Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“You too, Mom.”
She pulls back just enough to search my face before the smile fades and a look of concern fills her bright blue eyes. A cool hand drifts to my cheek.
“Brooke, you look tired. Haven’t you been sleeping well?”
And so it begins…
“I’ve been sleeping just fine.” Especially after that cataclysmic orgasm last night. I was dead to the world until my alarm went off this morning. Although, it’s highly doubtful Mom would want to hear all the juicy details.
The thought of sharing my little self-love sesh with her brings a tiny smile to my lips. The shock and horror that would settle over her expression might be worth the price of admission, but then I would never hear the end of it. And that, I’m unwilling to deal with. She’d probably faint, and I’d have to call Garret to come retrieve her.
She presses her injection-filled lips together, making her look more like a duck than usual. Lisa Rinna has nothing on Elaine Bollinger.
“I don’t know,” she studies me carefully, “you have the appearance of someone stressed. Is school not going well?”
I untangle myself from her embrace before putting a few steps of distance between us. The cloying scent of her perfume is already fast at work, giving me a headache. When I take a seat opposite of where her bag is set, she does the same. Although, she lowers herself with far more poise and grace.
“School is great. It couldn’t be better.”
She nods, discretely checking her makeup in a small, gold compact before snapping it shut with a click and sliding it into her latest Birkin.
“I’m delighted to hear that. Garret will be so pleased.”
I clear my throat, relieved for a change in conversation. “How’s he doing?”
“So busy.” She waves a perfectly manicured hand through the air. “You know the kind of hours he puts in.”
Yes, I do. It’s those very hours that leave Mom free to fill up her days with spa treatments, salon appointments, and charity functions. Despite her rocky start in life, it’s what she was born to do. It’s the kind of wife she always wanted to be. Dad didn’t make nearly enough money for her liking. When they were married, she constantly nagged him to climb the corporate ladder and look for a better job that paid more money. One that could afford all the luxuries she felt she was owed. When it became apparent that Joe McAdams wasn’t interested in doing her bidding, she cut him loose and found a way to marry the kind of man she deemed worthy.
Garret is in his late fifties and has two older sons I met for the first time at the wedding and at a couple of holiday parties afterward. I get the feeling Brett and Derek don’t care for Elaine. Luckily, they’ve always been kind to me.
Mom is forty-four, but with all the work she’s had done, she looks more like a woman in her early thirties. There have been too many times to count when she tried to pass herself off as my older sister.
What else can I do but roll my eyes and play along?
A waiter stops by and takes our order. I would dearly love an alcoholic beverage to take the edge off, but then I would have to sit through a sermon on the evils of alcohol. And when I say evils, I mean how it prematurely ages you. Even though she’s told me repeatedly that I have excellent genes passed down by her, there’s no reason to tempt fate. So we both order two glasses of sparkling water with a wedge of lemon.
For a few moments, she pretends to study the menu. I’m not sure why she bothers with the ruse. We both know she’ll end up with a spinach salad. Dressing on the side. No croutons.
She gives the waiter a flirtatious smile before ordering exactly what I suspected. I consider ordering a carb-heavy pasta dish, but then I’d have to listen to her talk about how terrible carbohydrates are.
For me.
It would be the perfect segue to discuss my weight, and I don’t have the energy for that conversation this evening. Instead, I order the grilled salmon on a bed of greens.
Yum.
Not really.
I hate salmon. Too fishy. But I know she’ll wholeheartedly approve of the selection. And she’ll be even more impressed when I barely touch it. Maybe I’ll hit a drive thru on the way home and eat a burger in her honor.
This is exactly why it took years of counseling to undo all of her twisted teachings and reprogram my brain to a normal setting. Every time I’m in her presence, it’s a fight to not slide back into old habits.
We’re halfway through dinner when she brings up another subject I have zero interest in discussing.
“Have you spoken to Andrew lately?” she asks, carefully picking at her salad and only daring to spear dark, leafy greens before popping them into her mouth one at a time and chewing methodically.