Page 88 of Three Pucking Words
My only reference point of this place isHome Alone 2, and I remember the reaction Kevin’s dad had at the end when he got the credit card bill. I have a feeling whoever Mom’s flavorof month is will have a similar reaction when he sees what she’s racked up.
Hopefully, he isn’t here. I have an aversion to meeting the men in my mother’s life because I know they never last.
“I don’t know what my father said to you,” I begin, hesitant as I peek up at him through my lashes. “But I need to talk to my mother alone. I won’t go up to her room, because I don’t know who’s up there.”
Bodhi’s face darkens. “Should I be concerned about the company she keeps?”
I shrug limply. “Probably,” I admit sheepishly. It’s an honest answer, which makes his eye twitch. “Most of the men she brings in her life are just wealthy narcissists, but there are a few who get off on power trips. I don’t think any of the people would hurt me, but—”
“No,” he says in a voice I’ve never heard from him before. It’s booming and final. “If there’s somebody with her who can hurt you—”
“I said that won’t happen.”
“You can’t be sure,” he counters, shaking his head and standing taller. “If you want some privacy to talk to her, I won’t eavesdrop. But if there’s even the slightest chance that someone can go off on you, I’m going to be around.”
I swallow. “There’s not exactly a lot of privacy in the lobby.” It’s so large that my voice would probably echo. And if Mom gets set off…
Cringing at the thought, I shake my head. “I can see if there’s some sort of conference room or something. I’d rather not go to the bar because I have a feeling she’s already had her fair share of drinks today.”
The more I talk, the more Bodhi’s temperament changes. “Are you sure you want to talk to her? I could tell you were in your head the entire way here.”
Thanks to the Manhattan traffic, the twenty-minute drive turned into forty-minutes. Which left a lot of time to think about what she could want. Why she would show up at my place of employment and insist on speaking to me.
“I haven’t heard from her in a while,” I tell him, feeling a little defeated. “I’m worried that if I don’t see her, she’ll think I’m trying to completely cut ties. She’s still my mom, even if she was never a great one.”
I can tell Bodhi wants to argue, to find any excuse that would lead us anywhere but here, but he doesn’t come up with any. Because he’s a family man. Because he understands what regret feels like and doesn’t want me to feel that way if I turn her away and never hear from her again.
His voice is lighter, even though is stance is still stick-straight with caution. “Can I please be there with you, so I know that you’re okay?”
I don’t have time to answer before I see her.
And, like I thought, Mom isnotalone.
But I gape as the two approach Bodhi and I with smiles plastered on their faces that look slimy and disingenuous.
I let out a tiny breath. “Max?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Honor
For at leastthirty seconds, I wonder if I’m hallucinating. Because it makes no sense why my mother and my ex-husband are standing in front of me.Together.
“Hi, baby girl!” Mom greets enthusiastically, wrapping me in a hug that feels as fake as her smile. Her arms squeeze around my unmoving body, and I want nothing more than to back into Bodhi for comfort. “It’s so good to see you.”
I don’t think I could will myself to lift my limbs and pretend like I want to touch the woman who constantly berated me for my life choices, no matter how hard I tried. The idea of hugging her back would mean I forgive her. And I don’t.
“Look who I ran into,” she tells me, pulling away and gesturing to Max, who’s currently looking at Bodhi with interested recognition.
I’m not sure when I step toward Bodhi, but he hooks a protective arm around my waist to curl me into his side. “What are you doing here, Max?” I ask, hating how weak my voice sounds.
When was the last time I saw him? It must have been when I was packing my things into cardboard boxes. He didn’t offer to help, not that I expected him to. He’d simply watched as I loaded the moving truck that was taking my belongings eight hundred miles to New York. Had he said anything to me? Given me a hug? Told me he was sorry?
No. He didnothing.
A sour, bitter feeling fills my stomach. How dare he be here withher. How dareshebe here withhim. “What,” I say slowly, “are you doing here?”
Max, who looks like he belongs to Silicon Valley, has the audacity to smile the same way he would for a business meeting with investors. It’s as phony as the love painted over my mother’s face. “You didn’t reply to my texts,” he replies casually, looking between me and Bodhi. “It’s interesting what company you keep these days, Honor. And here I thought you hated hockey.”
