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“What? Carlo is an excellent chef,” she replied with a tone of mock innocence. “Best one I’ve had.”
I eyed her. “I’m sure.”
“Thanks for hiring him. He’s already put me on a new diet. Says it will help me look five years younger in no time.”
“You don’t need that. You look fantastic already.”
“We can always fight aging.” She raised her glass to me. “Every little bit helps.”
I followed her lead and downed some of the mixture, which had hints of apple, kiwi, celery, and cayenne. “I’ll have to take your word for the fact that he’s good at what he does.”
“Oh, believe me,he is.”
I heard the implication in my mother’s voice, but I decided to ignore it. I wasn’t here to talk about her geriatric love life, I was here to discuss my much younger one. The one that was making headlines around the world while we sipped youthful concoctions on a five-thousand-dollar couch.
“I’m sure you saw the news.” I put my half-empty cup on the glass coffee table next to a thick book of landscaping designs.
“I did. Not shocked you came here, since I imagine they have your place surrounded.”
“Yes, it’s a media frenzy. Reporters calling the office. A mess. Comms team is working on a strategy right now.”
“Don’t worry, whatever you need me to do, I’m on board. I’ll follow the plan.”
“Thanks. I know you’re always great about that.”
She placed her own glass on the table, then locked her gaze with mine. “Are you okay?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
My reply sounded hollow, even to me, and I knew from the unflinching, stony expression on my mother’s face that she wasn’t buying it either. She was one of the few people I could never bullshit. “This is a huge personal violation. And I know how you feel about privacy.”
“It’s my most precious resource.”
She nodded. “You don’t have to act like you’re fine about it when I know you’re not. You can talk to me, Landon. I’ve always told you that.”
I stared back at her. Yes, she always had. But I’d almost never taken her up on it. I knew she loved me, knew she cared, and knew she wanted to be my parent in every sense of the word, but I’d had trouble trusting anyone. I spent too much of my early life in foster care, learning the hard lesson each time that I could only rely on myself. It was easier to put up walls than to let anyone in, to run the risk of anyone else leaving me in the dust that remained after broken promises.
“Come on,” she added. “You have to talk to someone. You can’t bottle this in, Landon.”
“You’re right,” I admitted. “I can’t. Not this time.”
She cocked her head. “And why is that?”
“Because this time, I’m falling for her. I care about her. Rebecca is...different. She’s better than me. Smart and funny. And to have this happen to us...it’s a massive violation.”
“It is.” She looked away. “I...well...I wonder about a few things.”
“Like what?”
She returned her attention to me and swallowed. “Why her?”
“Whynother?”
“You could have practically anyone, Landon. I mean you’re...you, and a lot of women would want to be with someone like you.”
“I’m aware.”
My mother hesitated and shifted on the couch, leaning back, as if she wanted to get a better view of whatever I’d say next, as if she was taking in every reaction I had. “Perhaps you miscalculated."
