Page 14 of Unhinged

“Not really, so I’m hoping you can give me a happy ending. And shit, not the massage-parlor kind. I remember him dumping me at the front door and blabbering about his law degree, life failures, and sex life, all of which go hand-in-hand.” Like I have fucking room to talk.

“He did not. And you should be grateful he drove you home.”

“Before tanking, I remember the news Aunt Amy blessed upon me. What the hell was that woman thinking, selling her soul to Satan’s henchman? He’s now her business partner? Is this a joke? Does God not have a heart or Netflix?”

“Business partner? Oh?” Suddenly distracted, Mom stumbles against the table and nearly knocks her mug on the floor after missing it twice. “I didn’t know that.”

“How could either of us not know? Aunt Amy has a big mouth, and that’s not just the bridge folk talking.”

Abandoning her coffee, my mother busies herself, digging through her purse and checking her phone. I now notice her Ann Taylor skirt and probably a Walmart-brand blouse.

“You don’t like him being here?”

“It’s a double titty-twister. Where have you been? Two seconds ago, I said he’s a bane in my life and to society. I don’t think you listen to me. He should be locked up, burned at the stake, or dropped at a Chuck E. Cheese birthday party. Any route he picks. I’ll light the match as he blazes his way to hell.”

“Greg,” she admonishes, but it’s a lame attempt as she grabs the car keys to her responsible and boring Suba-yawn. “We can discuss this later. I have to go to work.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m all over talking more about him.” I watch her head for the front door, and I say, “Go get ‘em, Lizzie.”

Another exasperated look from my mother makes me laugh. The only person who called her Lizzie was her mother up until the day she thought it’d be cool to beat a train against the warning light and broken crossbuck. Mom didn’t get her brains from that woman, especially since hers garnished the passing locomotive. She may have been my grandmother, but what a dipshit. And Eden’s buried next to her.

Grabbing a bagel and drowning it in cream cheese, I then pour some apple juice—double-checking the label, so I’m not drinking a piss sample by mistake. I go to the living room to watch mindless TV, leaving my phone in my bedroom. I don’t need any reminders of Amos. I’ll see him soon enough.

I spend most of the day doing laundry and watching TV—something I don’t get to do much of anymore—until my mother comes home from work. Her buoyant attitude is suspect and makes me wonder if she has a boyfriend on the side. Yeah, right. I may have to investigate.

Hauling my ass off the couch and ditching the moaning on TV, I find my mother in the kitchen, smiling at her phone. “You’re acting weird.”

Her phone bounces around in her hands, and she catches it before it crashes to the floor. “Lord Almighty, Greg! When? What?”

“Settle down there. You planning a bank heist or something?”

Mom holds her phone close to her chest and shrugs. “Just checking messages.” Her smile is stiff before she goes to the refrigerator, still holding her phone.

“What’s with you?”

“Nothing. I hired a new assistant today—Kelsey.”

“Sounds like a cheerleader who cheers on her knees.”

Mom frowns back at me, almost dropping her phone as she balances it with the horrid-ass juice and shuts the fridge. “Honestly, Greg. Why do you say things like that?”

“Because I can?”

Shaking her head, Mom turns from me to grab a glass, but still holding her phone. Okay…

“If you set down your phone, will the house blow up or something? Kind of like a Speed 3, but in a mind-numbing, walking-speed sequel?”

“I’m waiting for a call.”

“Just an FYI. Your phone is equipped with a ringer, as you are with a sense of hearing.”

Mom bites her lip and finally sets down the phone within reach. Like I want to search her phone. I’d find her office, the pharmacy, and my phone numbers. But with her acting like this, something is definitely up.

“I didn’t realize I was holding it.”

“Uh-huh. Are you dating someone?”

“What? No!”

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