“One, I know that was your not-so-subtle way of asking me if I have a girlfriend. And two, I do not,” I say.
“Can’t fault a mom for trying.”
Emily joins us a few minutes later at the small table on the deck, and after we order, the conversation immediately turns to me again.
“So, spill the tea. I heard the crew arrived yesterday,” Emily says, parking her chin in her hand, her eager eyes ready to eat up any details I can serve.
“They did,” I say.
She huffs. “Tell me something. Anything. What is New Chris like? Is Haven as cool as she seems? And was she buying flowers for him at the grocery store the other day?”
“Emily,” Mom chides.
I shake my head. “No, she wasn’t, and that wasn’t Haven,” I say, a little frustrated. “That was her sister, Ripley.”
“Oh,” Emily says, frowning. Then she seems to refocus. “Still…how’s Chris?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I say, then give her a stern look. “And it’s bad to feed bread to ducks. Like you.”
She rolls her eyes.
“And you think the job will help you get more work?” Mom asks, diverting.
“Definitely,” I say. “Dean and I have some inquiries, and we’re putting together proposals for new jobs. Which means,” I say, nodding toward my troublemaking sister, “we can put more aside in the retirement fund we started for you.”
“Banks,” she says gently. “You don’t need to do that. I do have one, and it’s fine.”
“I know, but we want to,” I say.
“We do, Mom,” Emily seconds.
“You don’t have to,” Mom says, but her throat tightens.
She’s a physical therapist and while she’s had a steady job her whole life, her life and her finances were upended by my father’s lies years ago, when she took time off. Emily and I want to do what we can for her because she did everything for us.
“It’s the least we can do,” I say.
Mom shakes her head, like she’s exonerating us from supporting her. “No, all I want is for you two to be happy and to be good people, so I have everything I could want,” she says, then pats my hand. “Now tell us about your client.”
“And ideally your woman problems,” Emily adds, batting her lashes like the troublemaker she is.
But I love her madly.
And it’s clear Mom is done with the attention. “It’s good. It’s allgreat,” I say, since it will be. Truly it will be. Even if I have to sleep on the floor.
Which I will.
Probably.
After lunch, we wander through the touristy city, and when Mom pops into a shop selling cute aprons and cooking utensils, coasters, mugs, and little trays with irreverent sayings on them,Emily touches my arm and pulls me aside by a coaster with the wordsA fun thing to do in the morning is not talk to me.
“Things are going well with Brandon,” she says, a cautious sort of optimism in her tone as she nods toward Mom, who’s checking out the counter displays. “She took him to a co-worker’s birthday party the other night.”
“That’s promising.”
“Seems that way.”
Emily’s eyes dart around, then she says, “You don’t think she’d…”
