Page 7 of Stealing Sunshine

She turns her nose up with a scoff. “Of course you will be. You’re a Lemieux.”

“So, you understand that I don’t need my mother setting me up on dates, then.”

“No. No, that I do not understand. I am trying to help you,ma belle.”

“J’veux pas ton aide.”

She shakes her head, hair swishing. “Nonsense. I will tell Jean that you will meet him at the house for pastries on Wednesday afternoon. I’ll have the cook prepare a spread for you.”

It’s only Friday, but Wednesday is still too soon. My skin crawls at the thought of not only entertaining another blind date but having it at my parents’ house.

“Mom—”

“Non. You will not argue with me further on this,” she snaps, accent growing thick enough to stick some of her words together.

I clench my hands beneath the office desk and swallow my anger. “Fine.”

She grins, veneers blinding. A single clap of her hands, and she bends over the desk to kiss me on both of my cheeks.

“That’s my girl. So thoughtful, hmm?”

I spread my lips in a saccharine smile. “I always am, Mom.”

With a pat to my shoulder, she hums happily. Her expensive perfume slams into me, and I have to clear my throat to keep from coughing.

“Is that all you came here for?” I ask, pulling back and away from her.

“As if I would come here for anything else. Your dad is the only one of us who likes this place.” Her nose crinkles, top lip lifting. “You do look mature in those clothes.”

“If by mature, you mean sixty-five,” I deadpan.

At the reminder of the clothes, I tug at the neck of my high-collar blouse where it cuts into my throat. The sleeves cinch in at the wrists the same way the collar does, hiding every inch of my skin from my hands up to my chin. My tattoos are left to suffocate beneath the scratchy material. They’re “too inappropriate for the workplace,” according to my parents. I cross my ankles, hating the way the loose skirt I’m forced to wear nearly drags along the floor.

My mom takes a long look at me from the other side of the desk and nods in approval. “You look professional. Much better than those tiny skirts and shirts you wear, hmm?”

“Hmm,” I echo.

If she knew I had my black boots on beneath this desk, she’d lose a veneer.

“Maybe you will start dressing like this outside of work. I would love that. It would make such a beautiful impression on Jean to see you in such conservative, respectful clothes.”

“You’re feeling very assuming today, Mom.”

“Assuming?Non, ma belle. Hopeful.”

“Right. Well, I have to finish up here, so . . .” I wave toward the exit.

She tightens her grip on the strap of her purse. “Of course. Finish here and call me so we can speak details about Wednesday.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you, darling. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

She clicks her nails on the desk before flashing a final smile and stepping outside, leaving the office in blissful silence once again.

I let out a full breath for the first time since she arrived and hang my head back. Her intentions have never been cruel. They’re just . . . short-sighted. My bisexuality isn’t a secret to anyone, let alone my parents, but the constant shovelling of mendown my throat has been something I’ve been dealing with for the last several months.

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