“Don’t know the difference. Don’t care either,” Liam says before he takes a sip of the awful coffee. My mother likes her coffee strong and bitter and has since I was a little kid.
“It means when we die, you won’t have to go to court to inherit everything. And if either of us becomes seriously ill, you won’t lose everything we spent a lifetime building to a care facility.”
The very thought of my mother getting older and being put in a place like that makes my blood boil. “I’ll take care of you if you get too sick,” I tell her, knowing I’ll do anything for the woman who gave me life.
“You’re sweet, baby,” she says.
“You’re always nicer to him,” Liam complains with a sour look.
“He’s always nicer to me,” she replies.
Liam shakes his head and glares at me. “Suck-up.”
I give him the middle finger.
“It’s like sitting here when you two were teenagers,” she says.
My phone vibrates, and I glance down, seeing a message from Lulu.
Lulu: Headed out to an appointment. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back to the city.
Me: Send me your location.
Lulu: Why?
Me: Safety, babe.
I swear I can hear Lulu groan from here. But there’s something about her job that has me on edge. It would be different if she had an assistant with her, but going alone to stranger’s houses isn’t something I’m comfortable with. She knows how I feel, but she’s not having it.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks.
I glance up and meet my mother’s eyes. “Lulu’s going to work.”
“Okay, but what’s with the face? You look worried.”
I scrub a hand across my beard and exhale, trying to work out the tension that’s now perpetually in my shoulders. “I hate her job.”
“What’s she do?”
“She’s an organizer.”
Mom tilts her head like she didn’t hear a word I said. “A what?”
“She’s a home organizer. She goes to clients’ homes and organizes all their shit.”
“Does she know these people?” Mom asks.
“Nope.”
Liam sucks in a breath between his teeth. “I’d never let Sharla do that shit.”
I don’t want to argue with him over Sharla. He’s perfectly fine with her taking off her clothes for a bunch of sex-depraved men every night, which is ridiculous, but then again, he’s one of those guys watching her.
“That’s dangerous,” Mom replies.
“Exactly,” I tell her.
“Are they vetted in any way?”
