“I feel sick,” I told Teagan.
“I have a white Russian waiting for you.” Then she hung up.
I parked the car on the side of the street and gripped my steering wheel as I worked through some breathing techniques.Something shiny flashed in my peripheral, and I looked over to see Celine Haden dressed in a too-tight, silver mini dress, all kinds of skin exposed to the frigid temps. Her dark hair was teased into huge ringlets that dwarfed her tiny face, and her bright red heels were sky high.
She waved her arm high over her head, her bangles jangling. “My baby! My baby is home!”
Good lord. Was it too late to drive away?
But drive where?
Mexico?
Did it matter?
There was a banging on my window. Then my mother’s fake boobs pressed against the glass as she tried to yank open the still-locked door. The happiness inside me dried up to ash.
“I’m coming,” I hollered but still didn’t move.
“Goddamnit, Holly, open the damn door.” In true form, her excitement and patience had dissolved as quickly as they’d arrived.
Taking one more steadying breath, I braved the cold December weather and got out of the car.
She was there in the next second, pulling me into a crushing hug that somehow didn’t involve her hands touching me—just elbows and wrists. She was probably afraid of breaking a nail.
She smelled like she’d taken a bath in Chanel No. 5. I felt sick to my stomach.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, wrestling my voice into something that sounded slightly better than utter disappointment. “I thought you were spending the holidays on a shaman experience?”
“Hot air balloon adventure,” she corrected. “I did the shamans last year.”
I hoped she didn’t mean literally. “Oh, right.”
Another set of hands wrapped around us. These were definitely male but wholly unfamiliar. I jumped back as if I’d been burned.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
A highly botoxed gentleman with gleaming white teeth and bleached blonde hair grinned back at me. “I’ve waited so long to meet you, darling. You must be Holly. This must be Holly, bunny. Is this Holly?”
My mom slithered against his side, tucking under his arm clothed in a white suit coat bright enough to match his teeth. “This is her. Didn’t I tell you she was a looker? Especially when she tries. I mean, look at her.” Then she reached forward and rubbed at the corner of my mouth. “Oh, sorry, baby, it must be a smile line.”
I was not a vain person . . . but. BUT. Pulling back, I looked at the newest belt notch on Celine Haden’s long list of suitors and forced a smile. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“I’m Steve,” he told me enthusiastically, squeezing my mom against him, his hand cupping her boob. “Steve Sminkny.”
“We met at the airport. Can you believe it?” she gasped, patting his chest proudly.
I could absolutely believe it.
Steve laughed in a way I knew he thought was charming. “I was on my way to a work conference. I sell insurance. Home, auto, life, the whole bit. But once I met your mother, I abandoned all plans and let her whisk me away to exotic locations.” He gazed down at her adoringly. “She was the best detour I’ve ever taken.”
“I bet she was,” I said through gritted teeth.
The Meyer family had walked out to the lawn by now, waiting to pile into the cars for our caravan to church.
“We should get going,” Linda called from the driveway, a concerned look on her face.
Then Sam was striding over toward me, all purposeful steps and furrowed brow. I wanted to throw my body in front of his before my mom saw him. I wanted to yell at him to duck and cover, to protect this fragile new thing we had from the wrecking ball that was my mother. Instead, I stood there in abject horror as my mother’s attention swiveled to his impressive form, eyebrows raised in appreciation.
