Page 149 of Dating Goals
“It’s MIND CONTROL!”
I half expect them to take me to the loony bin when the door opens from outside. Cold air rushes inside and in walks my mother, wrapped in multiple colorful scarves. Her presence instantly fills the room with the scent of patchouli.
She surveys the scene of me sprawled at the table, the blaring music, my puffy eyes, and narrows her gaze.
“Liebchen,” she says, studying me with her head tilted. “When was the last time you showered?”
I ignore her question, taking another sip of Lars’s excellent cocktail. “The government is using holograms to stage fake alien invasions, Mama. I’ve seen the technology.”
My mother purses her lips. “This is worse than I thought.” She rummages through her massive woven bag and produces a small amber bottle.
I watch in horror as she uncorks the bottle. “Mama, no!”
“Mama, yes.”
Before I can escape, she’s dousing essential oil liberally onto the crown of my head, then sprinkles it all over me like she’s basting a turkey. The pungent, earthy smell engulfs me, mingling with what I now realize is probably my own funk. I’m simultaneously mortified and oddly comforted. It smells like my childhood.
I sputter, wiping my face. “Thanks, Mama,” I say dryly. “Now I smell like a 1960’s record store.”
“Perfect,” my mother says, looking satisfied. “You love record stores.”
The Jass players snicker, which earns them a withering glare from my mother.
“You three,” she says, pointing at them. “Out.”
“But—” Lars starts.
“Now. All of you!”
Evan puffs up his chest. “But we’re in the middle of an intervention.”
“Fine job you are doing.” She makes shooing motions with her hands. “Out!”
Lars glances back at me with a wink before my mother physically pushes him through the doorway.
“Mama,” I say once they’re gone. “Why didn’t you tell me about Lars taking over the bar?”
“Why would I?” She shrugs, reaching over to pause the music, pocketing the remote. The silence is deafening. “You were busy adventuring with the Canadian.”
I drop my face into my hands. “This is ridiculous. I’ve been replaced by Lars and his bottle tricks.”
“Liebchen,” she says softly. “Enough of this wallowing.”
“I’m not wallowing,” I protest. “I’m embracing a life of solitude. I will be an old spinster.”
“You’re just scared.” My mother’s eyes soften. “You’ve spent so long taking care of everyone else, you’ve forgotten how to let someone take care of you.”
“I didn’t even know we had tiny umbrellas,” I mumble.
“Listen to me, Anika,” she says, patting my cheek. “Life is too short for this sadness. The universe has plans for you.”
I sigh heavily. “I told him I loved him.”
“I know.”
“He said nothing.”
“Your father did not say ‘I love you’ back to me for six months. Then one day, he built me a bookshelf and said, ‘For your poetry books.’ That was his way.”
