Page 146 of Crazy for this Girl

“So?”

“So, money had nothing to do with you wanting to date him?”

My jaw clenches, and I pinch my eyes. “No, Mom. I didn’t know he had money until months later.”

“And yet you still broke up with him.”

I scoff. “Yeah, because he was a cheater.”

“Then”—she snaps her fingers loudly—“oh, what was the name of that boy from Duke. The one who brought me flowers every time he came by and would drive your father crazy with jealousy.”

“He was allergic to the flowers and the bullshit,” I reply seriously.

She smiles and looks heavenward as if he was bringing them to her because he had an infatuation with her. “He was so sweet.”

“He was a liar who cheated on all his exams, Mom.”

“Laynee, I highly doubt that.” Her face twists in disgust as if I’m lying to her. “He was extremely smart.”

“And lazy.”

“And madly in love with you,” she stresses through a twisted and disapproving expression that I would ever break up with someone that was allegedly in love with me as if that’s so hard. “He wouldn’t stop calling the house until you ripped the phone line out of the wall and blocked him on your cell.”

“I hate this lunch conversation,” I singsong sweetly with a smidgen of utter annoyance. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Laynee,”—her hand comes to rest over mine and my skin crawls—“you never allowed another man into your life since…”

Since Cal.

And I didn’t even date him.

“This restaurant is really nice,” I tell my boss, pulling my hand from my mother’s and this extremely aggravating conversation. “I like the swans, it’s a nice touch.”

He only stares at me, and thankfully, the waitress cuts into the tension of the table.

“Hi,” she chimes in, standing next to Cal and focusing on him first. “Have you all decided on what you’d like to order?”

“I’m ready,” Mom claims as if anyone at this table cares. I seriously can’t believe she’s that bored at home that she came up from North Carolina to Chicago to purposely make my day a living hell. “I’ll have the cob salad with the rosemary Dijon dressing. Are your tomatoes freshly grown? Or are they imported from another state?”

The waitress smiles like she’s used to stupid ass questions on a daily. “All our ingredients are locally fresh.”

“Wonderful.” Mom folds her menu and hands it over. “And I’ll take another wine too.”

The waitress looks back to Cal who’s still studying me with an expression I can’t even read anymore.

I can’t stop the restlessness in my chair. My brain won’t stop galloping around with what he must be thinking, how pathetic I must look, or that I’m literally insane for the things my mom said.

“Do you want me to order for you?” he finally asks, and I nod my head because apparently, I’m a seventeen-year-old child again who can’t get through this lunch without having a mini-breakdown.

Cal glances at the menu for a moment and says, “She’ll have the blue crab and lobster cakes with the Dijon mustard.”

“Okay…” The waitress jots down the order. “And soup or salad?”

“Soup,” Mom inserts as if she hasn’t enough already. “Do you have a vegetable?”

“A wedge salad,” Cal grinds out sternly, ignoring her request. “No charred endives, onion, or tomato. Put the Gorgonzola on the side, she might not like it. Also, bring blue cheese and ranch, she could never choose so she mixed both.”

My jaw unhinges that he remembered my disgust for tomatoes and onion on salads. The salad dressing thing is the kicker, though, because I started doing that the last year we were together.

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