“It would have made the decision much easier. In the end, it was his mother’s attempt to poison me that did me in.”
I drop my fork and knife. “She what…?”
“Well, poison isn’t the right word. She put something in my food that upset my, erm, stomach.”
I know my face looks crazy. I’m staring at her in disbelief.
“We had dinner at his mother’s house every Sunday.” She rolls her eyes. “Travis insisted.”
“Uh-huh.” Laura did say he was a mama’s boy.
“After dinner each and every Sunday, I’d get terrible stomach cramps that would cause me to have, um, issues long into the night.”
“And you don’t have those problems ordinarily?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “When I mentioned my suspicions to my husband, he blew a gasket, accusing me of hating his mother.” Her eyebrows raise. “I did. I do dislike his mother, but I believe, Iknowit was true.”
“Except he thought she could never do such a thing?”
“Exactly. So, the next Sunday, I switched our plates when he was out of the room.”
“And…?”
“He was up all night with the same problem that’d I’d had before, but I didn’t.”
Holy shit. “He believed you after that, right?”
Her head moves left then right slowly. “Nope. He accused me of poisoning him.”
“You’re shitting me?”
She laughs which causes me to chuckle.
“Nope. I’m not kidding you. It was the last straw for me. After so many years of life being all about Travis, I was tired of waiting on him, working two jobs to his one so he could have the house of his dreams, and sick to death of his mother being part of every aspect of our lives.”
“That why you didn’t have kids?”
She winces. “He wasn’t ready.”
“He wasn’t? But you were?”
She doesn’t answer that question. Instead, she says, “In retrospect, I’m glad we didn’t have kids together.”
“If you did, his mother would be in your life forever.”
She nods. “Think of the custody battle. I mean, he’s trying to renege on the divorce decree as we speak. Imagine what he’d do if we’d had a child.” Shaking her head, she adds, “No. I’m glad it worked out the way it did.”
Somehow, I’m having a difficult time believing her. I take back what I said about her parenting skills. I think she’d be a good mother. She’s kind and sweet, andoh fuck.
I’m in trouble.
* * *
After dinnerwhere she ate only a fourth of her steak, I stack the dishes and carry them and other shit into the kitchen. I also change the playlist to one that’s more conducive to seduction.
In case you were wondering, that means Steely Dan and some Beatles.
She’s still nursin’ that first beer, which is good, I suppose. “Can I make you something else to drink? I’ve got a full bar in there.” I use my thumb to point back into the house.
