Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
“Yet you are a grandma.” I guess this is my version of distracting the predator. Look at me! And she does, thankfully. “Jenner, why don’t you serve this gentleman.” I do my best to ignore the teasing curl of Roman’s brow. He’s nobody’s prey. He’s also not an idiot.
“You’re looking a little pale, Kennedy.” My mother’s eyes flick critically over me. “Washed out. You should be outdoors, not stuck in here all hours of the day.”
And so it begins.
“I have bills to pay.” I swipe the cloth from the under counter sink and begin wiping it down, willing my gaze not to stray.
“If you sell this old place, you could have money to pay those bills.” She flicks her fingers, her gaze disdainful as she takes in the new décor. “Jesus, Kennedy, what have you done with the place? You must’ve spent a fortune on this old junk.”
Yes, because I should’ve given the money to her so she could spend it on vacations, cocktails, and fillers. Maybe a Brazilian butt-lift. Whatever procedure she has her eyes on next.
“I’m not selling, and whatever I spent the money on, it didn’t come out of your pocket.”
She huffs, a whole body sneering affair. “I guess that depends on which way you look at it, doesn’t it?”
“You mean I shouldn’t look at it as Nana being of sound mind when she wrote her last will and testament?” I know I shouldn’t bait her because no one wins in an argument with a narcissist.
“You mind your manners. I’m still your mother.”
In name only. I guess it could be worse. She might’ve gone down the I should’ve aborted you route.
“What can I do for you, Mother?” Tina’s gaze narrows at my term of address. I ordinarily choose not to antagonise her, but sometimes it feels good to remind her she’s old enough to have squeezed me out of her vagina.
“I just thought I’d check in.”
I’m conscious of Jenner and Roman’s lack of conversation at the far end of the counter. That and the attention of the rest of my customers, though there can’t be many people left in town who haven’t heard her sorry tale. My mother plays the victim very well for those who’re interested in being her audience.
“One of these days, I just know I’ll turn up to find you’ve come to your senses.” She adds an acid smile.
“Don’t hold breath,” I mutter, taking out my rising frustration on the countertop.
“A young woman like you shouldn’t be wasting her days in a coffee shop full of old people. You should be out there, enjoying yourself. Partying. Living a little.”
“I should party with a seven-year-old in tow?”
“I could help you out.” Her body language is suddenly defensive. “Like your nana did me.”
Except we both know Nana didn’t help out as much as she did take responsibility for Holland and me. “Thanks for your concern,” I reply, my tone leaning into the exact opposite, “but I like my life as it is.”
“Holland took my advice,” she retorts with a defensive cock of her hip.
I purse my lips to prevent a bark of laughter. I’m sure Holland would say she’d be better off taking cooking advice from Hannibal Lecter.
“Holland is doing her thing,” I answer, keeping my tone bland. By the sound of our last conversation, Holland is also doing her boss. Not that I’d ever share that with anyone, least of all our mother.
“She’s not still in Mookatill.”
“I love this coffee shop, and I have no plans of giving it up.” So get your broomstick and just . . . fuck far, far off. “Jenner? Would you take the boys to Freddy’s and pick up some oat milk? We’re running low.”
“Flying monkeys,” he murmurs as he passes behind me. But I’m pretty sure The Wizard of Oz wasn’t Disney. Meanwhile, the boy from Aus is examining a packet of coffee beans from a nearby sales display as he pretends not to listen.
“That boy is weird,” Tina mutters as Jenner hustles both boys out of the door. I’m sure Jenner would take it as a compliment. Plus, it’s somewhat true, I consider, as he joins the boys in skipping down the street.
“It’s not fair.” I’m kind of taken aback as my mother swings back to face me, her face contorting angrily. Well, as much as a face that’s seen a tweakment or twelve can.
“He’s not so bad,” I answer benignly, deliberately misunderstanding her.
“I’m talking about me. About the money. But you already know that.”
“I know what the law says.” I also know Nana left the business and the house to Holland and me for a reason.
“Screw the law. You owe me,” she mutters furiously.
I guess things must be tough for her to risk causing a scene.
“I do owe you. I owe you my thanks for letting me and Holland live with Nana, and I owe you my gratitude for being in our lives as little as you were. But beyond that, we owe you nothing. I owe you nothing.”