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Her mother harrumphed. “You’re never too busy to let your mother know you’re not in a ditch.”
“Sloane and Adrian are out here with me, remember? No one’s in a ditch.” Pacing over the floorboards, Carly looked out at the sun-strewn yard and ripped off the Band-Aid. “I’m sorry I missed your call yesterday. I was at the restaurant.”
Technically, Carly had just been shooting the breeze with Adrian about the plans for the garden when her mother had called, but she’d let the call go to voicemail anyway. Having an argument about her marital status—or impeding lack thereof—just hadn’t been on her wish-list.
“Hmm. It’s not good for you, working all those crazy hours. You’ll wear yourself out.” There was a tinge of genuine concern in her mother’s voice, and it softened both Carly’s mood and her response.
“It’s not as bad as when I first got here, so you don’t have to worry. And the restaurant is really starting to boom. I’m putting together a proposal for a pretty exciting project, actually. If resort management approves it, we’d get to build an on-site garden. Like Nonna’s, only a lot bigger.”
“Nonna doesn’t have a garden.” The confusion in her mother’s voice was clear, and it startled the smile from Carly’s lips.
“Not now. I meant the six-foot plot she had in Brooklyn before she moved to Manor House.” Carly sat up straight, pressing the phone to her ear a little tighter. “Mama? You remember the garden, don’t you?”
It had been seven years since her grandmother had left that apartment in favor of assisted living, but still. Nonna had loved that garden like she’d loved her kids, for God’s sake. They’d all spent hours in the tiny courtyard space.
“Of course I remember it, Carlotta,” her mother replied briskly.
Something odd that she couldn’t place made its way to Carly’s chest. Dominic had said she’d gotten forgetful lately. Much as Carly didn’t want to admit it, her mother was in her late sixties. Becoming forgetful was part of getting-older territory.
Carly cleared her throat gently. “Is everything okay?”
A pause hiccupped between them, filling the air with unease before her mother answered. “It would be, if you’d come home to work things out with Travis.”
Wow. She’d walked right into that one, hadn’t she?
“We’ve been through this before. I’m not getting back together with Travis.” In an effort to avoid the subject entirely with her mother, Carly had purposely kept the most sordid details of her divorce from her family. Hashing them out wouldn’t change things in her mother’s eyes anyway. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Pssht! You’re too stubborn for your own good. He wants to make things right, Carly. He told me himself. Why can’t you at least give him a chance?”
Heat bubbled through Carly’s veins like a bottle of champagne that had seen one shake too many. “Because there’s no point.” Maybe if she kept it short and simple, her mother would relent.
“No point! He loves you,” hermamaaccused.
Carly should’ve known better about her mother easing up. “Travis loved my skills as a chef,Mama. He loved my marketability. And as soon as he was done using them to climb the career ladder, he cheated on me. The only person he loves is himself.”
“You’re being dramatic. If you’re having trouble, you could go to counseling. But divorce? It’s so final.”
If only. “I’m being realistic, not dramatic. This is the best thing for me.”
“You’re not giving it a chance. If you’d just—”
“No.” The tension in Carly’s chest shoved her words out on an angry tide. “I’m done talking about this. I don’t care what Travis says, or what you think. It’s not up for debate. It’s my life, Ma, and you need to butt out so I can live it!”
Silence snapped over the phone line in a hiss of white noise before her mother took a deep breath. “Well. Since there’s nothing to say, I’ll hang up now.”
Carly pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, wishing she could reel her harsh words back in for a do-over. Her mother’s intentions were good, and this bullshit with Travis wasn’t worth the argument. “Look, I—”
“Oh, no. You’ve made it clear you don’t need me or my opinion. Good-bye, Carlotta.”
The phone clicked once and went dead.
Carly stared at it for a full minute before lowering it to the kitchen counter. She and her mother had a history of butting heads, but it had never gotten this bad.
“You okay?” Sloane poked her head into the living space from the threshold of the hallway, concern on her porcelain features.
“Yes. No.” Carly thrust a hand through her hair, wincing. “My mother’s still pissed about Travis. She’ll get over it.” She silently addedI hopeto the end of her statement. God, Travis was slicker than snot to charm her own mother into believing he still loved her. The weasel.
“Oh, honey. You want me to make you a cup of tea? It’s still kind of early.” Sloane canted her head toward the kitchen, blue eyes offering reassurance.
