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“It’s winter.”
“Heated pool.” She shrugs.
Dropping my knife to the plate with a clatter, I reach inside my jacket to retrieve my phone, promptly deleting the app. Once I receive confirmation it’s gone, I return my cell to my inner pocket, resuming my lunch.
My mom snickers. “I thought you’d at least threaten to call my bluff.”
“Absolutely not. Neither of us could afford the therapy I’d need if I stumbled upon that.”
“Here’s to you respecting boundaries moving forward.” She toasts me before taking another sip. “So, while I love to see you, sweetheart, what brings you here in the middle of a weekday?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
Her eyes narrow with skepticism. “Uh-huh. That’s a popular excuse today.”
“You don’t want me here?”
She leans forward, lending a playful slap upside my head. “Of course I want you here. I always want you here.”
“Doesn’t seem like it.” I chuckle, shoving another forkful of chicken into my mouth. Damn, I miss this. The boys and I practically survive on takeout.
“You don’t get to act offended that I’m questioning your presence when we both know the only reason you’re here is because the doorbell camera alerted you that a certain redhead was entering the house.”
The chicken I’m in the middle of swallowing diverts down the wrong pipe, sending me into a hysterical coughing fit.
“Breathe, my love.” She rises, nonchalantly placing a glass of water in front of me as she begins clearing the table.
I down the liquid, pounding my fist several times against my chest once I’ve finished. Gasping, I shove my chair back to follow her into the kitchen.
“Some advice? If you’ve finally resorted to stalking, maybe it would be easier to… oh, I don’t know… pick up the phone and call her. Ask her out to dinner?”
“One—she’s engaged. And two—I don’t know what you’re even talking about.”
“She’s engaged to a douchebag.” Mom reaches down into a cabinet, retrieving various Tupperware containers and dropping them to the counter with more force than necessary. “I know it. You know it. Deep down, she knows it.”
“And how is that my problem?”
She pauses packing away the leftovers to glare at me. “So, that’s really how we’re going to play this? Like there’s nothing between you two?”
Where the fuck is this coming from?
“Don’t curse at me in my kitchen, Nicky.”
Shit, did I say that out loud?
“Sorry, Ma. It’s just… What’s with the sudden third degree?”
Mom takes a deep breath, exhaling a sigh as she seals up the containers and places them off to the side. Tugging open a drawer, she pulls a slip of paper from within, turning to slide it across the countertop. My hand slaps down, capturing the piece of decorative white cardstock beneath my palm.
I flip it over, my stomach tightening as I begin to read.
“It came yesterday,” she states, gesturing toward the Save the Date bearing Daph’s impending nuptial date. “Venue’s all booked.”
August. Just six short months away.
My jaw clenches at the sight of his name printed alongside hers, and I’m forced to swallow my disappointment. “Daph’s a big girl, Mom. She wants to fuck her life up by marrying Lucian Devoreaux, that’s her prerogative.” It takes a conscious effort to not snarl as I say his name.
“Sure, because she’s the only one who would suffer by marrying Lucian, right?” She snatches the Save the Date from my hand, returning it to the drawer before slamming it shut.
