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His mother’s scowl told him exactly how she felt about multigrain anything. “You know multigrains give me terrible gas and diarrhea.”
The last thing he wanted was to discuss her bodily functions. It might be her favorite subject, but he’d rather take a hammer to his skull. “Or I can stick a frozen pizza in the oven for you.”
“It has cheese. Cheese is good for me,” she argued like a kid, but at least she wasn’t studying Lexie’s face like she was about to jump up, all excited about the Gettin’ Hitched bride.
“Fake cheese.”
“Hot dog.”
“Lips and assholes.”
“You know . . .” Lexie said, and put a finger to her chin. “I can probably come up with something better for you, Mrs. Brown. A woman suffering with delicate health, as you do, needs proper nutrition. Not pizza.”
He’d been raised on hot dogs, Kraft macaroni and cheese, and frozen pizza. His mother didn’t like him or anyone telling her she wasn’t eating right. Although it was true, he half expected her to cross her arms over her chest and have a fit.
“I know you’re right,” she said.
What? It must have been the words “suffering with delicate health” that turned her so compliant. That or the Elasto-Gel had frozen her brain.
“I just ate, but I’d love to make you a good meal. I’m a really good cook,” Lexie assured them. “I get it from my mother’s side. Along with my talent for fashionable pet apparel.” With a slight smile, she turned on the heels of her boots and walked from the room and into the kitchen. He watched her go, his gaze sliding down her back and her long hair, pausing for a moment to appreciate the curve of her waist before stopping at her nice round butt. He didn’t know who was crazier, the woman in the cranial cap or the one in the fish hat.
“Sean,” his mother said just above a whisper.
He turned his attention to his mother and sat on the end of the sofa beside her chair. “What?”
“Do you know who she is?”
“Certainly.”
“She’s the Gettin’ Hitched bride. I was all set to watch the ceremony last night, only she ran away.” She pointed at him. “With you.”
“Not exactly. We were on the same plane.”
“You stole her from Pete!”
“No I didn’t.”
“You stole the Gettin’ Hitched bride!”
That’s why his mother hadn’t mentioned it right away. She thought they were together. Like a couple. “You’re wrong. It’s not what you’re imagining. We met on the plane last night.”
She placed a hand on her chest like she was about to have a heart attack. “Hand me the phone. I need to call Hoda and Kathie Lee.”
“You don’t want to go to Cancun. You don’t even have a passport.”
“I could get one. Quick, I need to call NBC.”
The thought of the world finding out that Lexie was with him, in his mother’s house, was frightening. “You can’t do that.” The sound of pots and pans drew his attention to the kitchen, then back again. While his mother would love that chaos, he would not. “You can’t call Hoda and Kathie Lee.”
“You’re right. Wendy Williams is offering a trip to Disney World in Orlando, Florida.” She stuck a finger beneath her cap and scratched her head. “I’d get a passport to go to the Magic Kingdom. I’d love to see that Cinderella’s Castle and maybe ride in a riverboat.”
“Since when?”
“Since I’d get to talk to Wendy and get a free trip to boot.”
He believed her. She’d jump from her chair and claw her way to the nearest airport for a chance to see Wendy and wreak havoc. He didn’t want that to happen for several very good reasons. First, the discovery of the Gettin’ Hitched bride would bring a mass of news crews and hordes of paparazzi to his mother’s front door. He could see himself standing between his mother in her cranial cap and Lexie in her fish hat, news camera rolling and cameras flashing, trying to look like the sane one. Second, the thought of his mother sitting on Wendy’s couch talking about her latest ailments gave him the same kind of red-faced anxiety as it had as a kid. He’d never known which mother would show up at the hockey games. The relatively normal mother or the one with the battery-powered heating pad, talking about her menstrual cramps. Or worse, the one exaggerating his own sickness, making chicken pox sound like MRSA. He’d been powerless to stop her then. He was an adult now. A hockey player who routinely took hard hits against the boards and returned the favor with a roundhouse punch to the face.
When Sean Knox stepped on the ice, he owned it. He was in control. Off the ice, he owned that, too. He was in control—except when it came to his mother. No one but his uncle Abe had possessed the ability to control his mother. He’d been the only person she’d even listened to, but he’d died two years ago and she was more out of control than ever.
