There’s a charged moment where everyone seems to want to say something but chooses silence instead. With a sigh, Maisie turns and leaves the room.
“I’m not a villain,” I say, more for my benefit than anything.
“Don’t read any of Fallon Mae’s articles or you’re in for a rude awakening.”
I grumble something about Ms. Mae being in for a rude awakening if we ever meet and Nick shakes his head.
“Just try to hear what we’re saying. The whole family’s worried. There are good women out there and you’ll find one when the time is right. Just because Blossom is a parasitic nozzle muncher doesn’t mean everyone works that way.”
Fuck finding another woman. That’s not gonna happen. Ever. I almost launch into my speech about wrapping my heart in barbed wire but stop myself before Nick can make fun of me too.
“I’m listening,” I lie.
“That’s all I ask. Opportunity will present itself. Something good is coming your way. Keep your eyes open so you recognize it when it walks in. In the meantime, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get back to being Nathan Fucking West.”
“Pretty sure that’s what I’m in the middle of doing.”
Nick sighs deeply and shoves his hands into his pockets, chewing on a thought he’s not sure he should express. “Friday? Your birthday party?” he finally says. “If you bring a date—”
“I’m not bringing a date.” Maybe I should have hit him with my barbed wire speech after all.
“Okay, fine. But if you do, it might put everyone’s mind at ease if she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d catch Dominick Taylor’s eye.”
We say our goodbyes and I sit there, replaying the last couple days in my head, Dom insinuating I’m squandering a winning hand, Aunt Maisie telling me to skip the charity gala when it’s my favorite part of the year, Mina calling, drunk and desperate…
Huh.
Look at that.
Maybe the opportunity Nick mentioned already presented itself in the form of an accidental message and a drunken request. Maybe I can keep that barbed wire around my heart and put my family’s mind at ease.
I’ll ask Mina Blake to pretend to be my new, non-dazzling or spectacular girlfriend.
It’ll be a little “extension” to our business relationship.
After the utterly dickish move of cutting her fee to send that text, I’ll have to offer to pay her.
But that could actually work in my favor.
That would make it a business arrangement, bound by professionalism.
What could go wrong?
SIX
Mina
A heady mix of guilt and excitement hits my belly as I pull into Shady Cove Restorative Clinic. I’m always glad to see my mom. She was my first best friend. My rock. She worked her ass off to take care of me after Dad left and was the perfect blend of “shoulder to cry on” and “get your butt in gear.” She was strong and beautiful and held her chin up no matter what life threw in our direction.
When I was thirteen, she sold the house she bought with my father. It was a handyman’s dream and they planned to pour time and attention into it over the years until they ended up with the kind of home they deserved. Only, Dad was the handy one in the family and Mom couldn’t keep up with the repairs after he left. Rather than trying to pay someone she couldn’t afford to do the work, she moved the two of us into an apartment.
When I was fifteen, she took a second job. She never said why, never once complained, though I know she took on the extra work to pay for my driver’s ed classes and to start saving for my first car.
When I was sixteen, I got a job within walking distance from home so I could buy that car myself. I tried to help pay for other things around the house, but Mom wouldn’t take my money. Thankfully, I inherited my father’s stubborn streak and stocked the fridge anyway. Bought my own clothes so she wouldn’t have to. Picked up little extras I knew she wouldn’t buy herself.
When I was seventeen, she told me about the money she was saving for my college tuition and by the time I was eighteen, I’d earned a full ride so she could keep it for herself.
I swore I’d earn my degree and become so successful, she never had to struggle again. I’d build her a house and pay her bills and give her the life she deserved.
She’s struggling now more than ever, but I’m doing everything I can to put an end to that.
A smile lifts my lips as tears well in my eyes. I brush them away, smooth the front of my shirt, and stride through the front doors, pausing to sign in at the front desk before navigating the hive of brightly colored hallways to find my mother. If it weren’t for the patients in wheelchairs, or trundling by with IV stands, you wouldn’t know this was a medical facility. It looks more like an upscale community center.
When I finally duck my head through the door of room 208, I find Mom propped up in bed, eyes closed, breathing deeply as Spanish guitar flows through speakers on her bedside table. Fresh flowers bloom on the counter in the tiny kitchenette. Sunlight pours through the curtains she brought from home. Pictures adorn the walls, some she’s had for years and others she made in the art therapy classes here at Shady Cove.
She’s humming to herself; more content than I’ve seen her in a while. I lean in the doorway and watch, lost in memories of her grabbing me by the hand and spinning us into a dance in the kitchen while she hummed whatever song filled her heart that day. Mom worked long hours, followed by a race home to cook dinner because she promised me I’d never feel alone after Dad left. She kept that promise until I learned to cook and kept it for her. That’s what we did. We took care of each other.
And I’m going to keep on taking care of her until she can do it herself again.
I sniffle and Mom jumps, turning to me with a gasp. “Mina! Sweet Jesus!” She covers her heart with her hand then starts laughing. “How long you been there?”
“Long enough to see you need some of these.” I heft a bag of fresh mangoes from a nearby farmer’s market. “They’re not mango fritters from Tineil’s Bakery, but they’re the next best thing.”
Mom’s crooked smile springs to life and she waves me over, her eyes filled with vitality for the first time in a long time. “They’re organic right? You know how Shady Cove is about pesticides and stuff.”
“Organic. Grown locally. I wouldn’t dare go against your doctor’s orders.” Perching on the edge of Mom’s bed, I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her shoulder, breathing deeply. Her floral perfume soothes tension I didn’t know was hiding in my neck and jaw.
She cups my cheeks. Smooths my hair. Her eyes literally glisten with love. “I was just about to make some burdock root tea. I’ll make enough for both of us, and you can tell me all about your meeting with that fancy architect and new client.”
