Mom.
I rush into the bedroom in a panic, but Liv has not heard a thing. She is still asleep. She has rolled onto her stomach and stolen my pillow. My t-shirt is bunched up in the middle of her back, which leaves her ass on full display. She does not even notice the chill from one cheek being out in the open. Her Marvel underwear are so far up her crack, I do not understand how she can continue to sleep with that kind of annoyance.
I take exactly point five seconds to enjoy the sight and say a silent prayer of gratitude to Captain America for this moment.
Then I rush down the stairs before Mom’s typical lack of boundaries kicks in.
She is standing in my kitchen, holding a to-go cup of coffee that smells awful even from across the room. “Oliver, did you forget about our breakfast reservations?”
“We had breakfast reservations?” Obviously, I did forget.
She frowns. “That’s my fault. I must’ve forgotten to add it to the shared family computer calendar.”
My phone is still upstairs on my nightstand. I am not going to risk getting it to check and see who forgot what. “We can still go out to breakfast! Let me get dressed!”
She cocks her head back and squints at me. “I’ve already eaten. It’s almost ten. You look awful, honey. Are you feeling all right?”
Not currently, no. My skin is prickled with sweat and that vile scent from drinking too much the night before. I have a horrible hangover combined with an increasing case of panic. If I can get out of this potentially bad situation by dragging Mom out of the house to anywhere—without showering first—then, I shall take it.
“What else were we supposed to do today?” I do not doubt my mom wishes to begin Christmas shopping early. “We can go do that.”
She studies me more carefully. Her gaze sweeps me from head to— She reaches my midpoint, blushes, then averts her eyes. “Oh! I should have called first. Is, um, Isabella upstairs?”
I glance down. The urge to vomit appears, and it has nothing to do with being hungover. I am still the unlucky owner of an erection that my sweatpants do not hide. At all.
“We broke up,” I blurt.
“What?” Mom forgets all about our shared embarrassment and crosses the kitchen to wrap me in a hug. “When? Why?”
I pat her on the back while holding her at a distance with my other arm. “A few weeks ago. She wanted to attempt a trial run at parenting with cats. My allergies foiled her plans.”
Mom steps back, her expression a familiar one of disappointment. She sighs. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”
“I was born with allergies. I did not do anything to myself.”
“Really, Oliver.” She shakes her head and makes her way back to the counter to reclaim her black juice. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I just don’t understand why you set yourself up for failure like this. You’re not getting any younger. Life is passing you by. You’ve already achieved so much. Your father and I just want to see you settled down and happy before we pass.”
“Mom, you are sixty-three,” I argue. “I have plenty of time to settle down.”
“Not if you keep picking the kind of women you insist on wasting time with!” she shrieks.
Ow. That hurts.
I fill a tall glass with water from the fridge, intent on rehydrating. I can’t think straight. I need to mount a solid defense in approximately one minute, judging by the look in Mom’s eyes.
“What about Olivia?” Mom pleads. “She’s been by your side through thick and thin!”
“Yes,” I concede. “Because we are friends. That is how friends are supposed to behave.”
Mom plants her hands on her hips and shows me the determined expression that promises she is not going to drop this conversation so easily. “Friends come and go in life. More often than not, they part ways.”
“Okay…” I have no idea why she is saying this.
“She went to Pitt. You went to CMU.”
“That is correct.”
“You shared an apartment after graduation when you were just starting out.”
Those two years were difficult, but… “Rent is extremely expensive in the city on a starting salary.”
“You live next door to each other!” Mom throws her arms out in exasperation.
I shrug. “There were two condos for rent side-by-side at a price we could not afford to pass up. Also, you know how Liv is. She needs someone to look out for her, and she has not found a reliable man to do that yet.”
“Oh, ho.” Mom chuckles. “Just like you haven’t found a reliable gal yet.”
“What can I say? Times have changed. Dating is brutal in the modern era.” I read this recently on a website and memorized the words. I knew I might need them for exactly this discussion.
Her expression softens. She is going to change tactics. “Oliver, I know you were hurt in high school. You planned and saved and screwed up your courage, but…”
“But another boy asked her first, and she went with him. Game over.”
“You never even told her,” Mom insists, latching onto my arm like physical contact will sway me. “I don’t understand that. Please, at least help me to understand, honey.”
“What was I supposed to say? I am in love with you. Do not choose him. Pick me instead.”
“Yes!” Mom shouts.
I still have not imbibed enough water to tolerate that decibel level. To be clear, no amount of water would make a noise like that more tolerable.
I wrap my mom in a hug. She only wants what is best for me. She has worked so hard to get me where I am today. I kiss the top of her head to ease her disappointment in me. “Olivia and I are friends. That is the only type of relationship we share.”
“Let her go,” Mom begs, her voice muffled against my shirt. “You both need to move on with your lives instead of spinning your wheels.”
I wish I could, but…I am simply not wired that way.
“I will make a deal with you.” I peel her away from me to look her in the eyes, so she knows I understand what I am offering. “If it will make you feel better about me being an actual adult, I shall host Thanksgiving here this year.”
“Oh, Oliver.” She pats my cheek then goes back to her coffee. “You live on takeout and microwaveable meals. You can’t possibly cook Thanksgiving dinner all by yourself!”
“I’ll help him,” a sleep-laced voice offers.
Mom’s gaze flits between me and the woman standing in the doorway who’s wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts. I can’t read her expression, but it might be either angry or pleased. Shocked, maybe?
“No.” Mom sighs, but her tone is final. “We’ll host Thanksgiving at my house as usual. Olivia, I’m sure you have plans with your family to attend to.”
Oh, no. This situation has not occurred in eighteen years, four months, and sixteen days. I almost forgot what it feels like. Mom intends to expel Olivia from my life, whether I like it or not.
I might not have much time left, so I cannot afford to waste any of it.
“No, we will host it here,” I say as calmly as I do not feel.
Mom blinks at me, then turns her disappointment on Liv. “Dear, why don’t you go home, so Oliver and I can have a private conversation?”