With that, I stride out of the office, leaving the two of them to talk this over behind me. I have a feeling Sheryl’s going to need the counselor’s help far more than I will.
I’m not sure how I expected this to feel. Scary, or maybe gut-wrenching. I loved that business. It was the one thing we built during our marriage that I really cared for and was proud of.
But I’ve been mourning the possibility of losing it for a year already. To my surprise, as I walk out of the building, all I feel is relief. As if the papers I left up there in the office were a thousand pound weight around my neck, one I didn’t even realize I was lugging around. Not until I finally threw it off.
Feeling better than I have in years, I reach for my phone and dial Cassidy.
34
Cassidy
My phone buzzes. I glance at it, grateful for the interruption. When I asked my mother if I should come and meet her at the hospital, or if she needed a ride to the doctors, or what all the operation entailed, I expected details. Instead, she invited me out to lunch in town again, over near me. Meaning she’s well enough to drive, at least.
It should be a relief. But it only makes me worry more. Worry that this time, my mother has crossed a bigger line than I’ll be able to forgive.
Before I can reach for the phone, my mother’s voice interrupts.
“I can’t believe you’re going to answer a call while we’re at the lunch table,” she says, her tone snippish.
Which is rich, considering why she’s here. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “So, did the hospital release you early?” I ask.
“What are you—” My mother cuts off abruptly, her whole face flushing as she remembers what she said to me. “I mean. Yes, of course. Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here.”
I scoff. “Unbelievable.” We’re in a small restaurant this time—no more overly expensive places since I know full well that I’ll be footing the bill. But this is still one of my favorite spots, an unpretentious, cute little restaurant with an owner who always sneaks me extra portions at dessert.
Across from me, Mom is pushing her food around her plate, her nose wrinkled, like she can’t possibly bring herself to eat this swill. It’s the same thing I order here every week, and it’s perfectly good. It’s just not the bougie, overpriced meals she’s used to indulging in, I guess, when she’s got a sugar daddy on the go.
Now, I’m assuming she doesn’t. Judging by how far she’s going to con her own daughter.
“What do you mean, unbelievable?” Mom eyes me with that expression of perfect innocence that I’ve fallen for one too many times with her.
“I’m used to you making stuff up, but a hospital visit? You had me scared shitless. Are you really that desperate for cash?”
Her face flushes a bright, angry red. “I didn’t make it up, Cassidy. There’s a very important procedure I need done, and it’s expensive.”
I stare, unmoved, my jaw set hard. The old, usual guilt I feel whenever I face down my mother is nowhere to be felt today. I’m standing my ground, for once. “You scared the hell out of me, you know. I thought you were having a heart attack or something. Now you’re acting like you don’t even remember telling me there was an issue. At least try to keep your own lies straight, for God’s sake.”
“I never said it was an emergency,” Mom replies, lips pursed. “It’s hardly my fault you leapt to that conclusion—you’re always so dramatic.”
“Like that wasn’t exactly what you wanted me to do,” I burst out. “Panic and give you all the money I’ve worked so hard to earn without asking any questions.”
“Daughters should want to help their mothers,” she coos, her voice lowering now. “If I’m going to find a new husband, I can’t go back out on the dating market looking my age,” she says.
My stomach churns as it hits me. “Oh, my God. You want money for plastic surgery?”
“Just a chin tuck and an eye lift,” she protests. “And a little work on my breasts—those are your fault, I might add, they were perky as anything before I had you. It’s the least you can do. Your company has money coming in aplenty, and I know that boy you’ve been seeing is rich. Surely he’ll grant you one little favor.”
That does it. I ball my fists under the table and sit ramrod straight in the chair. “I am not begging Lark for money.”
Mom’s expression shifts into a scowl. “Honey, haven’t I taught you better than this by now? You can’t be with a man who you can’t depend on. If he’s not willing to help you and your family, how can you trust that he’s got your best interests at heart?”