I swallow down the lump and the stake, plastering a big fake smile on my face.
“But…” I add, reaching out to hold her hand. “Nana’s coming over to spend the day with you. That’ll be fun, right?”
She nods, lifting the corner of her mouth, but not really smiling.
When she walks back down the hall to her room, there’s a little less pep in her step.
Fuck it.I dial him one more time. I don’t know why but there’s something about being able to say I called five times that’s just a bit more satisfying than saying I called four.
The first time he let my daughter down, a storm began to brew under my skin, and it hasn’t settled since. Every time he stands her up—we’re at three now—I miss him a little less. My heart hardens toward him with every tear that rolls down her rosy cheeks.
My mother lives right down the road, so by the time Maggie’s back to her room, she’s already ringing the bell.
When I open the front door, she’s on the porch dressed like she’s the one with a photoshoot today.
“Hi, sweetheart!” she coos, kissing my cheek as she saunters into the house.
“Hi. Thanks for coming. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
“It’s no problem. You know I’ll never turn down my baby girl,” she says, entering the house without taking her black heels off atthe door.
I cringe at her use ofmy baby girl.Her constant need to make up for the lack of parenting she provided Shane and me by overstepping with my child is one of many reasons I keep my distance.
She makes her way farther into the house, making a beeline for the coffee pot I forgot to turn off this morning and flips the switch. It’s too late anyway, the smell of burnt coffee already fills the room.
“I’ll let Casey know I’m here. I’m sure he’ll want to pick her up at some point,” she says.
Rolling my eyes, I bite, “If he wanted to see her, he should have shown up when he said he would.”
She pours what’s left of the brown liquid down the sink before rinsing it out and putting it in the drying rack. “You should cut him some slack.”
Here we go.
My mother lives in this delusional 1950’s world where if a man puts in even the most minute amount of effort, a woman should be grateful.Fuck that.
“I’d cut him some slack if he wasn’t such a selfish son of a bitch.”
Huh, I guess I’ve figured out how to be pissed.
She faces me, crossing her arms. “Casey’s a good man. You’re being petty.”
“Petty? He cheated on me!”
“Yes. He made a mistake, but he’s been very good to you. You could have it a hell of a lot worse.”
“Yeah, and I could have it a hell of a lot better.” I grab my purse, slipping it on my shoulder. “Or better yet, how about not at all?”
“Oh boy, here we go. Back to the,I’m never dating againact? Ashton, it wasn’t cute when you were eighteen, and it’s not any cuter now.”
I let my arms fall to my sides, and groan. “Can we not do this? I’m already late.”
She throws her hands up. “I’m just saying?—”
Without turning back, I storm across the living room to put on my shoes. I love my mother, but she has a special way of getting under my skin. I think she might do it on purpose.
My phone buzzes with a text from Casey.
Sorry. Busy with work.
