“Mom!”
“What?”
“I watched you pour liquor down the sink on more than one occasion.”
“Yes, that was because I had been drinking my feelings and needed to get it together in order to take care of you. We’ll pour your liquor down the sink if we have to, too.”
My mouth opened and closed. I couldn’t have been more surprised if Mom had pulled a coatrack out of her bag like some kind of Divorce Mary Poppins.
Once we each had a finger of Jack, Mom sat down beside me at the table and said, “Okay, tell me everything.”
I told her about the papers, about our argument, about how Dylan heard the argument and saw the world’s least sexy striptease. I told her about the video and how Mitch tore up the house in a search for my laptop. She said nothing, only nodding and sipping, nodding and sipping.
“Well, he’s right that you can’t kick him out.”
My shoulders sagged, and I took a swig of Jack, then coughed as it burned its way down my throat.
“But you’re right that we can make life so unpleasant for him that he may choose to move out. Here’s my question: How far are you willing to go?”
“As far as it takes.”
She arched an eyebrow and looked at me over her highball glass. Based on the twinkle in her eyes, I might regret having said that. Who was this woman?
“And these papers?”
I went to get the papers so she could look over them. She took out a pair of reading glasses and, without looking up from what she was reading, asked, “Who’s he sleeping with?”
“He says no one.”
She looked up at me, her blue eyes ice cold. “There’s always another woman.”
My shoulders slumped. “Abi says she can find out. She’s a private detective, you know.”
“Adultery doesn’t mean much in Georgia, but it might be nice to surprise him with his own lies,” Mom said.
I don’t know why it felt better to believe that he wasn’t sleeping around on me, but it did. “But he said—”
“He said he’d love and cherish you for the rest of your life, too. I was there,” she said. “Mark my words—there’s always another woman.”
She finished a page and flipped to the text. “Unless there’s another man.”
“What?”
“Leo.”
“Oh.” Huh. Leo was the burly biker with all the tattoos. He was my favorite.
“He comes over to play dominoes with his boyfriend sometimes,” Mom said. “Because he’s the nicest of my ex-husbands.”
“How did I not know any of that?”
Mom just looked at me.
“Because I never call,” I said.
“Bingo.”
She read the rest of the papers, her lips pursed enough to show fine lines. I tried not to fidget.
