Page 4 of Loving My Enemy

“It could have been better.” I didn’t tell her about the pixie because Mom would give me more hell than Tyson had. “How about you? Good day?” I listened while she told me all about going to breakfast with Betty and Helen. I opened and closed every single one of my cabinets in search of food.

“We went to the senior center to paint some of the older girls’ nails. They love that sort of thing, you know?” She went on and on about who was crushing on who, and who was flirting with someone else’s crush, all while I cursed my lack of attention to my fridge.

There was nothing but beer, a few slices of cheese, and some questionable deli meat.

“Did you do anything productive?” I asked.

“Other than search for your future bride? No, that keeps me pretty busy.”

I groaned. “Mom, please.”

She laughed again. “Oh, don’t you ‘Mom please’ me. I have a right to meddle in your life since I carried you in my body for forty-two weeks. Now I need your help with something. I’ll feed you in exchange.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“That’s my boy.” I could hear the grin in her voice because, once again, she’d gotten exactly what she wanted.

“If there’s some spinster there to join us, I’m warning you now that I’m not staying.”

“It’s just us,” she said. “This time.” Before I could say another word, she ended the call. Crafty old lady.

Happy that I didn’t have to fend for myself for dinner, I slipped on my favorite faded-blue Chuck Taylors and made the short drive to Mom’s house—the home where my sister and I grew up. Like always, I went in through the front door. “Mom?”

“In the kitchen!”

I found her sitting at the kitchen table reading from her tablet, a glass of wine beside her. “Unwinding after a hard day?”

She arched a honey brown eyebrow my way and took a long sip from her wine before she spoke. “This drink is for every day I had to worry about you over in New Orleans.”

I swallowed down a groan because that was not the conversation I wanted to have. Again. Ever. “You needed some help?”

She nodded and pointed me towards the stove, whose oven door needed fixing. She got started on dinner. Since I was there,I changed a few blown bulbs and tightened a few handles on her cabinets. “You don’t need to do all that, honey.”

“I know I don’t but you’re my best girl, Mom.”

“As much as I love that, I wish you had a best girl closer to your own age.”

“How long until dinner?” The answer wasn’t soon enough, so I went through the house, tightening every damn screw I set my eyes on just to put some distance between Mom and the questions about my love life.

Twenty minutes later, we sat down to a table filled with steaming Salisbury steak with onion gravy, buttery mashed potatoes, and sweet peas. “Worth the inquisition?”

I took a few bites and closed my eyes as the flavors exploded on my tongue. “Depends on how much ammo you have left.”

She laughed again. “Stop being so dramatic and tell me about your love life.”

“No love life to speak of—you know that.”

“No. What I know is that you don’t date anyone in town, and you don’t bring women home. That doesn’t mean you don’t keep company with the opposite sex.”

She was right, but that wasn’t something a guy wanted to talk about with his mother. “I’m not seeing anyone, Mom.” Hadn’t been out with a woman in months because I couldn’t muster up the energy or the give a damn to do so.

“Well maybe this calendar business will help you find a nice girl. Seeing you at your best—and in your uniform too—they’ll fall at your feet. If you smiled a little more.”

“I smile plenty.”

Mom put down her fork and folded her arms. “Not enough to give me some grandbabies.”

I walked right into that one. “There’s still Cait,” I said hopefully.

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