Page 12 of Yield to Me

“Fame maybe? Like he’s got connections with the best people. How much did you say that bottle cost him?”

“He didn’t even pick up the tab. The ski jump woman did.”

“Maybe he was trying to impress her then.” Regina smiled at this thought, like she had found the secret code to unlock the mystery door, even though it was completely obvious that that was his intention. “He seems like a nice fellow. Ask him about it next time.”

“Nice? He walked all over me and acted like he was holier than thou!”

She laughed. “Sweetness, you can’t blame a man for what he wants.” I hated when my mother called me that. It was a nickname Grayson had given me once, and only once, and though my mother hadn’t used it herself until he was gone, she liked to pretend she had always used it too. “And when they can’t figure it out themselves, that’s a fate you have to deal with.” She downed the rest of her wine glass, then poured herself another. “Men pretend like they know everything, but they don’t. Grayson was like that. It sounds like this Michael fellow is too.”

It infuriated me that my mother could offer no reasonable explanation for deplorable behavior. It was nature, after all; every man was always like Grayson. I rolled my eyes and felt the anger surging through my bones, even worse than when Michael had humiliated me earlier that evening. Whenever I brought up men, my mother somehow made it about Grayson and ended up making excuses for him, like she was still trying to get me to forgive him after all of these years of silence. It was as if my mother truly believed that Grayson couldn’t possibly be blamed for his ‘needs,’ and therefore, no man could.

“I’m going out,” I said. I threw a hoodie on over my borrowed button-up shirt, grabbed my purse, and left my vest on the kitchen barstool.

“Where are you going?” I heard my mother say. I didn’t answer.

---