Page 199 of The Doctors Will See You Now

“Harlow, don’t you dare act like you’re losing cell service right now!”

“Amanda? Hellooo?”

“Frances Harlow Paige!” she shouted, but her use of my first name did the complete opposite of her intention, only making it easier for me to tap the little red phone icon and end the call.

I received a text message from her no less than thirty seconds later.

Amanda: Oh, hey, asshole…Call me back when you get some balls and admit to yourself that you’re actually starting to really like Dr. Erotic.

Goddamn her. I started to type out a sarcastic text in response, but before my fingers hit the keypad, I stopped myself. No way in hell was I taking the bait on this one. Plus, I didn’t have time to talk about Scott with Amanda. My day was already fully booked, most likely with my mother’s inquisition.

As I hopped off the subway, I decided I’d deal with Amanda later, but for now, I’d use the five-block walk to my mother’s apartment to mentally prepare myself for her nosy and often overenthusiastic questions.

Lord knows, I’d need it.

My father and Nicole’s blossoming relationship was still growing by the day, and ever since he’d laid eyes on his lady love, he’d been way too eager with text messages and phone calls and oversharing of his happy, lovey-dovey feelings.

Dad: Nicole agreed to another date with me!

Dad: Nicole is so funny, Low. And beautiful. God, she’s beautiful.

Dad: Just out of curiosity, what is the average number of dates someone goes on before taking things to the “next level”?

And so on.

And there was no doubt in my mind that oversharing had most likely spilled over into my life, meaning he’d probably kept my mother and Jean-Pierre in the loop on everything, including Scott.

“Harlow!” my mother greeted the instant she opened the door to her apartment. “I’m going to overlook the fact that I’m a little peeved at you for waiting so long to visit and focus on the fact that you’re actually here.”

It was Saturday morning, and with the giant smile and giddy steps of my mother’s bare feet, it appeared I’d be spending the majority of the day with her and Jean-Pierre.

“I just saw you a few weeks ago, Mom,” I retorted with a knowing smile, and she rolled her eyes in response. “And,” I continued, “I talk to you on the phone nearly every day.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” she said and ushered me inside her and Jean-Pierre’s loft style apartment. “I will only accept you promising to stop by for lunch at least once a week.”

“Fine,” I agreed and shrugged out of my jacket. “Lunch once a week.”

“At least once a week.”

“Do you want me to just move back home?” I teased. “I can quit my job at Gossip and mooch off of you and Jean-Pierre.”

She smiled wide and nodded. “Yes, please.”

I laughed. “You’re so weird.”

“Just consider it,” she said, and I followed her lead through the entryway and into the living room. “We can have coffee together every morning while Jean-Pierre cooks us breakfast.”

Crazily enough, my mother was one hundred percent serious. She’d love for me to be living back home, and my stepfather wouldn’t bat an eye over it either. He was a good man and did, in fact, do most of the cooking in their relationship. His European flair for food ensured everything cooked inside their kitchen was nothing less than delicious.

The aroma of fresh bread wafting past my nose was proof of that. I glanced around the living room and toward the kitchen to find Jean-Pierre standing at the counter chopping up fresh pineapple.

“Harlow!” he greeted with a huge grin. “How are you?”

“I’m good, but I’m confused why you’re cooking,” I questioned and glanced between the two of them. “I thought we were going out to lunch?”

“We are,” my mom answered with a soft smile. “But I know you’re terrible about eating breakfast in the morning, so I figured we’d have a little breakfast first, and then, we can eat a light lunch at Hot House in a few hours.”

“So, basically, you’re trying to extend this lunch into a twelve-hour ordeal?”