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I nodded slowly, processing her response. “But would you have forgiven us?”
She exhaled loudly. “Maybe. As I just said, I haven’t had the privilege of sitting in that swish office with all those smelly old books and priceless antiques. Had I, maybe I would’ve been in the pardoning mood.”
I couldn’t expect my mother’s hard-edged views of the world to suddenly turn all churchy and nice. So, I stopped there and got back to what we did best—shop.
She pulled out a red dress with a scooping neckline.
“That might be a bit too sexy,” I said.
“Hello, I’m single. And there’ll be rich men at that party, won’t there?”
I studied her. “You won’t try to hook up with Cary or do something gross like that?”
“Are you kidding?” Her frown melted away. “He’s broke, anyway.”
It was like a role reversal. She was the unruly daughter, and I was the mother. I even regretted brokering the truce between my mother and her family, which hadn’t been easy.
My grandmother was the one who had invited her to the party. My uncles and Savvie had been predictably cold towards her. I was pretty sure they had been in their mother’s ear as soon as we’d left.
“I’m pulling your leg,” she said, putting the dress back and selecting a pink dress with a tight bodice and a full skirt.
“That’s nice,” I said, despite it being the last thing I would expect my mother to wear.
She was skin-tight jeans and low-cut blouses or bodycon minis and skyscraper stilettos. Streetwalker chic, I called it. I’d worn the same until I met Savvie and decided to copy her stylish approach to clothes.
She held it away from her. “Mm… too Sunday school for me.”
I laughed. “What’s Sunday school?”
“Religious studies.”
My eyes widened. “You attended?”
“Once or twice. Hated it. Ran away into the forest and looked for mushrooms to poison my super-religious foster family instead.”
Was that her doing her dark humour act, or was she for real?
My mother hated talking about her life growing up. Whenever I asked about her homes, she would sidestep the question by saying that we “only had ourselves and that was all. So, get used to it.”
“You really did that?” I asked.
She returned one of her hard-to-read grins, which meant she may have tried poisoning them or that it was a joke.
Baby steps with us.
I still couldn’t believe that the Lovechildes had allowed her through that impressive front door.
“You never know, Savvie might just do that—go out and find some poisonous mushrooms for your dinner.”
She laughed as we walked through the aisles of dresses. “I’ve noticed we share some similar traits.”
I couldn’t disagree. Savvie could be rather blunt and loved to poke fun at people and life, but where my mother took herself seriously, Savvie made fun of herself too.
As strange as it was to get on after despising her for so long, keeping it friendly beat taunts and jeers any day.
Hate was so exhausting.
As a self-confessed hug-hater, my mother was a work in progress when it came to affection. I did, however, feel her body soften when I hugged her, which was a step up from those stiff hugs done mainly for show.
