understand. Believe me, I’m not trying to take that away from you. It’s just that this is a lot of house for someone your age, and face it, Mom, Mark isn’t going to hang around here forever. Even if he sticks around another year or two, there’s no guarantee he’ll be here the next time you faint or, God forbid, fall down the stairs or…whatever. I’m not some heartless bastard who’s out to steal your house and pocket the cash. You can give it all to charity if that’s what you want. I don’t need the money. I happen to be a very good…”
