Trust my sister to bring up something like this. “Because I didn’t want to be set up on anymore surprise dates.”
“Whatever,” she says. “That was for your own good. And seeing what I just saw, I don’t see that you’ve been too busy to pick up the phone.”
That’s because she usually called in the early evening and I was already on my way to the club and my phone was off. I shrug. “Besides, what makes you think I have been busy.”
“Well, I’ve wanted to finish telling you about what Keith said about you. Especially after you stood him up.”
“Catherine,” I snap, “I don’t give a shit about what Keith said.”
Her eyes widen, and behind me my mother gasps. “Christine, watch your language!”
I roll my eyes. “Mama, you and I both know that daddy says that and worse every day.”
“Your father is a man. Ladies should have a more distinguished tongue.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes again. “Fine. I don’t care what Keith said.”
“Why not?” Christine says, “He’s such a nice guy.”
I give her a look. “He is not a nice guy. He is, frankly, an ass. Why you set me up with him in the first place is beyond me.”
She scoffs. “You could do a lot worse than him.”
“I could do a lot better, too. Trust me.”
Christine’s eyes narrow. “I wondered about that. Suddenly you’re not answering your phone and you’re too good to date Keith. You’re seeing someone?”
My heart plummets. If they find out about Hudson, they’ll never let me hear the end of it. He is the epitome of a city man, and to them, that’s the worst sin imaginable. “Honestly, me not wanting to date a man who basically bullied me in high school has nothing to do with me seeing someone.”
She cocks her head to the side, considering. “You didn’t say you weren’t though.”
“I didn’t say I was, Catherine. And even if I was, it’s none of your business.”
“I’m your sister,” she says, thoroughly appalled.
I shake my head. “Why do you even care? Who I may or may not be with doesn’t affect you.”
“She’s just worried about you, sweetie,” my mom says from the kitchen. “We all are.”
There’s a sinking feeling in my gut, and I’m dreading what’s coming, but maybe if I pretend I don’t know what’s about to happen they’ll go easy on me. “You don’t have anything to worry about,” I say, gesturing around to my house. “I’m fine.”
She pauses stirring the pot of pasta that she’s put on the stove. “You are not fine.”
I cross my arms, preparing for the blow. “And what makes you say that?”
The look on her face tells me that it should be obvious. “You live in a tiny house that has no room, you—apparently—don’t have a boyfriend, and for fun, you stand out in the hot sun and take pictures of nothing.”
“I was taking pictures of the fountain, Mama.”
“Yeah, a broken concrete fountain that doesn’t work. In an abandoned shopping complex.”
I walk over to the couch and sit down. “I’m an environmental photographer. Just because you don’t appreciate it doesn’t mean it’s not valuable. Have you ever heard of Ansel Adams?”
She huffs a sigh. “Your father and I just don’t understand. Why would you choose this? Why would you choose being alone in a city full of strangers instead of being at home with your family? Why would you choose something that is going to assure you’re alone for the rest of your life?”
“Wait a minute,” I stand back up. “You think that because I’ve chosen to become a photographer I’m going to be single for the rest of my life?”
“This isn’t what men want,” she spits. “They want women who love their families and can take care of a good home and have pets and be there when they get home.”
“And so what?” My anger breaks open and my voice rises. “You know, I don’t care. I’ve spent so much time thinking that I was boring and average because of all of you. That’s all you ever told me I was. You told me I should stay home, never go anywhere, and never try anything unique or adventurous. I followed your advice, and still, absolutely nothing I do makes you happy. Guess what, I just made a new discovery. It’s my life. I’m happy in my small house with no pets. I’m happy working in a photography studio and practicing my art. God forbid someone in the family be an artist. What I do, and what I want, have value, mama. I’m sorry you can’t see that, but I’m done letting you tell me that my life isn’t good enough just because it’s not the same as your life.”
She stares at me like I’ve turned into a talking fish. I have no idea what she’s going to say next. I know she’ll have an answer. There’s not a time in my life when my mother hasn’t had a response to something that was said.
There’s a knock at the door and I startle. It might be one of the neighbors. Maybe they heard me yelling and are checking to make sure everything is okay. “Saved by the knock,” I mutter under my breath. I open the door, putting a mental wall up to make sure I can deflect any well-meaning attempts to make sure we’re not murdering each other in here.
But it’s not a neighbor. It’s Hudson.
Hudson is here. He’s standing in a bright blue button-down that makes his eyes stand out even more by contrast, and he’s holding what might be the biggest bouquet of roses that I’ve ever seen. I don’t realize that my jaw has dropped open until I try to speak. “What are you doing here?” I’m absurdly glad to see him. Even after everything I told him about not being ready, his face is the most comforting thing in the world right now.
“I wanted to prove to you that I want more than what we have right now. That I don’t care who you are outside the club.” He says that last part very quietly. “But I heard yelling. Are you all right?”
I push the roses aside and wrap my arms around him. He’s surprised, but he hugs me back. “I’m so glad you’re here right now.”
“Are you all right?” he asks again.
“My mother and my sister are here,” I say softly. “I haven’t told you anything about my family, but to say that we don’t get along might be an understatement.”
Hudson smiles. “I’d still like to meet them.”
“It’s your funeral,” I say as I step back and take his hand to pull him into the house.
Catherine is standing in the hallway, gaping. I don’t know how to introduce Hudson. We’ve never really defined the terms. ‘Boyfriend’ feels too simple, and yet if I introduce him as my ‘lover,’ my mother will have even more of a fit. But Hudson takes care of it for me. He reaches out and shakes Catherine’s hand. “I’m Hudson Carlisle. It’s nice to meet you.”
My mother steps out of the kitchen, and the height difference is comical. She’s even shorter than me. “And you must be Mrs. Everett.”
“I am,” she says coldly. “Who are you?” Even though he’s just introduced himself.
He gives her a dazzling smile. “I’m dating your daughter.”
Catherine gives me a look. “I knew it.”
My mother is still frowning. “It’s nice to meet you, Hudson. Unfortunately, you’ve come at a bad time. We were just having a serious discussion with Christine about her future, so I think it’s best if you come back another time.”
“Mama,” I say. “This is my house. You can’t ask people to leave. Hudson, I don’t want you going anywhere.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He winks at me, but I can see the worry in his eyes, the disapproval at the way they’re treating me.
“Anything you were going to say to me, you can say in front of him.”
She sniffs, offended. The only thing worse than her daughter having such a terrible life would be discussing our ‘dirty laundry’ in front of strangers. “No, thank you.”