Page 99 of The Kiss of Deception

Arm in arm, she steers us through the sprawling grass, vivid green and neatly tailored, where most guests mingle.

The vast majority are teammates or staff from Miles’s club—which Aaliyah is to thank. She put me in contact with Gus, whom, upon careful persuasion, supplied me with a list of Miles’s closest colleagues. Then, Lucas and his family, Deacon, from the vintage sneaker store where Miles gets shoes he’ll never wear, and his girlfriend Elma, one of our neighbors, James something, the rich hot bachelor Miles befriended approximately 24 hours after we moved in…

“The thing about mothers is that we don't ever stop worrying about our babies. You kids turn 18, but the switch doesn’t expire. In fact, it gets worse. You’re not under our roof anymore, where there's a semblance of protection, however misguiding it might be. I won’t even say control—that just vanishes as soon as we pop out the kid—and we have to learn to live with that.”

We stop when we reach the farthest corner of the backyard, an unobstructed view to all the angles of the house I currently call home. Even under the shade of the trees that knit together to create a screen of privacy, the heat is unrelenting, and a fine sheen of sweat glazes my body under the satin mini-dress.

“You’re thousands of miles away from the nest, alone where we can’t reach and hold you. We have to learn to live again. Mothers live so many lives in a lifetime.”

Her gaze darts around, seeing exactly the place miles and miles away in which her son landed. It goes unfocused, like she’s traveling through time, watching previous lives.

“We live one life before you, and so many lives after we give birth to yours. In this one, I’m still learning to trust my best was good enough. That I was able to teach my son how to take care of himself, to choose the people for his life.”

At this, I have to reach for her. I have to grab her hand, and squeeze. I have to tell her, in all my failing eloquence. “You did. You were. Miles is… He’s good. He’s… good.”

I have a degree in Communications, useless as I search for one word, just one, that will do them justice—and find all words lacking.

Julia is tall, much taller than me, and I feel those inches when she pulls me into an embrace that drowns me. Her brown hair, darker than Miles’s, is cut an inch or two below her shoulders, but she wears it in an impeccable bun to fight the unrelenting heat of the summer. It catches on my claw clip as she backs away, she doesn’t bother fixing it.

“My son has been so fixated on creating the perfect family, that I was afraid he would forget his own happiness. Or worse, he’d be too blinded to recognize it.” She brushes my strands with a motherly hand, righting the clip. “I see now that he hasn’t. He’s realized that a perfect picture can be no more than a forced smile for a flash of time—and it’s all the other seconds and nuances photos cannot capture that truly matter. And I think it has something to do with you, Zoe. Mother’s intuition,” she finishes with a wink.

I swallow, but my mouth is dry. I wouldn’t be able to push out an answer even if I could string one.

As it turns out, I wouldn’t have to.

“What are my favorite girls colluding with each other, now?”

With a glass of water in each hand, Miles stretches each of his arms around me and his mom, a buffer between us.

Too little too late, all the punches have landed, the damage is done.

Still, I’m so thankful for his arrival that my arm snakes around him, shackling him to me as I down the fresh liquid in one gulp.

“Planning another party behind my back?”

I beam up at him.“We were wondering about the clown’s delay, actually.”

Miles’s face falls, ashen. “Clown?”

Cold bites my lip as I tap it with the rim of the glass, while ogling my boyfriend deliberately. “He was putting on his apparel for the party, I realize now.”

Julia snorts her unexpected amusement, the water swishing and spilling into the maxi skirt of her floral dress. “You’re every bit as wicked as he’s been telling me.”

“Thank you.” I bow my head in mock reverence. “I am a woman of many qualities, indeed.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Shaking her head, she attempts to soak the liquid from the fabric with a napkin. “He’s always been a little masochistic.”

“Mom! Do not encourage her. Do not ally with her. I’m your son.”

“I have always wanted a daughter,” Julia muses.

“Remind me to never leave you unsupervised. You two together are a threat.”

“To whom?”

“My ego!”

Julia pats her son’s shoulder patiently, her forever little boy, then points to her dress. “I’m gonna clean this mess. You be good—the two of you.”

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