Page 42 of Loathe at First Sight

“But in Florida, you jump out of bed, ready to greet the day?”

She laughs. “Well, not exactly. But that has less to do with my joints and more to do with the fact that I just don’t want to get out of bed.”

“It’s all that late-night Bingo you’ve been playing.” I may sound like I’m joking, but I’m not. She and her friends can get a little wild on their Bingo nights.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you? We’ve been skipping the Bingo lately and playing strip Poker.”

“Mom!” I exclaim, completely shocked.

She starts laughing so hard she lets out a couple of snorts. “Oh, honey, I’m just kidding. I just wanted to see what you’d say.”

“Had me thinking I’d have to come down there and kick some old man's ass.”

“Oh, no. You don't have to do that."

My dad died before I was born, and my mom has never shown any interest in dating ever since. I’m convinced that he turned her off to the idea of it altogether.

Wanting to change the subject, she asks, “So, how are you doing? Is the shop doing alright?”

“The shop is good. Been keeping pretty busy. And I’m fine. Just working a lot.”

“You work too much,” she says. “You need to have some fun.”

“You know I like working, Mom. It helps to keep my mind busy.”

She sighs. “I know. But I’m your mother. It’s my job to worry about you.”

“I know. I know.”

She’s suspiciously quiet for a minute, and I can tell that she’s got something she wants to say but isn’t sure if she should.

“What’s up, Mom? I can tell something is wrong.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Clearly, it’s something. Spit it out.”

“Another tabloid article came out about you today. It just frustrates me that you worked so hard to get away from here and start over and people still feel the need to run their mouths.”

“Mom, you need to stop reading that garbage. You know none of it is true.”

“I know that,” she says. “It doesn’t mean that I like seeing it pop up on my phone.”

“Why are you going looking for it?”

“I’m not. I still have a Google alert set for when your name pops up. I set it back in the day, and now, I can’t figure out how to make it stop.”

“Alright, I’ll send you a link in a little while that will show you how to turn it off.”

“Thanks, dear.”

As much as I don’t give a shit what the tabloids say about me, it bothers my mom to see anything negative about her son. Of course, it does. If it were my kid, I’d be pissed too.

“What did they say?” I ask, sensing that she wants to talk about it.

“It was an article about Staci--that model you dated. I guess she’s dating someone new, and they were spotted on a big yacht or something. But then, it goes on to talk about your relationship with her. It said after your fall from grace, that she moved on to bigger and better things.”

“Well, that sounds like it was an article more about Staci than about me, Mom,” I tell her.

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