Page 42 of The Summer Show

Before my imagination had us married with two kids, I reeled off a list of books that fit his criteria. Fantasy, dragons, love. One by one, he tapped the titles into his phone and saved them.

My phone rang. Because of course it did. Whoever was calling couldn’t let me have my one delusional moment where I was walking in the dark with the most delicious man I’d ever laid eyes on.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Answer it,” he said gently.

I nodded and reached into my bag for my phone. One glance at the screen and my stomach hurt.

Mom.

That old, uncomfortable weighted blanket landed on my chest with a thud that reverberated through my soul. Just seeing her name leeched the hope and energy out of me. My finger felt like a sausage as it touched the green dot.

“Mom, is everything okay?”

Thousands of miles away and ten hours in the past, Susan Hart snorted. “Of course it’s not okay. Do you think I’d be calling if everything was peachy? Why didn’t you tell me about the show?”

And there it was. Mom had caught wind of my summer stint on GTH, and now she was mad about it. She would stay that way until she figured out a useful angle.

“I haven’t told anyone about the show. Not even Brit and Dad know yet.”

“Oh, they know about it now. I went over there as soon as I saw it on social media. Your father tried to kick me out. Me. After I gave him two daughters and the best years of my life.”

A wave of exhaustion crashed over me. The night had started out warm but now it felt hot, humid. Every breath was soup. Thick, chunky, hard to push in and out.

“What do you want, Mom?”

“Why do you always think I want something?”

Because you always do. “Just tell me.”

“When you give interviews, make sure you tell people I’m the reason you got on the show. I’m your mother, I deserve recognition, too.”

“You want me to lie?”

“Pssh. Please. We both know you only got it because I’m a celebrity. First thing they do is a background check, and they would have seen that I’m somebody notable. It made good sense for them to include you.”

“I got it because of a pen.”

She steamrolled right over me like I was nothing more significant than a dropped burrito. “Maybe I should fly over there so the media can take pictures of us together. A mother and daughter thing. That way I can get facts straight in interviews, too.”

Alarm bells went off in my head. My heart ricocheted off the bone walls keeping it in my chest. Inside my lungs, lanes were closing.

“No.”

“Come on, Katy. This would be great for my brand. Of course it would be even better if you could somehow manage to win. You know what, I know all the tips and tricks for winning those shows, so I’m going to make a list and send it to you. Make sure you give me credit and tell them my social media handles. This could be big for me.”

Me. Me. Me. Mom’s favorite person and word.

You know what she is, my brain said. You’ve always known.

I did know, and I wasn’t surprised. I’d had a decades’ long education in the subject of Susan Hart. At this point I could write a dissertation. Experience told me there was only one way to extricate myself from her demands, at least for what was left of this walk.

Acquiescence.

“Okay, Mom. I will.”

“Yay!” The sound of her doing a little hand clap could be heard across the continents and ocean. “I’m going to get my lash extensions redone. I need a Botox touch-up, too. If I’m going to come out as a mother, I want to look like a young one.”

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