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“One of is quite remarkable, young lady.”
“Uh-huh and for the man with enough money to make a real life, working version of Starfleet, I think he could afford to have the best.”
“Wes trusts Hamilton, and I trust Wes.”
“I don’t.”
“You would if you knew him better.”
“And how in the fuck is that possible considering he wouldn’t even leave the main deck to talk to me about what’s been happening to you?” Her silence leads to me transferring the pen back into my possession. “What type of monster can’t even look a person in the face to tell them that their mother is possibly dying?” Angrily adjusting the booklet occurs next. “What kind of next gen emotionless Vulcan forces you to sign an NDA just to see their only living relative on their death bed?”
“I’m not dying.”
“We don’t know that!” I bite at the same time I bore my gaze into hers. “We don’t know what’s making you sick! We don’t know if it’s done making you sick! We don’t even know why something started making you sick!”
Rather than meet my outrage, she simply smiles.
Gently places her hand on mine.
Tilts her head motherly to one side.
And like some sort of Deep Space Nine voodoo, I find myself surrendering to the loving actions against my own volition. “I just need you to be okay…I’m not ready to lose you. I can’t handle losing you.”
“You’re stubborn enough to handle anything,” she sweetly sasses back. “I raised you that way.”
It’s impossible not to grin at her proclamation.
She did.
That’s why I know how to take care of myself.
Change my own flat tires.
Stretch my groceries.
Live off of other people’s streaming accounts.
Okay, that last one isn’t like “essential”, but it sure the fuck comes in handy, especially when you’re too broke to do anything else.
“Now, tell me something that’ll actually make me feel better,” the woman who gave me birth demands.
“Like?”
“Like you finally quit being a bartender at that strip club.”
“Gentleman’s Club, Mom.” The impish correction is attached to me circling one of the hidden words on the list. “You work for a billionaire. You should know that branding matters.”
“Brynley Elizabeth.”
“I quit bartending at that Gentleman’s Club.”
Being able to feel her excitement burning a hole into the side of my face is what leads to me meeting her elation filled gaze. “Really?”
“Really.”
More thrill threatens her expression until she spots something I swear only she could. “Yet whatever you’re doing still requires you to wear next to no clothes, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not next to no clothes.”
