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“I could sign too,” Mom teases, and the guy gets flustered.
“Oh, um, sure?”
“Kidding. You wouldn’t be able to sell it on eBay then,” she says with a laugh.
“People do still use eBay, right?” she asks me on the way out.
“Probably? I don’t know.”
“I heard of another site recently—OnlyFans? Is that similar?”
I almost spit coffee all over the sidewalk. “That’s not—no. It’s not like eBay, Ma. Never mention that site again. And please don’t go there.”
She cackles, and I realize she knows exactly what OnlyFans is and was totally messing with me.
“What’s the next stop on your sweets quest?” I ask, desperate for a subject change.
“We can head home since you have plans.”
“I thought you wanted to eat your way through Asheville’s desserts?”
Mom shakes the bag in her hand. “I’m fully stocked on sugar. At least for the afternoon.” She pauses. “Why don’t you ever take me with you to the shelter?”
“I didn’t think about it,” I say.
Which isn’t exactly true. I know she’d probably love it. I have thought about bringing her before. But going to the shelter helps me unwind. It boosts my mood if it happens to dip. And as much as I love her, it wouldn’t serve the same purpose if Mom came with me.
I also have a sneaking suspicion she’d probably try to set me up with Bailey. “You need a nice young woman,” Mom’s said more than once. “Not those hockey hussies always hanging around.” Bailey falls into the nice young woman category. And I’ve had enough of people trying to push me into relationships today.
“I’ll bring you sometime,” I tell her. “But not today.”
She hums, like now her mind has turned from solving the mystery of why I’m not eating to why I want to go to the shelter alone. So long as she’s not trying to figure out why I had to go into work this morning, she can Sherlock her way around anything else.
“Don’t forget—I’m hosting book club this week,” she says.
“How could I possibly forget?”
Mom laughs. “It’s not that bad.”
I grumble, but in truth, I’m grateful Mom has her book club. Even if I never, ever want to be home when all the ladies are over. I’m pretty sure the last time I accidentally walked in, Janice took a picture of my butt. Janice is pushing eighty. I felt like a prize steer at some kind of livestock show. I half-expected to receive some kind of ribbon or get auctioned off at the end of the night.
Even so, book club is one more reminder of what’s at stake.
Mom’s roots in North Carolina are even deeper than mine. Mostly thanks to her book club friends, but also the abundance of practitioners and homeopathic experts here in Asheville. None of whom ever tried telling her that fibromyalgia is a fabricated illness the way her doctors in Canada did.
Not to knock Canada—I’m sure many doctors here would suggest the same thing. Overall, the medical community seems unsure what to do with chronic illnesses. More than any other place we’ve lived, we’ve found the best care here and the best routine. An acupuncturist, a massage therapist, and a chiropractor as well as a great rheumatologist. Mom’s health and her spirits have never been better.
Mom won’twantto go back to Canada. Sheshouldn’tgo back. Unlike me, she has dual citizenship. If my dad hadn’t been such a controlling, manipulative jerk, my sister, Annie, and I might have gotten dual citizenship too, avoiding this wholesituation. But he was a garbage human, one who drove a deep wedge between my mom and her family before he took off.
Now, she has me and Annie, who’s still in Montreal and visits occasionally. Always unannounced because Annie loves chaos. And surprises.
Mom won’t stay here without me. I know it. Ripping me out ofmylife means ripping her out ofhersas well. And I simply won’t do that to her. Which means … I guess I need to find myself a wife.
CHAPTER 2
Bailey
“I told you—Idon’t want whatever you’re selling.”
