“Oh, how you adored those dolls!” Mom says.
“I was obsessed,” Amy agrees. “I think that time I ran away to Genovia. That’s the fictitious kingdom in The Princess Diaries. But I thought it was real.”
Mom and Amy giggle together, while I have a nonverbal exchange with my stepfather that goes something like this:
Please, make her stop. For the love of fuck.
I couldn’t make your mother stop, even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to, just to be clear.
When Mom’s giggling subsides, she continues her story. “I was washing dishes in the kitchen and saw you outside my window, marching down the sidewalk with a doll in one hand and a tiny rolling suitcase in the other. And even from a distance, I could tell you were pissed as hell.”
Amy squeals with laughter.
“Your little shoulders were set. Your little chin was up. Oh man, little Amy had had enough of whatever mistreatment she’d endured.”
Amy guffaws and slaps her thigh, obviously loving the story.
“I was a bit worried about you, when I realized nobody was following you. You were a tiny little thing. Way too young to be marching off, on your own. So, I stopped what I was doing, figuring I’d run after you.” Mom winks at me. “But there was no need. Colin had been mowing the front lawn, and when he saw you, he stopped what he was doing and chased after you, without even being asked.”
Amy looks at me like I walk on water, and I feel my cheeks turn hot.
“And what did I see a little while later, but Colin escorting you home. He had your suitcase in one hand and your tiny hand in the other, while you clutched your beloved dolly. And I thought, ‘What is it about that little girl that’s turned my moody boy into a big ol’ pile of mush?”
“Whoa, look at the time,” I say, looking at my watch. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow. We should get some sleep.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Amy agrees reluctantly. She rises from her chair, smiling broadly at my mother. “It was so wonderful to see you again.” The women hug warmly and say they can’t wait to see each other tomorrow at the wedding. My stepfather shakes Amy’s hand and tells her she’s lovely. And, finally, I offer to walk Amy to her car.
“Sorry about that,” I murmur, as we walk outside into the crisp night.
“I loved every second of it,” Amy says. “I’ve always loved your mom. She’s so warm and real. She makes me feel like I can be completely myself around her.”
“She loves you, too.” Obviously, I think. For fuck’s sake, the woman was brazenly matchmaking in there!
As we stop at Amy’s car, she shivers, which prompts me to reach out, reflexively, and rub her arms. And the second I touch Amy’s bare skin, I feel a zap of electricity flash through my nerve endings. Jolted, I drop my arms and blurt, “Well, drive safe.”
“You, too,” Amy says, her cheeks red. “I mean, see you tomorrow.”
“Yep. See you tomorrow. Drive safe.”
“You, too.” She palms her forehead and snorts, before opening her car door and slipping inside—and a moment later, Amy’s taillights are gone.
Back inside my house, I search for my evil mother and find her in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demand, coming to a stop on the other side of the opened dishwasher.
“Hmm. Let’s see. Well, my therapist says I have deep-seated abandonment issues.”
Mom smirks, but she’s not fooling me. This woman is a master chess player who’s always three moves ahead, while pretending to be clueless half the time.
“Don’t BS me, woman,” I say. “You were trying to push Amy and me together tonight—as a couple.”
Mom leans her hip against the kitchen counter and crosses her arms over her chest. “And what if I was? You two would make an adorable couple.”
“She’s Logan’s little sister! Every story you told should have made it abundantly clear to you she might as well be my little sister, too!”
Mom drops the ‘innocent act’ on a dime, instantly revealing the diabolical creature behind her mask. “When you were kids, yes. Which was age appropriate. But you’re not kids anymore, and I could plainly see you have incredible chemistry with her.”
“Butt out, Mom.”
“Colin, she’s had a crush on you since she could walk! Literally. And we all know you’re the absolute worst at figuring out and then expressing your feelings! So, I thought I’d pitch in and help you both out.”
I feel like my mother just punched me in the gut. That’s exactly what Kiera always used to say to me when we fought—that I wasn’t communicative enough about my feelings, even though I always felt like I was showing Kiera how I felt, pretty damned clearly, with my actions.
“I saw the way you were looking at her!” Mom says. “Don’t you dare pretend you haven’t noticed how pretty Amy’s become.”
“She’s very pretty, yes. But, like I said, she’s like a sister to me.”
Mom’s face turns downright wicked. “My darling son, if you looked at Chiara and Caitlyn’s boobs the way you kept staring at Amy’s tonight, I’d beat the living crap out of you.”
My breathing halts. Did I seriously ogle Amy O’Brien’s tits in front of my mother and stepdad tonight? Holy shit. I really am a monster!
Mom adds, “So don’t blame me if I seized the opportunity to manifest the Beretta-O’Brien grandbabies I’ve always dreamed of!”
I’m speechless. Staring at my mother in disbelief. Finally, I say, “You’re insane. I’ve always suspected as much. But now I know it, for sure.”
Mom laughs and shakes her head, clearly not getting it, so I decide to make things abundantly clear. Otherwise, God knows what mischief she’ll get into at the wedding tomorrow night.
“Listen to me, Mom. I can’t make a move on Amy, ever. Yes, she’s sweet and beautiful and funny—and I admit I’ve always had a soft spot for her. But there’s no middle ground here. No chance for us to ‘date’ like normal people. Like you said, she’s always had a crush on me, and I’d never want to hurt her. If things didn’t work out between us, she’d be decimated and my friendship with Logan would never be same.” I sigh. “Amy doesn’t even have a crush on the real me, Mom. You heard her. She’s crushing on some weird fantasy version of me, who, for some reason, can’t stop doing nice things for her—a guy I couldn’t deliver to her, in the long-term, even if I wanted to. If you’ve been dreaming of Beretta-O’Brien grandbabies, then I’m sorry to inform you: you’d better find a new fucking dream.”
Mom’s eyes become lasers. “You’re saying you felt no physical chemistry with Amy tonight?”
My pulse is thumping in my ears. “That’s right.”
Mom narrows her eyes even more. “Well, great. I suppose that’ll come in handy when Amy stays at your house for almost two weeks—at your generous invitation.”
“Did you not hear she’s going to work for me? Of course, I offered her my guest room, when we’re going to be driving to the same place every day.”