Page 221 of Unhinged

“What the hell would that do? We’re not married anymore. She’s nothing to me.” I clear my throat again as that realization sinks in. “I told you it was only to change her name to mine temporarily.” Simone Rodwell. Damn.

“And I told you that’s not true, sweetheart.” She inhales a deep breath. “We can talk more later. I’ll give you some time to yourself.”

Mom drops the annulment papers onto the desk and bends to hug me as I brood. I hug her somewhat but don’t feel like being close to anyone. When she lets go of me and looks into my eyes, her own water. “I know you haven’t moved on to another woman, so stop with the subterfuge.”

“That word is obnoxious, and you know nothing.” I stare at the envelope that may as well be glowing red with flashing lights.

“I know you.” She kisses the top of my head. “Happy birthday, Greg. I wanted to surprise you with something, but after the last one Amos and I sprung on you, I decided it’d be best to ask first. I was thinking of inviting Hadley here. Maybe you can go to dinner.”

I glare up at Mom. “I sure the hell don’t want any surprises, especially from you or dick troll.”

“Greg, really.”

“I don’t want Hadley here. She’ll hound me just like you’re doing.”

“We all care about you.”

“Care less. I beg of you.”

“And you still haven’t told me the truth about why Simone left.”

I lean my head back and blow a heavy breath. “Would you leave it the fuck alone?” I meet her disappointed gaze and add, “Please? I didn’t pay your cover charge, and my insurance is lousy.”

She rolls her eyes, and it’ll never suit her. “What will you do now?”

I shake my head and shrug. “Take a piss?”

“I wish to God you’d take me seriously.” She puts her hands on her hips and narrows her eyes like all my teachers in school.

Frowning, I mutter, “I told Dad about that night in high school, so wish granted.”

She nods. “He told me.”

“He’s somewhat annoyed with me.”

“He loves you, Greg. We wish you would have come to us sooner.”

I sigh, restless and aggravated with every fucking thing. “Are we done now? I have to work soon, so unless you want to see how much I’ve grown since the last time you changed my diaper, then you’d better make like Willie Nelson and hit the road.”

“I don’t think you need to work tonight.”

“I’m fine.” I need work and alcohol to sidetrack my thoughts. Maybe Kleo could if she’d stop watching me like I’m a live grenade or a wounded puppy. Her attempts to make me laugh help somewhat, and it’s a miracle my tantrum at the bar didn’t scare her away. Thankfully, we don’t talk about that night.

Mom shakes her head before finally leaving me the fuck alone. Still, alone can be worse than my rational, info-hungry mother.

Leaning back in my chair, I watch snow flurries scurrying along the wind, back and forth. Too often, alternative memories drag me down the other fork in the road to right the wrongs. It’s sentimental torture.

“So, uh, what are you doing after the game?”

“I don’t know. My brother invited me over for dinner. Why?”

“We could go to dinner, instead.”

“Why?”

“Well, dang. If that’s your response, then forget I asked.”

“Wait. Greg Rodwell, are you asking me out on an old-fashioned date?”

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