“Sorry I couldn’t come to dinner last week. Work’s been nuts,” I say.
She steps back and pokes me hard in the chest. “I hope you know I slaved for two days making that lasagna.”
I laugh. “It took you two days to figure out how to turn on the oven to cook the store-bought one?”
“Well, the first day might have been spent cleaning the fire extinguisher residue. Imayhave forgotten something was already inside when I preheated it…”
“Howisthe fire marshal doing these days? I don’t think I’ve seen him since the last time I ate dinner with you.”
She whacks my arm, but she’s grinning. “You are such a butt.” Mom slides her fingertips along the length of one of my hair strands. “You need a haircut, hon. This has gotten way too long.”
I duck out from under her hand. “The hair stays. It’s a part of my charm.”
“Ah, I see.” One quirk of her mouth and she’s up to no good. “Is there someone you’re trying to charm? Pray tell.”
“You know me. Always charming ‘em all,” I say dryly.
Chaz doesn’t look the least bit interested in our conversation, but he sticks to my mom like a retired football coach turned barnacle. I don’t have anything against the guy, but it’s impossible not to lump him in with the fifty before him.
Always the same type of testosterone trash. My mom’s love life has always been a revolving door of Brads, Cruzes, or Zekes. Like their own mothers knew they’d have limited capability of spelling more than one syllable.
My eyes skate from Chaz to my mom.
I want to soak in her delighted expression, but the logical part of my brain reminds me that it might not last. I watch her bask in the meager attention Chaz offers like an eight-year-old at a soccer game, and I can’t deny it’s a bit pathetic.
Frustration feathers in my jaw, but I force a smile.
If she couldn’t see her worth during the twenty-year parade of douchebags, why would she now?
“Oh! I almost forgot.” She clamps onto my forearm as she pulls me through the crowd toward the front door. “I cleaned out some of your stuff.”
“Tuck and I don’t have a ton of room, Mom. You know how smallour apartment is.” I peer down at the cardboard box in the abandoned living room. My head flops to the side.
“My Pokémon binder?” I withdraw it from the box. “Really?”
Mom laughs, and I can’t help but smile at how full it sounds. “Who knows? Maybe some of those cards are really valuable now!”
“Touching, but I don’t think Charizard is going to be able to help me right now.”
“Help you?” Worry pinches her expression.
All the emotion I’ve been suppressing must have worked its way to my face. She wraps me in a hug, which is almost better than medicine.
“Hon, talk to me. What’s got you so stressed?” She lifts a finger and traces my defeated brow. “I’ve not seen you like this since…”
Since the night she almost died?
Attempting to soothe the knot in my stomach, I force a smile.
I love my mom, but the last thing I need from her is relationship advice.
“It’s nothing. But thanks”—I rattle the box—“for saving this stuff.”
Chaz’s hulking shadow steps into the light at the end of the hallway.
Irritation zaps what little energy I had left. I give Mom a quick goodbye kiss on her cheek and duck out of the party before my worries can drag anyone else down.
I’ll catch up with Tuck at our apartment later.
