“I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me sooner,” she says, like we’re absolutely on the same page. “I woke up at four in the morning thinking—What was I doing?Letting you, young people with young bodies, test the furniture? I have a sixty-three-year-old ass.”
Skylar snorts.
I snap my gaze to the redhead who’s been living rent-free in my head.
She shrugs as if to say,What’s the big deal?“What? I didn’t think your mom would sayass.”
Mom winks at Skylar, then nods conspiratorially my way. “He still can’t handle it.” She turns back to me. “So Iwas in bed, in the dark, your father snoring, and I grabbed my phone and booked the next flight out of Seattle. And mind you, it was asix-thirtydeparture, so I had to hustle. I know you like your sleep, so I didn’t call you until six, when I was boarding.”
“I was asleep!”
“Iknow.Your phone went straight to voicemail. You really should get a landline,” she says,tskingme.
Maybe this is why I’m annoyed. Somehow, she’s twisting this around to make it my fault that she’s appeared out of the blue. “I will never get a landline. Also, I had a game last night.”
“And that was an excellent assist in the third period.” She gives a fist pump.
My mother is fist-pumping me on her pop-in visit. Herfly-by pop-in. The world is upside down.
“As I was saying,” she continues, admonishing me, “I called you and left messages. You really should listen to your voicemails.”
“Oh, you should, Ford,” Skylar says soberly.
“No one checks voicemail,” I say, maybe a little louder than necessary and more annoyed than I should let on. “No one should leave voicemails.”
“I thought you might think that too,” Mom says evenly. “That’s why I sent youseveraltexts.”
“Yes, I know. I just noticed them.” I grab my phone and read from it like I’m giving court evidence. “Ford, I’m on the plane. Ford, I got a window seat. Ford, did you know they have to-go boxes on flights? Oops, I’m wrong. The woman next to me simply asked for one. They don’t actually have them. Can you imagine?”I pause and look up. “I can’t, Mom. Ican’timagine.”
“But it could prevent food waste,” Skylar points out.
I cut her a look.
“To-go boxes on planes are an excellent idea,” Mom says.
“No, they’re not. They’re a terrible idea.” I blow out a breath, desperately trying to figure out why this treacherous ball of frustration is still running through me. “Mom,” I try again.
“Hold that thought, darling. I just need to pop into the little girls’ room.”
Skylar brightens, pointing down the hall. “I put toilet paper in there this morning. It was in my bag with the blankets.”
My mom beams. “I knew I liked you. I always carry tissues, because you never know.”
She saunters to the bathroom while I stand there like a bomb’s just gone off in the kitchen.
The most devastating kind of bomb. A mom bomb.
I drag a frustrated hand through my hair. Ireallyneed to let go of this annoyance. This is not who I am.
“This is…she just…crash-landed into my day,” I grumble.
This is par for the course with Mom. Yeah, it throws me off, but I’m used to being thrown off. Opponents try to do it on the ice all the time. Defensemen do it every game.
So why does it bother me so much right now?
Skylar sets a hand on my arm, her tone gentle. “I’ve got this,” she says. “It’ll be easier with her here. And we can test all the furniture andknow for sure it’ll work for her.”
I stare at her hand on my arm a little too long.
