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“Isn't that something you should have shared with me?”
“Mom, I—" Her gaze quells the words in my mouth. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid.
Here I am again, being treated like I’m ten years old. Why do I let her treat me like this? Why can’t I just ask her to stop? I’m an adult and should want to be treated as such. Yes, she may be worried about me, but that doesn’t give her the right to treat me like a child, a misbehaved one, at that, calling my work, or anyone else for that matter.
It’s not like she thought I was in any danger. I should have the right to choose not to answer my own phone. To choose whether or not I want to talk to her at any time of the day, or week, or even month. God, how freeing would that be. the phone.
Why can’t I just live my own life anyway I see fit without having to account for every step I takes. She is my mother, yes, but I’m twenty-five, not five anymore.
I can’t even imagine how she’ll react if she even dreams that I’m subsisting off some man’s kind will...
“Mom, you don’t have to worry,” I start.
“What do you mean, I don’t have to worry?” I wince at the screech in my mother’s voice, which makes the waitress who was about to approach us hesitate. “You're out there in the big city without a job or a place to stay!"
I gesture to the waitress to give us a few minutes and she nods and returns to the counter.
“Mom, first of all, Landon is not thebig city,” I nearly smile but then I remember that to my mother, any place bigger than Milstone, Alabamaisthe big city. “Also, I do have a place to stay. I’m staying with a friend.”
I hope she'll drop it there, but I should have known better.
My mom pauses and then asks in a suspicion-laden voice. “What friend?”
“Um…you don’t know them,” I say.
“Them?”
"Yeah," I say, but my mom is not buying it.
“Him,” I admit. “He's a friend I met recently, actually, and he’s helping me find a job.”
My mother is quiet for another few seconds, and then says, “Are you trying to tell me you’re living with a man, Delilah? Out of wedlock?”
“No, Mom. I’m not—"
“Because you know we don’t believe in that, honey.”
“I know, Mom. He’s not my boyfriend, I swear.” Even just the term boyfriend sounds ridiculous on a man like Oliver. He’s too mature and distinguished to be a simple boyfriend.
And he would never see me like that either.
Although, back in the car, I could have sworn he was about to kiss me.
My heart drums in my chest as I remember the second that he touched his hand to the corner of my lips. His finger skimmed over my lips and I could feel their impression, imagine him replacing the finger with his lips. His eyes had darkened and I thought he was moving forward.
Which was when I ran out of there like there was hell on my heels. I don’t even know why, but my guess is because I wanted his lips on mine more than I wanted to breathe. But then him kissing me would have changed everything. It would have made this tentative thing between us too real and then we would have had to confront it.
Besides, that'sifhe was trying to kiss me in the first place. For all I know, it was all in my head and I probably would have humiliated myself when I later discovered that he was just trying to open the door to let me out.
“Delilah? Are you listening to me?”
I pull myself out of my thoughts.
“Yes, Mom. I’m listening.”
“Who is this man?” she asks.
My first thought is to lie but my mom knows me too well. Like I said, I can’t seem to act like an adult around her, and that’s my fault, just as much as it is hers for never treating me as one, so she can tell just even from just my voice when I’m lying. The best thing is to be as close to the truth as possible.
