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Being a gentleman, Callum stands and offers his hand, saying, “Callum O’Malley, ma’am.”
She flinches microscopically at the “ma’am” and only gives him her limp fingers to shake. A look of confusion flits across his face. I get the sudden mental picture of two people who offer half-handed shakes to each other and have to stifle the giggles thinking how silly it would look to have two hands flopping at each other because both greeters refuse to clasp the other’s hand in a real shake. It’s one of those situations I’ve pondered for years. Thankfully, Callum takes her hand as firmly as possible under the circumstances.
All three of the dogs then surround my mother looking at her curiously, and she goes pale. All of them are polite, but my mother has never allowed a pet in the house. I begged her for years to let me have a puppy. I read everything I could about raising, training, and feeding a dog. It definitely helped me when I met sweet Gus to have that knowledge, but I sure could have used the companionship when I was little. I even considered getting a dog and hiding it from her since she was gone all the time, but I was afraid she’d make me give it up if she discovered it. Anyway, as a ten-year-old, my logic wasn’t always spot-on.
“Call off your animals, please,” she whispers. “I don’t wish to be bitten or covered in fleas.”
Weston scoffs. “I assure you we donothave fleas either on the dogs or in the house, and not one of these dogs would ever bite you unless you were to maybe take a swing at Petra, then all bets are off.” That wasn’t very friendly—he seems to have sized her up pretty quickly. Nevertheless, he says, “C’mon, guys. Why don’t you all go outside and play for a while?” He looks atCallum. “Do we have enough dinner left, or should I whip up my special Kraft mac and cheese for the occasion?”
I have to stifle a giggle while my mother glares at Weston, and Callum says, “There’s a little left. There was more, but I just served some of it to you.”
“Oops,” Weston and I say at the same time.
I grab a plate and hand it to Callum and then I show my mother to the half bath off the kitchen. “You’ll probably want to freshen up,” I tell her and start to walk away, assuming she’ll wash her hands. No telling where she’s been.
She grabs my arm instead and asks, “Whose house is this? You sent me the address, but I didn’t know you’d moved on from Ben.”
“Yeah, long, boring story about Ben, Mom. It’s one for another day. The house belongs to Weston, but we share all the expenses.”
She interrupts me by asking, “Weston is the one with the dimples and long hair?”
“Um, yeah. See you back in the kitchen.” This time I’m able to break loose. I really don’t get her at all, but her attention to detail is unsettling—and not in a particularly good way.
“Apparently she’s planning to stay here,” Weston announces quietly as I return to the kitchen. “She dumped her stuff by the door like some valet would haul it upstairs for her and unpack or something.” He shakes his head a little.
She has not made too favorable an impression so far, I guess. “Don’t worry. She won’t stay long. I don’t think she’s genetically programmed to stick around.”
“Where should we put her? Do you want her in your room? That’s awfully close for comfort to me.”
Callum rolls his eyes. “Why don’t we make a bed up for her downstairs on the couch? She’ll have privacy and her ownbathroom that way, plus she’ll be two floors away. We’ll just have to have movie night upstairs while she’s here or something.”
“That sounds good to me,” I tell them.
Mom slithers back into the room—apparently trying to look come-hither-ish with her hips swaying like a hula dancer. I try to keep from rolling my eyes as I tell her, “Mom, if you need a place to stay, there are some really nice hotels nearby. Carmel is growing by leaps and bounds…” I trail off as she scowls at me.
“Really, Petra. You and these handsome men can’t put your own mother up?”
“Oh, we can. I just thought maybe you’d like more privacy.”
Weston pipes up, “If you don’t want the expense of a hotel, we can give you the entire downstairs if you’d like. There’s a full bath with a shower, and you’ll have plenty of room. The couch is quite comfortable.”
“Couch? I’m supposed to sleep on acouch? Can’t one of you give up a bedroom and let me sleep in peace? There’s no telling how my back will feel if I sleep on…” She wrinkles up her nose. “Furniture.”
“We’re actually full upstairs, but I’m sure you’ll be happier down there anyway, Mom. Really.” I can feel myself blushing crimson to the roots of my hair, and she eyes me suspiciously.
“The only other option,” Weston tells her, “is the futon in my office, but it’s small and nowhere near as comfortable as the downstairs couch, and I need the office at all kinds of odd hours, so I’d have to boot you out a lot.”
I hope he sounded convincing and pray she’ll choose the hotel idea. I notice that no one seems willing to admit that Callum and I have abandoned our bedrooms anyway.
Callum places a steaming plate in front of her, and without thanking him, she dives in like she hasn’t eaten in a week. In fact… she looks awfully thin. I wonder what’s going on with her and why she’s really here. She’s never dropped in on me.Ever. She’s always summoned me to her place when she’s in the country and gets a notion it’s time to see me for some reason. This whole thing is odd.
“So how did you like Indonesia?” I ask as she continues to stuff her face. What’s the deal with her? I don’t remember her ever eating like a starving animal before.
“It was magical. You ought to go there sometime. I met the most beautiful people there and had a truly enlightening experience. But… it was time to come home. And I missed you so much, Petra.”
“Well, that’s a first,” somehow just pops out of my mouth. I start to retract my statement, but dammit, she’s never given me much thought at all. It’s the truth.
My mother drops her fork down on her plate and looks at me in shock. “Petra! How could you say such a thing? I’ve always loved you dearly.”
