Page 106 of All Your Reasons Why

“Coffee,” I growl, not looking the man in the face.

“Please eat something?” my mother says softly. She gives me a hopeful look and the waiter gives me a dirty look because I’m being a dick, and he has no fucking idea of our history.

“Give me the number three,” I say, without bothering to read what it is. I’m not here for the food.

“I’ll have tea and scrambled eggs,” she says, smiling that saccharine smile that tends to melt all the fools hearts.

When he walks away, I sigh. “I can pay for it.”

“Certainly not.” She shakes her head. “It’s my treat.”

I don’t say what’s on the tip of my tongue because I don’t want to set her off. In public I’d prefer to play her games as to not garner attention and end up in the tabloids. Somehow, they’d spin it that I’m a woman hater. Or some equally horrific lie.

“You didn’t order very much,” I point out. “Can you afford this at all?”

Okay, so I try, but I don’t always excel at refraining from snark when it comes to her.

“Dear, I don’t have your metabolism and I don’t get the exercise you do. I’m trying to watch my figure.” She smiles at me. “Let’s not talk about me. What have you been up to?”

I just stare at her. What’s her angle? Why is she acting like this? She’s never tried quite this hard to sell her story.

Her smile fades, and she nods, with a serious look on her face.

“I’m sorry. I honestly have no right to be here, and I’m sure you are wondering why I came back after all this time.”

“You could say that,” I snap, picking up a fork and inspecting it for no other reason but to avoid her eyes.

“I was a lousy mother, and I am not good with kids.”

That might be the realest thing the woman has ever said and for a split second I wonder if she has managed to change.

No. She’s just incredibly talented at spinning her lies.

“I did know that I was leaving you with the much better parent. But I should have made more of an effort.”

She blinks hard, as if she’s going to cry.

“And?” I grit out, no longer willing to allow these charades.

“I’m getting older. I’m alone. I mean, that’s my choice these days, because I haven’t picked the best men for relationships.”

“You think?” I snort. “My father was the best you ever had, and you broke his heart, screwed him over, and went on to date a string of losers who helped you blow his money.”

I’m being a real bastard, but I’m angry, and I’m hurt, and I’ve been wanting to say these things for a long time. It’s the therapy, and the sober coach, and the rehab, that have finally gotten me to this point. My truths are long overdue in being expressed.

She lowers her head. “I know,” she says quietly. “I’ve been seeing a therapist and working on myself, and Iammaking amends. I am sorry. I amnotasking you for a dime. I just want to see if there’s any chance of us having a relationship, of us talking sometimes. I want to be able to check in on you.”

“If that’s what you want, then why the scene at my event?”

“I came on way too strong when I saw you at the hospital. When I ... when I’m called out on my behavior, I tend to get defensive.”

“And make up lies,” I grit out.

She nods. “And make up lies,” she whispers, because god forbid anyone else hears her admit this. “You don’t know much about my upbringing, but my mom was a con woman who made her money hustling men.”

I want to make a smart ass remark about apples and trees, but I manage to refrain. A tear glides down her cheek and she swipes it away.

That’s a new move.

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