Page 37 of Camden

“The female variety.”

The bowl fell from her hands, splashing in the water. She wiped the bubbles from her arm. A dreamy expression on her face. “Are you finally seeing someone? When can I meet her?”

“You’re almost as crazy as Rylie.” I chuckled.

She put both hands on her hips and glared at me. “You told Rylie before you told me?”

“I didn’t have much choice in the matter. Someone else blabbed to her.”

Feigning a gasp, she whacked me with the towel again. “You told two people before telling your mother.”

“Stop acting hurt. I’ll let you meet her when she’s ready,” I promised.

“So, you’re planning on having her around for a while?” Her smile widened as she took a seat across from me. The dishes were all but forgotten.

“I hope so.”

She tapped the table. “This is so exciting. So tell me, what advice do you need?”

“Well, first, I’m swearing you to secrecy.” I squinted at her, only half serious. She crossed her finger over her heart and I laughed. My mother, the amazing woman she was, could not keep a secret to save her life. I guaranteed I would get a call from Stacey before I even got back home. “I need your help planning a dinner for her.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “You’re cooking?”

“That’s the plan.”

She tilted her head to the side in question. “Are you trying to kill the poor girl?”

I groaned, falling back against the chair. “Ma. I’m serious.”

“So am I.” She patted my hand. “Son, you burn mac and cheese.”

Like I needed the reminder. I was useless in the kitchen. Always had been. “I know. But my dumbass invited her over to my house for dinner.”

“You could just do takeout like you always do,” she suggested. I should’ve suggested the same thing when I invited her over, but I didn’t want to get her take out. Stephanie deserved more effort than that. She was special, and I was determined to make her see it.

“I’m trying to woo her, Mom.”

Her face softened. “You really her.”

“I really do like her.”

She twisted her lips as she thought about my predicament. “Okay. How about this? I help you make lasagna, and you can bake it. Easy.”

“That could work.”

“When is this date?” She stood and pulled one of her many cookbooks out of a drawer.

“Friday.”

She paused for a minute before setting the book on the table between us. “You have an entire week to prepare. You could practice this week and then make it yourself.”

“I’ve been practicing for years. I don’t think a week will be enough time.”

“That’s true.” She agreed, thumbing through the pages, looking for the recipe.

My jaw flexed, thinking about her reaction to my next question. Cooking Stephanie dinner wasn’t the only reason I came to my mother. I knew Stephanie went through some sort of trauma with her last relationship. She hadn’t told meyet, but there was some kind of abuse there. I was sure of it. Some things she did; the ways she reacted? They were so similar to my mother. I wanted advice from someone that endured the shit Stephanie might have.

We didn’t talk about the piece of shit that was my father. We didn’t want to waste our breath or energy on him any longer because he was a part of our lives for far too long before they finally locked him up. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about.”

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