Page 20 of Ice Cold Rival

8

The Uber dropped me off at the tennis club early, and I wondered for the millionth time since breaking up with Toby if it was time for me to get my own car. It wasn’t a problem when he drove me around, but I’d recently discovered I didn’t like being beholden to anyone.

Sometimes I wondered how I’d made it through twenty-one years without a single opinion of my own.

Even as the thought crossed my mind, I knew I was being unfair with myself. I had plenty of opinions, but I’d been too quick to dismiss them in favor of someone else. The walk from the car to the double glass doors wound through a pretty azalea garden surrounded by pine trees with dappled sunlight offering very little reprieve from the heat. Sweat dripped down my back, reminding me I’d chosen to wear a cardigan over my sundress despite the weather.

A choice I’d made subconsciously because Mom expected me to conform to a certain style of fashion. At least the sweater would help in the over-chilled restaurant.

Cold air washed over me as I stepped inside, and I considered going straight to the bathroom and changing clothes to prove I could make my own decisions. My tennis outfit was shoved in my oversized purse, but changing would only end up hurting me. I was holding out hope I’d disappoint Mom enough during lunch she wouldn’t be interested in continuing the torture with a game I definitively sucked at.

I walked past the hostess stand and quickly found Mom at a four-person table in front of the window. She smiled when she saw me, and I tried to reign in my bitter thoughts. She’d invited me to lunch because she was trying to spend time with me—because she loved me. I needed to keep that consideration forefront in my mind instead of tossing all my compassion out the window.

I made my way to her table, trying to get some airflow under the cardigan. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, sweetie. I’m so glad you could make it. Rodrigo cancelled on me today, and I’m not sure I’m up to playing tennis in this heat. You don’t mind rescheduling, do you?”

I kept my smile demure though I wanted to bust out in a victory dance. “Of course not. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

My newfound appreciation for making my own decisions withered a little as I heard my own words. I hated playing tennis. Why couldn’t I tell her I was happy to never reschedule? Maybe suggest an activity I actually enjoyed?

The little voice in the back of my head laughed mockingly. What activities? Hermiting? Reading? I could always take her to a party and show her how to hook up with a random hockey player. Apparently, I was good at that one.

Before I could finish berating myself, a petite blonde with impressively long, pointy nails approached our table carrying a tray. She set down two plates and asked if we needed anything else.

I glanced from the garden salad in front of me to my mom’s quiche, then up at the server in confusion. “I didn’t order this.”

Mom waved at me while spreading her napkin in her lap. “Oh, I ordered before you got here. We both know your willpower isn’t what it used to be and losing those couple of extra pounds will make all the difference in the wedding photos.”

The server’s brow twitched at me in question, but I smiled at her. “This is fine. Thank you.”

Indignation bubbled inside me, threatening to burst out of my throat in a scorching torrent, but I took slow, deep breaths until it settled back down into my stomach. At least the churning ensured I didn’t want to eat. Mom would be thrilled.

Slowly, I spread my own napkin and chose my words carefully. “I’m not going to lose any weight before the wedding, Mom.”

She didn’t even take her attention off her lunch. “Of course you will, honey. You just need to buckle down. Have a little faith in yourself.”

I nearly snorted. Faith? I’d learned in all my years as her daughter she only heard what she wanted to hear and arguing was useless, but the knowledge didn’t stop me from wanting to explain I washappywith the way I looked. Waif-thin never suited me the way it did my sister.

My curves rocked, and I wasn’t worried about Toby’s idealized version of me anymore. The longer I sat there, not eating, the more I realized it wasn’t only Toby molding me into someone else.

Mom took a dainty bite, and I waited. She’d insulted my weight and my willpower in the first few minutes of seeing me, but she couldn’t even be bothered to ask howIwas doing after the breakup. A tiny part of me broke as I realized she wasn’t even looking at me—her gaze kept sliding back to the door as if she were expecting someone.

She loved me. I knew she did, but I got the feeling it was maybe a little less when I dared to challenge the vision she had for my life.

Was there any point to bringing up my sudden realization? Probably not. Mom barely listened to me when I agreed with her, nevermind when I had a complaint. I’d had enough battles the last few weeks.

In the back of my mind, I addedtalk to Mom about our relationshipto my list. Reece wanted to help me try new things, might as well get his advice on how to navigate that minefield. Once I was ready to potentially blow up my life.

I resigned myself to a lunch of food I didn’t want and a conversation I’d try my hardest to keep civil. “Did you get the problem with the florist sorted out?”

Mom sighed and shook her head, sneaking another look at the door. “They finally agreed to replace the lilies with roses, but I won’t be using their services again. The boutonnieres will have to be completely redone. You and Toby will be picking up the centerpieces the day before because I simply don’t trust them to deliver.”

The lettuce in my mouth turned to dust as I swallowed. “Why am I picking the flowers up with Toby?”

“Because he’s your date, and I’d never ask you to do it on your own.”

So much for civil. I carefully set my fork down next to my plate—less chance I’d use it as a weapon. “Toby isn’t my date.”

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