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“Is there a reason for you popping into my office for the first time in the two years I’ve had it?”
Her gaze landed on me. “Of course there is.” She stomped forward and collapsed in the chair in front of my desk. “You haven’t taken my calls. I had to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’ve texted you. You know I’m fine.”
Her upper lip curled. “Oh, but anyone could have your phone, pretending to be you. The only way I could be sure was to see you in person.”
I sat down behind my desk, giving myself plenty of room from her. “We’re not in a spy movie. The simplest answer is the right one. I warned you if you said anything bad about Daisy again, I would cut you off, and you didn’t listen. That’s why I haven’t taken your calls, as you already know, since I texted you as much.”
When I brought up to my therapist that completely cutting off my mom felt like the easy way out, he’d nodded and replied, “Sometimes, when it’s too easy, we try to make it harder on ourselves. But why does it have to be hard?”
“But you’re always asking me why things have to be easy. Which is it?”
He’d given me one of his enigmatic smiles. “Why can’t things just be what they are?”
I’d been mulling that over for a week now.
My mother sniffed. “I can’t believe you’re still miffed about that. I merely made an observation. Is there something so wrong with that?”
Daisy hadn’t heard my mother’s useless criticism. I could have let it slide, but I hadn’t. I’d set a boundary, she’d trampled it, so I’d cut her off like I’d said I would. Since then, I’d lost some of the dread I’d carried with me on a regular basis. Just because this woman gave birth to me did not mean I had to allow her a first-row seat to my life when all she did was wreak havoc when she wasn’t the star.
“You see me alive. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
She reached into her oversized purse and produced a Denver Life magazine. “Imagine my surprise when Barbara Curtman showed up to brunch with this. Did you know there’s a ten-page spread about Weston’s wedding? Barbara had the nerve to ask me why I wasn’t in the pictures, as if she didn’t know my oldest son had abandoned me.” She jabbed at the magazine with her sharp fingernail. “Try to fathom my dismay when I finally looked at the pictures and saw your little girlfriend. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. Weston wouldn’t invite his mother to his wedding, but your little girlfriend who looks like she should be hanging out with Ozzy Osborne—”
“Timely reference.”
She cleared her throat pointedly. “This was obviously done to hurt me. I don’t think I’ll be able to get over this.”
That last part was said as a threat—and not toward me. Panic lurched in my gut. My father was the one most known for punching holes in walls and destroying mom and pop businesses, but my mother had her own destructive streak.
“You’ll get over it if you ever want a chance at having a relationship with me. Daisy was in the pictures because she was my guest. If you have a problem with that, take it up with me.”
She chuffed. “As if it’s as easy as that. You and your brother have made me a laughingstock among my friends.”
She dropped her head, and I braced myself. I knew what was coming next. Her most effective weapon.
When she raised her head again, her eyes were locked and loaded with tears.
“Miles, baby,” she choked out. A sob tore loose from her chest, and the tears spilled over, streaming down her cheeks. “How could you and Weston do this to me? All I’ve ever wanted was to love and take care of my boys.”
Those tears had always given me a visceral reaction. This time, though, I thought of Whitney Mae bragging to Beau about what a good guy I was. I thought of Seth patting me on the back, telling me not to let my past get me down in the present. I thought of Reed giving me his trust, and Daisy, sweet fucking Daisy, calling me Spreadsheet and sharing her dreams with me.
Fortified by the people who saw me and loved me, my mother’s crocodile tears did nothing for me. I stared at her as she wept. And funnily enough, when I didn’t rush to comfort her or ask how I could make her feel better, those tears dried up pretty damn quickly.
She swiped at her damp cheeks and huffed as she stuffed the magazine back in her purse.
“You’re so ungrateful, just like your brother and father. Don’t think I’m going to let this go.” Rising to her feet, she slung her bag over her shoulder.
“This is not how you get back into my good graces,” I told her.
Her eyes narrowed. “It’s you who should be working to get back into my good graces, Miles.” She jutted her chin. “We’ll see who comes begging in the end. We’ll see.”
After her big show of storming out, I cradled my head in my hands. I was tired of being accessible to her. Exhausted by her toxic moods. Weary of being leaned on. Fucking through with being her whipping boy.
I was done.
Chapter Thirty-eight
