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Seeming mostly lucid today, Ma asks, “A lady friend? I hope it’s someone who’ll help you get that dreadful Jenna out of your mind.”
Yep. Lucid today.
Thank fuck.
I bite my lip to stop myself from audibly sighing with relief.
It’s not that I’d be ashamed of her if she weren’t quite herself in front of Mia. I wouldn’t be. It’s more so that I want Mia to meet my mother.
While she’s still my mother.
Not sure why, but it’s important that Mia knows the woman who shaped me into the man I am.
Dammit.
How has Mia implanted herself under my skin this fast?
She makes my head spin, my cock hard, and my heart come back to life.
And when I’m with her, I wantmore.
Not just more of her— although I do— but I also want more for myself. A balance in my life. To live for myself as fully as I live for everyone else.
She makes me wish for more moments where I can be selfish. More time to learn who I am. And more time to figure out what I’d do if I weren’t always putting everyone else first.
For whatever reason, Mia makes that okay.
Standing with her hands on her hips, Mom tosses me a questioning look, reminding me that I didn’t answer her question.
“Yes. She’s a lady friend.”
“Good. What’s her name?”
“It’s Mia. Come on, and I’ll introduce you.”
Mia stands with her hand extended when we enter the kitchen. “Hi, Mrs. Klein. My name is Mia. It’s lovely to meet you.”
Ma waves her off and moves in for a hug instead. “Hello, dear. Call me Charlotte. Any friend of my son’s gets a hug from me, not a handshake.”
Mia’s eyes widen as Ma wraps her in her arms. Slowly, her shock fades into a pure smile and she returns the embrace.
I should have probably warned her about the hugs. I wonder what Mia’s deal is with her family. She doesn’t talk about them. Are they huggers? Do they live nearby? Is she an only child?
There’s a lot I don’t know about her, and I plan to rectify that immediately.
Once my mother lets Mia go, she glances between us. “Do you have time for breakfast? I could make something.”
No, she can’t. Cooking has been banned since she nearly started a kitchen fire several months ago. I turn the gas to the stove off when I’m not here. All her meals are labeled in the fridge, three days’ worth at a time. She only needs to throw them in the microwave.
Which also has a growing collection of sticky notes on it, including how to operate it.
“We already ate,” I answer, declining her breakfast invite.
“Oh, poop,” Ma pouts, then steps farther into the kitchen. “How about coffee, kids?”
Mia gives me an encouraging nod, which I read as her saying:whatever you want is fine.
Although I’d love a social visit, we have too much to do today at Redleg. “We’ll need to pass this morning. We really need to get going soon. We solved a big case at work last night, and there’s a lot of fallout to handle today.”
