Page 35 of Hot Shot

Again, one brow arches, and she lifts her glass. “Does that have anything to do with why Wilder just brought you home?” With hard eye contact, she takes a sip.

My cheeks are feverishly hot. “No. No, that’s a whole other story.”

She waits expectantly. “Wait. Do you need wine?”

I don’t have to answer—she’s already moving for the fridge. But I say yes anyway.

Until I have a sip, I don’t say anything else. Mama leans on the island again, waiting, but I’m staring at the little air bubbles in the wine.

“It’s a lot,” I note. “You might want to sit down.”

“Well, then,” she says with a flourish, making a hoity-toity show of herself as she pulls one of the chairs around so she can stay in front of me. “Please, continue.”

I don’t even know where to start. What’s the least offensive thing I have to tell her? Maybe I can work up to the worst of it. In the end, I figure it’s equally shocking and decide to go with chronological.

“First thing is…well, I have a confession to make.”

“Oh, this sounds juicy. Should I make popcorn?”

“Mama!” I say, half laughing. “Stop it, this is serious.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll settle down.” She schools her face. “Go ahead.”

I take a breath and open my mouth. Then close it. Then open it.

“Oh, for God’s sake, honey—spit it out!”

“Wilder and I got married in Vegas on that trip.”

I watch her face stretch, her eyes widen, her lips part. She blinks once. Twice.

And then busts out laughing.

“Mama! What the hell!”

“I can’t help it. Oh my gosh,I knew it!”

I gape. “You did not.”

“I did so!” She’s still laughing like a goddamn maniac. “I knew it! The second y’all said you were going, I knew you were coming back married!”

“We didn’t even know we were gonna do it!”

“Ah, but Idid!” To my great embarrassment she hops off her stool and dances around the kitchen sayingI knew it, I knew it, I kneeeew ittttt.

I drain my glass while she gets it out of her system.

After a minute, she drops back onto her stool and picks up her glass. “Whew, damn that feels good.”

With a flat look, I ask, “Are you done?”

She pretends to think about it. “Maybe. I have a lot of questions. Is there more?”

“A lot more.”

“Oh. Well, let’s hear it.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?”

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