Page 21 of Half Baked

“I threw a few things into a suitcase and left as soon as I could.” She walked over to the car and clicked her key fob. The trunk popped open, and I lifted her suitcase out of the back with my good arm, surprised by how heavy it was.

“Noah, you shouldn’t be lifting that!”

“I got hit in my left arm. I’m fine. Although it seems like you packed half your wardrobe.”

“I didn’t know what I’d need or how long I’d stay. But since I’ve never seen where you moved to, I thought I could get a look at your house and your new town.”

I bit my tongue to keep from telling her that she could leave tomorrow. I loved my mother, but ever since my near-death last year, she’d become an extreme worrier, suffocating me with her obsessive concerns. It was part of the reason I’d moved to Cockamamie five months ago—to put a few hours’ distance between us. But now there was the additional, unmentioned confrontation with my father. While she knew it had happened, I wasn’t sure she knew what we’d discussed, and I suspected she either planned to find out or wanted to discuss it during her visit. Neither option appealed to me.

“Well, my chief gave me a few days off to recover, so I’ll get a chance to show you around.” I forced a smile. “Not that there’s much to show you.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

I let her into my two-bedroom bungalow and turned on the light. Thank God I’d picked up the night before. I wasn’t a slob, but after a long day at work, I was known to leave empty plates and glasses on the coffee table.

My mother stood at the doorway and silently surveyed the place for several seconds before declaring, “It’s cute.”

“Thank you.”

She turned to me in surprise. “You decorated?” Then her eyes narrowed. “Or was it the mystery woman your sister told me about?”

I swallowed the groan rising in my throat. I regretted telling my sister about Maddie while I’d been home for Christmas. “Maddie’s never been here.”

Her brow rose. “You’re dating a woman who’s never been to your home?”

“It’s nothing serious, Mom.” Which I supposed was technically accurate—I’d put the brakes on things after Christmas, after all—but I felt like a liar and an asshole for saying so. “And I usually go to her place. She cares for her aunt with dementia, and it’s hard for her to get away in the evenings.”

She frowned. “Seems like a burden you don’t need in your life.”

“You sound an awful lot like Dad,” I said dryly.

She gave me a pointed look. “Your father’s right more often than you give him credit for.”

I drew in a breath to keep my anger in check. My father was a self-serving asshole, and while my mother had always been a Leonard Langley apologist, she’d never before tried to convince me he was implicitly right. Maybe shedidknow his secret.

Rather than contradict her and possibly start an argument, I took her on a tour of the house that lasted all of twenty seconds before we ended up in the kitchen.

“Have you had dinner yet?” I asked.

“No. I was too eager to get to Cockamamie and see you with my own eyes.” Her gaze traveled up and down my body as though looking for wounds I hadn’t admitted to yet.

“I haven’t had dinner either, but I don’t have much to eat here. I get dinner at Lucky’s Tavern several nights a week. I was going to eat leftovers tonight.”

Her frown of disproval returned. “That’s so unhealthy, Noah.”

“Matilda makes sure I get plenty of vegetables if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Matilda?”

“Lance’s mother.”

“But you’re eating at atavern.” The way she spat out the last word made it clear she questioned my judgment. Then again, my mother had plenty of opinions about what was and wasn’t proper.

I was too tired to have this argument. “I have some chicken nuggets and French fries in my freezer.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “Let me see what else you have, and I’ll come up with something.” She scrounged my pantry and miraculously came up with the ingredients to make a modified version of spaghetti carbonara.

After she got everything going, she insisted on checking out my stitches, then frowned for the next five minutes while I sat at the island, watching her cook in silence.

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