“So much uproar because I bumped uglies a few times with Keston. I wouldn’t worry about it. It was fun, but now it’s finished. Like you said, we’re not each other’s type. I took a walk on the wild side for a change. Talk soon.”
I left and called a car to Brooklyn. With Saturday traffic, it would take me about forty-five minutes to reach my mother, which gave me plenty of time to ruminate over our upcoming visit. Good thing I’d already lubricated myself with a few mimosas, although I might need a whole bottle of something stronger by the time I finished.
Instead of thinking of what was to come, I chose to sink into the pleasure of the previous night. I’d mentioned walking on the wild side, and I hadn’t been kidding. Keston had unlocked something primitive inside me I’d thought had died years ago. That total abandon to the most elemental part of me.
Desire. Lust. Need.
Too many weekends had found me getting screwed by guys who were in it for themselves, and once they got off, zipped up and were out and gone. Did I make it easy for them? Yeah, but a guy got lonely, and sometimes anything was better than nothing.
The car pulled up to my father’s house. Now my mother’s. The word tasted bitter on my tongue. When it came to her, I would’ve been a hell of a lot better off with nothing.
“Thanks,” I said to the driver and stood on the sidewalk, gathering strength, courage, and my sanity before putting one foot after the other and unlocking the front door.
“Who’s that?” she called from the living room.
Of course the television was on—it played continuously from morning until she left for the evening. Dinners with wealthy men she found on dating apps she claimed she used to keep the loneliness at bay.
“It’s me.”
I entered the living room to see her lying on the couch, feet up, a cigarette between red-tipped fingers. A half-empty bottle of vodka sat on the coffee table, the glass drained save for some ice cubes. A plate filled with ashy butts was next to it. The air smelled stale. I coughed.
“Hello, Jennifer. Isn’t it a little early for the hard stuff?” I sat in the threadbare club chair.
“Judgmental much? It’s only my first drink.” She took a drag and blew out the smoke. “I have a dinner reservation at six, and I always have one while I get ready.”
I had to hand it to her. She looked damn good—almost sixty, yet she could pass for twenty years younger, thanks to facials, fillers and Botox, glossy hair extensions, and dieting.
“Why don’t you cancel and have dinner with me?” I could predict the answer, and I was correct.
“I would if I could, but Marshall is taking me to Jean-Georges, and youknowhow hard it is to get a rezzy there.” She splashed more vodka into the tumbler. “I couldn’t disappoint him.” Thick lashes fanned down for a moment, and then she turned the fullforce of luminous blue eyes on me. “He’s such a generous man. Look what he had sent over for me.”
She held out her arm, and the lights picked up the gleam of gold on her wrist. Her lips curved upward in a smile. “It’s so nice to be appreciated by a man for once.”
Inwardly I seethed at the not-so-subtle dig at my father.
“What’re you doing this week?” I asked, attempting to make conversation. “Have you looked for a job?”
She stubbed out her cigarette. “No, and you can stop harassing me. I have enough from your father’s pension and the World Trade Center payment for his 9/11 sickness that I don’t need to stand on my feet for seven hours a day. I still don’t understand why you work for yourself, when you could make twice as much with a big law firm.”
Because they’d never divorced, my mother was entitled to my father’s pension, as if it were a line-of-duty death. I resented it, not because I wanted the money, but because she didn’t deserve it. Not to mention, she’d blown through the money all her ex-boyfriends had given her. Her whole life had been spent figuring out ways to weasel money from people.
Dramatic as always, she huffed and threw her hands in the air, the dark waves dancing past her shoulders. “Just like your father. No ambition.”
“Leave Dad out of this,” I warned. “I don’t want to hear it.”
But she ignored me. “He never looked to climb the ladder, make detective or anything higher.”
“My father was a people’s cop. Working within the community. Not someone who wanted to sit behind a desk. Besides, he—”
“He was a loser.” Finished with her drink, she rose to her feet, her silky robe swirling around her thin frame. “I have to get ready for my date.”
“Loser?” I spat, jumping out of my chair, shaking with rage. “You call a man who stepped up when his wife walked out on him and his four-year-old child a loser? Someone who gave his life for the city? That’s no loser. That’s a hero.”
As usual, she didn’t bother to pay attention and walked past me toward the stairs. “Call me soon, Bailey. We can do lunch.” She disappeared up the landing.
I wished I were the type who could give no fucks, walk out, and say to hell with her. But my father’s dying words stuck with me.
“I know she let you down, but she’s back now. She’s all you have left. I don’t want you to be alone after I’m gone.”
