Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 182(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
If it wasn’t for the pit in my gut, cannibalizing all my good feelings, I’d be thrilled to see her so enthusiastic.
“Listen to me. I sound like a teenager.”
“Are you going to ask him out?”
“Ask him out? Oh, no. I’m going to play the suave, sophisticated, distant, would-be lover. Reel him in.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with my mom?” I say, hoping I sound joking.
I’m not sure I do, but she’s too caught up in the rush of her excitement to realize.
“It’s nothing serious,” she says. “Not yet, but with this one… I’m thinking I could let it all go. The stuff about your dad. Lately, I’ve been thinking about him.”
“About Dad? Why?”
“Not about him, per se. I’ve been thinking about all the things I’ve said to you about men. All the lessons I’ve given you. All the warnings.”
It might turn out these warnings were useful, but do I believe Jacob would pursue me and my mom? The notion goes against everything I know about him, against every experience we’ve shared. It goes against his husky words in the bar, defending me, branding me his girlfriend.
“I hope I haven’t put you off completely. I know you want kids one day. I shouldn’t have labored you with all my baggage.”
Despite the strange—and horrible, no, evil—love triangle we might accidentally be involved in, I go to the couch. Sitting, I take her hand.
“You never have to apologize for leaning on me,” I tell her. “I’ve always been happy to support you.”
“After today… I know, it was just a hug, but for the first time in years, I’ve got hope, and I want you to have it, too.”
“Do you want anything to eat?” I ask.
“You don’t have to…”
I stand. I’m too wired to relax, anyway.
“I don’t mind. Really.”
“Sure, that would be nice.”
I go into the kitchen, setting my phone down to listen to some music. The screen lights up before I’ve even placed the chopping board down. A text from one of my colleagues at the restaurant. Is this YOU, Maddie?
I pick up the phone, mind still swirling with what Mom said, and click the link my colleague attached to the text message. It takes me to a trashy website, to an article with a headline in big block letters.
Billionaire Media Mogul Caught with Woman Half His Age.
The word caught makes me sick. As if he’s done something wrong.
Right there, for the world to see, are the two photos. Us holding hands at the table… and kissing outside the restaurant.
“M-Maddie,” Mom stutters from the living room.
That’s all she has to say for me to know she’s seen it. I want to hide in here, climb inside the busted dishwasher and pretend none of this exists. I force my legs to carry me around the kitchen divider. Mom’s on her feet, her phone in her hand, staring at me like I’ve betrayed her in the worst possible way.
“Tell me it’s Photoshop,” she says, then shakes her head with near violence. “No, it’s not. It can’t be. Why would anybody doctor this?”
“Mom—”
“I’m tired,” she suddenly declares, turning for her bedroom. “I need sleep. I’ve got work tomorrow.”
“Mom—”
“No.” She glares at me over her shoulder. “I won’t discuss this right now. Give me some time to process… everything.”
The pause before her final word draws my thoughts to the possibility her secret lover is Jacob. Before I can say anything else, Mom leaves the room. She doesn’t quite slam her bedroom door shut, but she doesn’t close it either. It’s somewhere in between… a near slam.
I pace back to the kitchen, grab my phone, and call Jacob.
“We need to see each other. Right. Now.”
“Maddie, slow down. What’s happened?”
“The photos are out there, and there’s something else. Where are you?”
“I’m at the office. I should finish in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
I hang up and grab my car keys. Even if it means waiting outside his office for an hour, it’s better than being here, Mom refusing to speak with me. Before I leave, I walk to Mom’s door, raising my hand to knock on it. Mom must hear me lurking outside her room.
“I’m trying to sleep in here,” she yells.
My heartbeat pounds even heavier than it did earlier today in the kitchen. Heavier than it did the first time Jacob kissed me.
I leave the apartment, almost running down the stairs, trying to force this new reality into my head. Me, Mom, Jacob…
In the car, I swallow, certain I’m going to puke. This can’t be happening. I get another text before I start the engine. It’s Jacob.
Things are getting hectic at the office. Meet at my place? I can send a car. If not, here’s the address.
I type the address into my GPS, then text him back to let him know I’m on my way. Once I’ve started driving, I wonder if I should just keep going, foot on the gas, out of the city, and out of this mess.