Page 104 of The Single Dad

No such luck. She’s on her way over, a determined look on her face.

Frantically, I run through all of my options as my mother approaches. I could turn and run, but that might cause a bit of a scene, and I wouldn’t be able to explain things to Cole. It would probably be a bad look in front of Archie, too.

I don’t have time to figure anything else out, so I just stand, frozen, as she marches right up to me.

“Riley! What the hell is going on with you?” There’s a harsh note to her voice, like she’s come over to chastise me.

I cringe away from her, mortified. “What do you want? I’m out right now—”

“You’re clearly doing well for yourself,” my mother says, pulling out a cell phone and showing me a picture—the photograph Olivia sent me this morning, me in that beautiful gown at the auction. “Attending some kind of fancy art gala with a rich man and expensive clothes.”

Embarrassed, I glance out of the corner of my eye at Cole, standing a few paces ahead of me with Archie by his side. “Listen, I have to—”

“You can go to ritzy parties like this, but you don’t have enough to help your own mother?” There’s a ringing accusation in her voice. “Your own flesh and blood? You turn me down every time I need help—”

“Mom,” I say quickly, “keep your voice down.”

“Who’s that kid?” my mom demands. She curls her lip. “I’ve seen you too recently for that to be yours. What are you fucking playing at?”

“Please don’t swear,” I say, looking over again in desperation; hopefully, Archie didn’t hear. “What are you doing here?”

“I need money,” she grouses. “Just like I always have and always will. That’s how it is on this bitch of an earth, isn’t it?” She snaps her fingers in front of me, demanding. “And clearly, you have it. So let’s see it.”

Humiliation courses through me. Cole is nearby enough that he can almost certainly hear every word.

“I was a guest at that auction,” I hiss at my mother, dropping my voice so that Cole and Archie can’t pick up what I’m saying. “I’m not doing that well for myself, to be honest. I’m a nanny.”

My mother laughs shrilly. “Oh, give me a break, you ungrateful little—”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I say, cutting her off. “You lost parental rights. I don’t have to see you, and I certainly don’t want to.”

Even as I say it, I feel a pang of sadness in my chest. It’s true that I don’t want to see my mother, but often, I wish that things were different. I wish that she was someone I wanted in my life.

She goes silent, her nostrils flaring in rage.

“And I’ve told you this before,” I add. I fold my arms, trying to be firm. “I want you to go. Leave me alone.”

My mother huffs, taking a step back. “Okay, Riley. Whatever you say.” She rolls her eyes. Her tone is biting. “You’re so grown-up now. You don’t care about me at all. Never mind that you wouldn’t even exist if it wasn’t for me.”

“Mom, leave.”

She turns her back on me, shooting a last cold glance over her shoulder. For a brief moment, her gaze strays to Cole and Archie, and her eyes narrow. Then she storms off.

I take a few quick breaths to calm myself; my hands are shaking. Run-ins with my mother are rarely this public, nor this embarrassing. Several people in the lobby are staring.

As we drive home, Cole doesn’t say a single word. Archie is quiet, too, still in his post-movie trance. He stares out of the window, maybe imagining animated tortoises outside along the sidewalk.

I feel as though there’s a hand on my throat. I should say something to Cole. I should explain myself. My personal life came crashing into his, and I feel like I owe him… something. An apology, maybe.

But I can’t bring myself to speak.

When we get back home, Archie runs inside, going straight to his box of toys to look for a train set so that he can recreate a scene from Sheldon the Tortoise, which he has now decided is his favorite movie of all time.

Cole heads for the kitchen, and sensing a conversation brewing, I follow him. He sets the kettle to boil and busies himself getting cups of tea ready for the two of us. After a minute or so, without looking at me, he asks casually, “So. What was all of that in the lobby?”

“That was my mom,” I say reluctantly.

“So I gathered.”

---