Page 79 of The Reluctant Hero

The chopping becomes slamming on a wooden cutting board. I didn’t realize there were levels to her cutting rage. I tell her about him trying to win me back with flowers and begging. I leave out everything about the threatened eviction and anything to do with how I’m earning money right now.

“He’s turned into a psycho. Nice one second and cruel the next. We’ll kill him. That’s all there is to it,” she decides firmly.

I don’t have the energy for that.

When I don’t say anything, the pounding sound stops. She has to catch her breath before she can speak again.

“Amanda Jane. You aren’t thinking about taking him back, are you?”

The thought of going anywhere near Loser makes me gag.

“Good. You keep that attitude about it,” she sighs with relief while I try to settle my stomach.

“No problem,” I choke out.

“I don’t know what kind of troubles you’re running into out there, but we are here for you. Do you want to come home?”

The gentle question makes my wandering mind snap to attention.

She’s being nice. That’s never a good sign. This is a test.

“If I leave, he can-”

“That’s right, he can,” she interrupts me as if she’s talking to a toddler.

Then she delivers the killing blow I knew was building up inside her.

“But it will be ok, even if you let him win.”

“What?” I snap. My rage jumps into the conversation like I’m on a three-way call.

“I understand,” she commiserates. “You’ve been a Blake for so long.”

“I am not a fuckingBlake, Mom!” My yell could be heard for two blocks.

“Then stop acting like one!” She shrieks back. “I did not raise my daughter to be this subdued, dishrag, pussy of a woman. I built her up to be a goddamnwarrior!Are you a Jefferson?”

“Fuck yes, I am,” I grit back.

“Then what do you do?” She asks in a silky tone of menace.

“I don’t stop fighting.” The grim answer comes out as naturally as my anger issues.

“It’s about damn time. And stop with the cursing. It isn’t ladylike.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now, Mom,” I grumble. I can feel a headache coming on. She got me pumped up without much effort. The next time I’m on a downward spiral, all I need to do is be called a pussy by my mom. Good to know.

“So, anyway, what good dating sites are out now?”

I gape at nothing over that random question.

“Is that special match app still a thing?”

“How the fuck should I know?” I demand through gritted teeth.

“Language. I’ll just take a peek around and set up a few profiles for you,” she offers sweetly.

“Not a chance. You’re an asshole, and I love you,” I scoff.

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