Page 47 of The Bodyguard Affair
“She wants me to bring you to her birthday dinner next week—” I stall out, tempted to explain it isn’t actually her birthday without having to explain the whole diagnosis. I’ll have to tell her before the dinner, but now doesn’t feel like the right time. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but do you think you could come?”
“Of course,” she says easily, as though I’ve merely asked her to go for coffee. “Tell me about your mom. I want to be prepared.”
This should be an easy question, but it’s not. “Uh, my mom. She’s…” I stammer, unsure where to start. Because talking about her in any accurate light requires me to tell Andi everything. According to my watch, we have five minutes left of lunch, not all day.
She must sense my unease, because she follows it up with, “Are you close with her? You talk about her a lot, so I figured.”
Here’s where it gets dicey. Women like it when men are close to their moms (up until a certain point). Penny straight up told me it was a “red flag” that my mom and I didn’t have much of a relationship. And while I agree in theory that people should be close to their parents, usually that kind of sentiment is expressed only by people who were raised by good parents. People who don’t know what it’s like to have their mom put herself, her boyfriends, and alcohol first, at the expense of them and their siblings.
“No,” I finally admit shamefully. I brace myself for a similar sentiment along the lines offamily is everything, the usual BS I’ve heard over and over from girlfriends past. But Andi just dips her chin in solidarity.
“I’m sorry. I’m not close with my mom anymore, either. Aftermy parents split, she kind of reshifted her focus to my stepdad and his family.” She chews at her bottom lip, avoiding eye contact as she says it. It feels like a heavy admission, something she hasn’t shared with many people.
I fight the temptation to reach out and touch her, comfort her. I remember that feeling, of wondering whether it’s your fault, if you were just not interesting enough, not good enough for them to want to be in your life. I fucking hate that anyone could make her feel like that.
“She’s missing out,” I tell her. And I mean that.
We both sit with that for a few moments, something flickering wordlessly between us.
“Either way, I’d be happy to come to your mom’s birthday dinner. Just tell me when and where,” she says after a while, flashing me a soft, reassuring smile, which lights me up from the inside out.
“Really?”
“Of course. What are fake girlfriends for?”
Chapter 21
Nolan
“I can’t believe you still do that,” I say.
“Do what?” Emma stuffs the last piece of blueberry muffin (top) into her mouth like a hyena.
“Eat only the tops off the muffins and leave the bottoms, like an absolute monster.” She’d always give me the bottoms. I’d always eat them, even if I wasn’t hungry, because I hate wasting food.
“I am who I am.” She shoots me an unapologetic, crumb-filled smile, and I’m reminded of how much she looks like Mom. It’s not just their same hooded blue eyes and sharp features; it’s the mannerisms, the way they scrunch their eyes closed when something amuses them. The soft arch of their brows and the quirk of their lips.
“Does Trav know this about you?”
She taps a rogue blade of grass sticking to her Converse. “He does and he’s willing to accept it, so long as I don’t say anything when he guzzles milk straight from the carton.”
“Ah, breakfast crime on breakfast crime.”
“The secret to a healthy marriage,” she says through a yawn, unable to hide her fatigue. She stopped by this morning to “visit Mom” before heading to the salon for the day, even though I know she came over to check in. Last night was rough. Mom tried to leave the house at nine in the evening to go to “an appointment,” and became irate when I wouldn’t give her the car keys. She accused me on the front lawn of keeping her prisoner in the house, which drew the attention of the neighbors. It took at least an hour before she calmed down with the help of medication.
“So Mom mentioned how excited she is about your new girlfriend and your football date tonight. Why haven’t I heard about her?”
I immediately look away. The last person I want to lie to after Mom is Em. So I settle on half-truth. “It’s not as serious as Mom makes it out to be. We’re just friends from work.”
“Just friends? Going to a football game alone, just the two of them?”
“We’re spending time together, enjoying each other’s company.”
She ignores that and makes a grabby hands motion for my phone. “I need a picture.”
I pull up the only photos we have together, the staged ones from Squamish, and toss her my phone.
She grins wildly and kicks her feet. “She is adorable. You two are adorable. Look at the way you look at each other! When is the wedding?” She toggles back and forth between a photo of me looking at Andi, and another one of her smiling up at me.
