“Yeah, my roommate is pretty cool.”
I thought my mom would stay in touch more than she has, but I guess with our track record, I really shouldn’t have expected it.
“That’s good.” She nods and slips her sunglasses back on.
I look out the window as she pulls into a parking spot to turn around, and my eyes widen as I meet the stare of Brock, Bodhi, and Corbin as they watch us. I subtly raise one hand and stick my middle finger up as I look at them, quickly taking it down so my mom doesn’t notice.
We make small talk on the way to the restaurant. Mom picks a place that’s stuffy and rich-looking, which doesn’t surprise me. Even when she was with my dad, it was only the best for her, and I guess that hasn’t changed. Might as well get a good meal out of it.
As soon as we are seated, Mom orders a glass of sauvignon blanc, and I ask for water.
I wait for the waiter to walk away before looking at her. “So, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
“Does a mom need a reason to come and take her daughter to dinner?”
“Well, not normally, no. But this was a little out of the ordinary for you, you have to admit.”
She glances away, letting her eyes scan the restaurant before looking back at me. My normally composed mother looks nervous, and it makes me anxious. I watch her fingers as they twiddle with her napkin that she hasn’t bothered to put in her lap. Another sign that this is out of the ordinary. My mother is a stickler for manners, and she wouldn’t dream of leaving her napkin on the tabletop.
“Did I ever tell you that your father cheated on me?”
My mouth drops open at her statement. She knows good and well that she never told me that. There’s a pregnant pause before I shake my head and attempt to speak.
“No. Uh … no, you never told me that.”
She fidgets with the napkin some more.
“Are you sure?” I lean in, not wanting to believe that about my dad.
She gives me an incredulous look. “Of course I’m sure. I caught him.” Her eyes take on a faraway look, almost like she’s reliving the memory. Shaking her head, she looks at me again. “It’s why I left him. I didn’t want to be a woman who stayed because I had nowhere else to go. But that was hard.”
The waiter returns with our drinks, and I take a long sip of my water, flushing my dry throat.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I had no idea.” Now, it’s my turn to fidget. “Why did you bring this up?” I say as gently as I can.
This has to be a hard subject for her to talk about, but there has to be a reason she’s doing it now.
“I realize I haven’t always been there for you, that I left when things got tough, and I wasn’t there for some crucial growing-up years. First, I want to apologize to you.”
I reach over and grab her hand. Encasing it in mine, I squeeze.
“But I don’t want you to think I’m weak. I’m not weak. I’m strong. I rose above where I had been, and I did it by my merit and, might I even say, cunning. We women are smart and often overlooked.”
I nod along with what she’s saying even though I don’t know where she’s going with it.
“Mom, I’m not sure what you are getting at.”
“I know, but I’m going to explain. I need your help, Landry. But I need this to stay between us.”
I furrow my brow.
What?
“Okay …” I say, drawing it out. She’s never asked for my help before, and now, I think something bad is going on. “Are you in trouble?”
“No, no. Not if you help me.” She sits back, reaching for her purse.
I watch as she takes out a pile of papers and sets them on the table in between us. I can see the top page is full of words I can’t make out from where I’m sitting.
“What is this? What do you need my help with?”
She levels me with a look, not speaking. Then, the waiter comes back with a basket of freshly baked bread and a pen and paper to take our order. I stifle my groan.
Who can eat at a time like this?
My mother, apparently. Once we give our orders, she scoots the bread basket closer to herself, pulling out a roll and buttering it. All the while, I’m sitting on pins and needles because she’s acting as if she didn’t just tell me she needed my help. She’s never asked for my help in anything.
“Mom?” I prompt.
She glances up from where she’s slathering saturated fats on carbs and smiles at me. “Landry, I married Chester out of convenience.”
Pardon?
“Does Chester know that?” I frown, trying to follow along with the way Mom is jumping around. “I thought you were so in love.”
“Chester thinks that as well,” she says with a sigh. “It’s sweet really. Men are so easily manipulated.”
My brain comes to a halt. This is a different side of my mother. I’m having a hard time meshing the two together, almost feeling like I’m in an alternate reality right now.
“I’m sorry, what? What are you saying?”
“After my first marriage didn’t work out and then my marriage to your father, I decided the next time I married, it would be on my terms and to benefit me. No more being played for the fool. I was going to take advantage of what I could, and I have.”
“Are you telling me, you are a gold digger?”
She wrinkles her nose up, looking perturbed by my choice of words.
“I wouldn’t call it that exactly,” she says.
“What would you call it?” My voice starts to rise, and she pins me with a look.
“I would call myself an opportunist.”
I scoff and look wildly around the room. My mom is not telling me she married Chester to take him for all he’s worth.
“Why are you telling me this? Bringing me into this? It’s messed up, Mom. That’s not what marriage should be about.”
“Oh, honey. It’s adorable how you hold on to this perfect idea of wedded bliss and how you would only marry for love.”
“Shouldn’t everyone only marry for love?”
“People marry for all different reasons, Landry. Sometimes, love isn’t part of the equation. Life is not a fairy tale, and you would do well to realize that now.”
My mind is reeling. All of these bombs she’s dropping on me are exploding and making my ears ring. I shake my head, trying to clear my racing thoughts.
“I’ve opened a few offshore accounts,” she says, pushing the pile of papers toward me.
“Mom,” I say, holding my hand up, stopping her. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Like I said, I need your help. And you are my daughter, my blood. We stick together,” she says with a smile that looks almost devious, where it used to look serene.
We are family; she’s right. More so than Chester, who I haven’t even met, and his two douche-bag sons.
Why shouldn’t I help her?
“What do you need from me?”
“Your cooperation. I’ve opened some accounts in your name, using a somewhat-altered birth certificate, but for some strange reason, I wasn’t paying attention to it. You are shown as already being eighteen, so I need you to sign these documents.”
A fake birth certificate? Needs my cooperation?