At long last she put the papers down and took off her glasses to look at me. “Well, that’s a load of horse crap. We definitely need to get you a lawyer.”
“I made an appointment with Paloma Carter.”
“Good choice,” Mom said. “But are you sure you don’t want to meet with a few of the others?”
“I don’t know anything. I’m not sure about anything,” I said.
She gazed at me as though she could find the answer if she stared long enough. “So you would take him back?”
“I mean, if there’s really not another woman ...”
“There’s another woman,” Mom said.
“But—”
“No buts, dear. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks right here and now that there is another woman.”
“Mom—”
“I have it to spare. I got a prenup the last couple of times.”
No arguments there.
“Speaking of money, though, you’re going to need to make sure that Mitch factors in Dylan’s college costs. He may be over eighteen, but he is still that idiot’s son.”
“Worst-case scenario I can use the money Daddy left me—”
“And you kept that money in a completely separate account?” Mom asked me suddenly.
“Yes, I promise I did. I don’t know what the big deal is, but I did.”
“The big deal is that, as long as that money never went into a joint checking account, it’s yours free and clear. Mitch doesn’t have a claim to it, and you need a nest egg for your retirement. Mind you, you shouldn’t touch that money unless you have to.”
My mouth opened and closed at her genius. “Did you know Mitch was going to leave me? Is that why you insisted I keep my inheritance separate?”
Mom sighed. “I actually hoped you might be the one to leave him. I could see the typical midlife shenanigans brewing.”
“Mom!”
She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “I have tried to stay out of your business all these years. Even when I forgot my own advice and tried to meddle, you would hold me at arm’s length.”
“You never liked Mitch.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I had my reasons.”
“Which are?”
“Mitch and I had a little chat about a week before you got married.” She squeezed my hand, but the gesture didn’t make me feel better.
“I can’t believe you!” I drew my hand back and stood, pacing once more. If nothing else, all these extra steps might help me lose some of the extra weight that had found me after turning forty.
“See, this is why I kept it to myself.”
I did my yoga breathing: in three counts, hold three counts, out three counts. Even after a few repetitions, I was no closer to calm. “Fine. What happened?”
“Well, first of all, he eagerly let me pay for his lunch. That’s always a bad sign. I’m not saying a man should always have to pay, but he was a young dentist and I was his future mother-in-law. He should’ve tried a little harder.”
He Should’ve Tried a Little Harder: The Mitchell Quackenbush Story.
