Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I almost smile at those memories.
“I think this one might be different, and I want to see for myself whether or not that’s the case.”
Mom is quiet, listening but not responding. Then, “Where does Harlow live, Landon?”
Shit.
The full name again, and I hadn’t even answered her other question.
Do I lie or do I tell her the truth?
“Here.”
The word slips out, and I want to hide from it behind this stiff sofa that’s in the rental Trent got me, the way I used to hide from my mom when I was a toddler. Only this time I’m an adult, and although she can’t ground me or scold me or put me in time-out, I dread whatever she is about to say.
“I see.”
That I wasn’t expecting.
I see.
What does she see?
How could she?
“What, Mom?”
She shrugs, the light from the sun almost blinding her and causing her to squint. Mom pulls down the visor before responding.
“I see.” She hesitates. “I understand how it’s been difficult for you and how someone a little more down to earth might hold a certain appeal.”
“Damn, Mom. Since when do you sound like such a politician?”
“How do I sound like a politician?”
“You said—someone a little more down to earth might hold a certain appeal . . .”
“I know what I said.” Mom is stone-cold sober and not joking around.
“You don’t think that part of the reason you’re interested in this Harlow young woman is because she has no idea who you are? I’m not saying she’s not a decent person or that she’s not attractive and smart and whatever qualities you think you’re looking for in a woman—what I’m saying is maybe that’s the one reason you’re interested.”
“I’m not interested in her because she doesn’t know who I am. I’m just saying, that’s one of the reasons I find her fascinating.” No, that came out wrong. I rephrase myself. “I’m not interested in her because she doesn’t know who I am. What I’m saying is I really like the fact that she is normal.”
Wait, that doesn’t sound right either. What does normal even mean anymore?
I’m muddling this entire conversation, regretting calling. I should have gone about my business because I am a grown-ass man and can make my own grown-ass decisions.
“I think if you find something unexpected when you’re least expecting it—that thing falls into your lap—you should take advantage before you lose the opportunity.”
There.
I said it.
“I’m a grown man,” I tell her as if I need to tell her. “I’m twenty-nine years old.”
“I’m fully aware of how old you are,” Mom says with a smirk. “I gave birth to you.”
“Then why do I feel like I have to defend myself and my decisions?”
“I don’t know, Andy. Why do you feel like you have to defend yourself and your decisions?” Mom asks.
I wish she would stop doing that.
“I don’t know. Because I fucked up so many times, and I know that you were disappointed in some of my partners.”
“You did not fuck up so many times. You were just blinded by love—or what you thought was love.” She’s quiet a few seconds, gathering her thoughts, before saying, “I’ll admit that, yes, your father and I didn’t think that some of your previous partners were a very good fit for our family. But at the end of the day, who you decide to spend the rest of your life with, or not spend the rest of your life with, is not our choice, it’s yours, and if you wanted to continue seeing Paisley, you would have. You’ve always done what you’ve wanted in the long run, regardless of what your dad and I want for you.”
Funny how I hadn’t mentioned Paisley’s name and yet she knew exactly to whom I was referring, which kind of proves my point.
“That is not true,” I say. “Literally not true at all. For my entire life I’ve always considered what you and dad may or may not approve of, and that always weighs on me.”
She looks surprised, as if she hadn’t known that. “Don’t blame your father and me for the breakup with your girlfriend—that was your choice.”
“I’m not blaming you. But I am saying that it drove me crazy you didn’t like her.”
From the moment my mom met Paisley, she thought she was using me for clout. But the thing was, Paisley didn’t need me for clout—she had enough of her own. For whatever reason, however, she did think I was good for her image, but for all her beauty, she was insecure about it and always wanting more. More surgery, more Botox. She wanted me to take her on more trips, buy her gifts, take her to restaurants to please her.
Sure, she was demanding.
Yes, she was spoiled—beautiful but spoiled—but what woman in Hollywood isn’t?
So I tolerated the behavior and at times actually found it endearing.