Page 8 of It's Not All Fake

No wonder people fall for their shrinks.

“You seem lost in thought.” Mom’s voice startles me. The leather couch squeaks as I turn to face her. I feel the warm Southern California breeze wafting in from the open patio door and smell the chlorine from the pool outside.

“Just wondering how you’re feeling. You seem more tired than usual.” I deflect the attention away from me.

“Oh, you know. The doctor says I’m doing fine, but sometimes I worry.” Her fingers twirl the tassels of a throw draped on the chair. “Chloe has given me such hope, such positivity.” Her eyes sparkle when she talks about Chloe.

“That’s good. So, the test results are all still good then?” I try to steer the conversation toward her physical health and not the life coaching, but Mom seems persistent.

“Oh, yes. But I’m more focused on taking my future seriously. I’m not a young girl anymore, Liam. My time will run out one day, and I want to tick off everything on my bucket list.” She folds the book shut and lays it on the end table.

I can tell where this conversation is going, so I rise and shuffle across the room.

“I want you to accomplish everything on that list and more, Mom.” I open the door to the liquor cabinet and pull out an aged Scotch. It will take the edge off as soon as Mom brings up the inevitable.

“Well, one of the things on my list is something out of my control,” she explains, trying to be nonchalant.

I see right through her and smile to myself.

“Oh yeah?” I pour a few fingers of liquor into my glass and push the cork back into the bottle before rehoming it on the shelf.

I know what’s coming.

“Yes, I would love to have a grandchild.” I turn to see her raised eyebrows. I expected a smile, but her look is more serious than normal. I’m her only child, so the pressure is on.

“I think you have plenty of time for that still.” I sip the whiskey as I make my way back to the couch, where I sit closer to her than before. She shifts to face me.

“Liam, how did things go with Chloe?”

I warm at the thought, remembering her full lips, her white lace bra, her rosy cheeks, and my inexplicable desire to kiss her.

I sip the drink again. It gives me a second to think about how to craft my response.

“We talked about how I’ve been a jerk, basically.” I shrug. I was a jerk to her. I feel a pang of guilt when I think about her tear-soaked eyelashes. If Mom knew what had really happened, she’d be lecturing me until the sun comes up.

Mom nods. “You’ve been closed off. You’re in good hands, though.” She starts talking with an energy that I didn’t know she possessed. “Chloe’s very good at helping you open up. Did you tell her about that woman—the hateful one who nearly ruined your reputation?” Her eyes are wide, and I almost want to laugh. She’s sweet to care so much about things that I’ve forgotten about—a personal assistant who felt burned by my rebuff and tried to spread lies about me in a tabloid.

“No, Mom, I didn’t tell her. I’m long over it. But I’d rather not discuss my private conversation with Chloe, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay, fine,” she says, but continues pressing anyway. “But what else did you think about Chloe? She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

I’m caught off guard by her question. I swear I have never seen Mom’s eyes so wide or focused. It’s delightful that she is feeling so lively, but it’s also frightening.

“Um, did you mean for me to date Chloe, or did you want me to receive life coaching?” I am not sure of her mental state nowadays, so it’s a fair question.

“Oh, either one, Liam. I do think whoever ends up with Chloe will be extremely lucky. I’m not sure if she’s your type, though.”

Oh, fuck. I rub my face in my hands and shake my head.

“No, I don’t think so, Mom. We have a professional relationship.”

I watch her eyes study my face, as if she’s detecting a lie the way she did when I was a boy. I’m not lying, but somehow it doesn’t feel truthful either. Seeing her bra wasn’t exactly professional, I rationalize.

The drink to my right calls my name. I take a sip, hiding my uncertainty behind the glass. The room falls silent for a moment as we both reel with thoughts.

I offer a smile and set my whiskey glass down, then scoop up her hand.

“Mom, I want you to relax. Okay? You’re going to live a long, happy life, have a few grandkids, and cross off everything on that bucket list of yours. You have time.” Her hand seems frail in mine, though she’s not supposed to be ill anymore, not like ten months ago.

---