Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“What is this obsession with getting me a boyfriend?” I protest.
“I’m not getting any younger,” Mom replies. “And neither are you. Then there’s the matter of children to consider, and, well… I just don’t want you to wind up like me.” She sighs then, wistfully. “I’ve just never been able to make it work long-term. I put so much time and effort into the men I date, and none of them stick around to help me or offer me a sense of security. I’m all alone, with no one to turn to for support now.”
“You know that’s not true,” I say, even as my instincts kick in yet again.
She smiles at me. A little too broadly. “Oh, I know I can always count on you in a real emergency. I just don’t want to have to ask you for more money, again. You’ve got enough on your plate without worrying about your poor old mother.”
Old. As if she’s some wizened crone, instead of a pretty lively 49. “Mom…”
“I just want better for you. I want you to find a man who will stay by you, through thick and thin. Someone who can take care of you, the way you deserve.” Her voice drops an octave, and she looks away. “Lord knows I never got what I deserved.”
I frown. “Is there something you need help with?” I can’t help it. I hate seeing her like this. Dejected and down on herself. Even if part of me knows it’s all an act.
But her gaze jumps to mine almost at once. “Of course not, Cassidy. What did I just say? I can’t ask you to help me again.” She laughs, a little too high pitched. “A mother can’t always rely on her daughter for support. Even her very successful daughter, whose business is taking off so well…”
And there it is. The real reason she came here today, I’m sure of it. “Spit it out, Mom,” I say, my voice dropping into a sarcastic register.
Her jaw drops. So does mine, honestly. I’ve never actually called her out before. Part of me feels guilty—what if I’m wrong, what if I’m misreading this situation?
But another part of me, a bigger part, thinks that my therapist would be proud if she could see me right now.
“What on earth do you mean?” my mother replies, flustered, her cheeks turning pink.
“How much do you want this time?” I fire back. “It’s obvious why you asked me here. You need money again. So, how much are you in debt for?”
“Well. I… you… what.” Her face, if possible, reddens even more. “Of all the ungrateful—”
“Mom, please. We’ve done this dance enough times for me to recognize the opening lines.” I lift an eyebrow at her.
“Can’t a mother want to spend quality time with the daughter she hasn’t seen in months? A daughter who, I might add, is terrible at returning my calls. I can’t miss you without having some ulterior motive?”
“That’s what I thought.” I spread my hands on the table. “But then you start bringing up money, again, and, well, this is too familiar for my liking.”
“It’s not my fault you’re making more than me right now, Cassidy.” My mother’s lips purse. “If I were in your shoes, with all that business investment money and my face all over the television, I would help you out.”
I snort into my wine glass. “Would you, though? Because in the past, it’s always been, ‘you need to learn how to support yourself, Cassidy,’ and ‘I spent all my money raising you when you were a child, Cassidy.’”
“I did. You have no idea how expensive it is to raise a child, especially as a single mother.” Mom scowls.
I just laugh. “Good thing you had all those boyfriends to help us along the way, then.” I raise my hand, and gesture for the waiter. “Tell you what, Mom.” I lean forward, smiling, and take a slow, pointed glance around the nice restaurant. “I’ll pick up the check for this. Least I can do, since you’re right, we haven’t spent any quality time together in so long. But after this? I’m done helping you out monetarily. It’s time for you to learn how to support yourself,” I tell her, mimicking a phrase she’s used since I was fresh out of college, and one that’s always set my nerves on edge.
To judge by her souring expression, Mom doesn’t like hearing her own words any more than I ever did.
“I love you,” I add. “But I’m done being used. By you or by anyone else in my life.”
The waiter drops the check, and I slip enough cash to cover the bill, along with a healthy tip, inside. Then I rise and gather up my coat, smiling. My mother continues to glare at me, muttering words under her breath. But for once, her words just roll right off my back. Because I know, without a doubt, I’m doing the right thing.