Page 112 of Calling the Shots

I doubt my mother has ever visited such an establishment before, probably viewing this type of place as way beneath her. No doorman here, she shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Taking my time, I sidle across the parking lot. Thoroughly enjoying the look of displeasure settling on my mother’s unlined face.

Good.

She’s getting a little taste of her own medicine.

I open the door for her and she crosses the threshold, the sour stench of stale beer and peanuts hitting hard. The music pumps, groups of college kids dotted around what will soon become the dance floor. I see an empty booth toward the back and usher my mother over to the spot.

“After you.” I gesture at the pleather seat and she slides in, her nose wrinkled as the seat scrunches beneath her.

“This is—” she surveys the scene. “Interesting.”

I hold in a snicker, handing her a sticky plastic menu. “I wouldn’t recommend the wine, but suit yourself.”

A waitress appears, saying her hellos and complimenting me on our latest win of the season. Against my advice, my mother orders a house chardonnay, and I order a beer. The waitress takes off to fetch our drinks and I sit back in the booth, relaxed in my own environment.

“So, what’s up?”

“Ulysses…”

My skin crawls at the use of my given name here, but I bite my tongue. She’s already uneasy. No need to rub salt into the wound.

“I came to apologize. For the whole Gracelyn situation.” She casts her gaze down to the table, her mouth scrunched tight.

“Which situation are we talking about? The inviting my ex thing? The shunting of my girlfriend to the guest house? Or are we addressing the fact that you called Gracelyn a gold digger?” My voice is harsher than I intend, but I’ve put up with my mother’s bullshit for a long damn time and frankly, I’m sick of it.

“Yes.” Her voice is quiet, her shoulders slightly slumped.

My mother never has anything other than perfect posture.

“Thanksgiving was a total disaster. Gracelyn never wants to go back to your house again, and I can’t say I blame her. The way you and Emma Kate and Tinsley acted was abhorrent.” Anger gurgles up inside me again, even this many weeks later.

The waitress reappears, breaking the tension. She sets our drinks down, then bustles away. My mother lifts her glass and takes a sip, her nose scrunching up in distaste.

I warned her.

I take a long slug of my beer, appreciating the chilled beverage as it slides down my throat, giving me liquid courage.

“Gracelyn’s important to me—special enough to bring home—and the three of you made her feel awful. Less than.”

My mother swirls the straw-colored liquid in her glass, avoiding my gaze.

“I know.”

Well, damn. I didn’t think she had it in her to admit a mistake.

“I know, Ulysses, and I’m here to make amends. With you and with her. I gave her Nana’s earrings today.”

“What?” My voice tips up in shock.

“The diamonds your grandmother wanted your bride to have. I gave them to Gracelyn.”

Every muscle in my body tenses, yet a heavy weight lifts off my shoulders. A weight I didn’t even realize I was carrying until right this second.

“You gave Gracelyn Nana’s earrings?”

My mother nods. “I did. I know you’re going to propose. Nana wanted your bride to have those diamond earrings.”

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