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She huffed. “I could help with babysitting.”
“Why would you want to move in with us when you want your own space anyway?”
Quiet reigned for a moment, then she released a sigh. “I miss the noise, Conor. Your da wasn’t always there, but when he was, there was never a peaceful moment. I’m not used to there being no chaos.
“It’s okay though. You’re right. I’ll move into a hotel and make a decision about the kitchen...” She frowned, but it was more to herself. “Do you think Inessa would like to help me?”
This was when I wished her and Aoife’s relationship was as strong as it once was.
I wasn’t about to be guilt-tripped into agreeing for her to move into Aidan’s apartment or mine just so she could make age-long decisions over a kitchen.
That path led to her being a permanent ‘roommate,’ and I was not signing up for that. I loved my ma but living in the same building was close enough for me.
“Savannah probably would. She might draw Star in.”
“Would that be a problem for you?” she asked. When that had me frowning, she clarified, “If Star helped me and Savannah with the kitchen.”
“Why would it?”
“I don’t know. You said it like it could be a bad thing.”
“Not for me. Maybe for you. Star isn’t like your other daughters-in-law.”
Christ, I wasn’t even sure if the word ‘backsplash’ meant something non-torture-related to Star.
Ma hooted. “You don’t think I realized that already?” Patting my arm, she said, “You underestimate me, son.”
“Do I? Ma, she’s never going to say things that don’t put you on edge.”
“You mean her telling me that her father’s and Dagger’s band used to lick cocaine out of groupies’ assholes was just a preview?”
My lips twisted as I tried not to laugh. “Yeah. Although I think they were technically snorting—” At her arch look, I cleared my throat. “I meant, what with your recent obsession with Our Lady, I know that kind of talk isn’t very popular with you now.”
“Ah. So you meant don’t ask Savannah if you don’t want her to bring Star along?”
“Yes.”
She hummed. “Do you know your da used to speak in his sleep?”
“I didn’t know that.” I grimaced. “What did he talk about?”
“Things I shouldn’t have known. Worse things than ass-crack coke-snorting.” She patted my arm again. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll make it out of a kitchen consultation alive. That’s all that matters, isn’t it?”
Grinning, I tugged her into a hug. “It is.”
When she embraced me back, both of us just stood there, not moving, just hugging. It was weird but nice, and then she mumbled, “Haven’t done this in a while, son.”
“We haven’t,” I agreed, surprise lacing the words. “I didn’t realize.”
“I did. I thought you were mad at me.”
Was I?
Huh.
Maybe?
Knowing she knew about my abuse and hadn’t raised the subject with me was… rough.
