Page 121 of Muddy Messy Love

I shake my head. “No, I do.” And lo and behold, it’s somewhat true.

She meets my eyes, then rapid-fire blinks as she drops her gaze, absently stabbing her ice cream. “Well, it seems my husband has excellent stalling skills. He’s determined to see me destitute.”

Mixed emotions bubble inside my rib cage like a sweet-and-sour stew. I don’t condone Mum’s methods or manipulation, and I don’t know what she’s trying to leech out of Dr. Wilson. But I know she left Melbourne with a modest amount of money after selling our family home. Surely he won’t deny leaving her with that?

The questions I long to ask will ruffle Mum’s feathers, so I choose a different route. One more befitting of this strangely pleasant occasion. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.

Her shoulders rise and fall on a feathery sigh. “I thought I loved him. I truly did.” I meet her pained blue eyes and feel my armour melt. She glances heavenward, pressing a palm to her chest. “Everything’s just been so hard since your father. I never signed up to be a single mum. I suppose marrying Henry was my attempt to recreate what I lost, you know?”

Pity strangles my intestines while grief takes out my heart.Oh, Dad. That would explain the rotating door of boyfriends that swept in and out every six months the past seven years. I swallow down a horrible feeling as I stare at the fragile woman slouched in front of me. Why is it the second I don’t hate Mum, guilt drowns me?

“Why not stay man-free a while?” I suggest. “Find your own groove and enjoy the perks of singledom?”

Mum smiles sadly. “That’s all I’m trying to do. I came back to start fresh alone. I planned to buy a little house and start a beauty salon from home.”

Well, I never. “That’s a great idea. You’re qualified with a good eye. Clients will love you.”

“So now you understand why I need the settlement,” she says, her voice wobbling. “But at this rate, I’ll sooner be dead.” Mum chokes on a sob and buries her face in her weathered hands, and I freeze up.

Awkwardness hangs in the air like a smelly fart in an elevator. I should comfort her, but my wounds and resentments are far too raw. I don’t want to hug, console, or let Mum cry on my shoulder—the very thought makes my skin crawl—but if I want our relationship to heal, sacrifices must be made.

I slip off my stool and make my way around the kitchen island to squeeze Mum’s shoulder. It’s the best I can do. “Don’t worry, everything will be okay.”

Mum shudders as tears tumble into her bowl. “If only there were a spare room here. I could start my business now and save up to move. But it’s already taken.”

Warning sirens scream as I glance towards my studio. That quaint room is my haven—an extension of my soul—not to mention a treasured gift from Beth that I need now more than ever. I won’t part with it.

I stroke Mum’s shoulder while her powdery, sweet perfume curdles my stomach. “Just relax. It will all work out. You have a safe place to stay and food to eat while you wait. That’s the main thing.”

Mum withers further into despair but ever so slowly collects herself. I hand her a tissue and clear away our half-eaten bowls. It turns out this was not an ice cream kind of conversation. “Thanks for listening,” she says, patting her cheeks dry. “Sometimes one just needs to vent, you know?”

“Any time,” I reply, pressing start on the dishwasher with an unexpected sigh. Suddenly I feel drained—as if my jovial mood has died—but it’s been a long day and a crazy week and a half. All the excitement was bound to hit me eventually. Raking fingers through my hair, I turn to face Mum. “I’m exhausted. I’m going up to bed. Will you be okay?”

“Actually, darling.” The endearment jolts me. “Do you have another five minutes? I need to ask you something.”

I wrinkle my brows but slide back onto my stool. “What is it?”

Blotchy-cheeked, Mum releases a small, breathy laugh. “This is quite embarrassing, really, but I’ve been thinking. Just hear me out, okay?”

A smidge of dread swirls in my gut, but I nod. “Fire away.”

“There’s a small two-bedroom house available for rent ten minutes away. It’s darling and perfect for my salon. I might even buy it from the landlord once my settlement arrives. The only thing is, without an income right now, I can only secure the leaseby paying six months ahead. Then I’ll need funds to set up my business and survive until clients pick up.”

I raise an eyebrow, interested to see where this is heading. It all sounds like a reasonable plan. “Maybe a bank loan could help? You could present a business plan…” I shrug.

“I’ve tried that. They said no.”

My eyes widen. “You wrote a business plan?”

Mum straightens her spine, lifting her chin. “Yes, I did.”

“Wow, can I check it out?”

“Oh…it’s packed away somewhere. I’d have to find it,” Mum stammers. “Anyway, the bank said no.” She looks at me expectantly, and I stare, confused. “All I need is twenty thousand dollars to make this work. I know you did well from the exhibition, and I assume you have no immediate use for the money, since you live here and work full-time. I’m wondering if you’d loan it to me, just for a year?”

I flinch as an invisible hand clamps around my throat. “What?”

“I hate to ask, but family should look after family when they need help. Lord knows, raising you and your sister wasn’t cheap.”

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