rolls her eyes to me, but the smile on her face remains in place. Stupid jokes. Stupid feeling in my chest.
The sound of my doorbell sounds throughout the house. Frowning, I head to the intercom and press down answer.
I’m greeted by a familiar face.
“Mom?”
“Yes. Let me in,” she says, impatient as always. I do, and behind me, two little voices rise in happiness.
“Grandma’s here!”
They scamper off toward the front door, their feet echoing down the hallway. They’re more than capable of opening the front door on their own.
Bella bites her lip, looking at me. “Should I stay?” she asks.
It’s a split-second decision—whether or not to drag her deeper into my life, as if she wasn’t already deep enough. The whole thing feels like it’s spinning out of my grip.
“Yes,” I say. “Of course you should.”
My mother walks into the kitchen with long strides. In her late sixties, she’s still a force to be reckoned with, her permed hair like a helmet.
“Mom,” I say, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. “I didn’t know you were planning on stopping by today.”
Nor so early.
“You text me yesterday and tell me that my oldest granddaughter took a fall,” she says. “There’s no other place I’d be.”
Haven clings to her leg, holding up her cast. “Look, I chose purple.”
“Excellent color, dear,” Mom says. “It’s the color of ambition and nobility.”
Christ.
Haven beams at her comment, though I’d reckon she has no idea what either of those words mean.
“Mom,” I say, “I’d like you to meet Bella. Bella, this is my mother, Patricia.”
My mother’s hawk-like eyes focus in on Bella. “Delighted,” she says, shaking Bella’s hand. “I’m simply delighted.”
“So am I,” Bella says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Bella is my neighbor for the summer,” I supply. “She was here yesterday when Haven fell.”
“And now I’m making pancakes,” Bella adds, returning to the stove. “Would you like some breakfast?”
My mother settles down at the breakfast table. Haven grabs the seat next to her. “I’d love some,” she declares, “as well as the story behind how you two met. But first, Ethan, you’re teaching your children how to drink out of wineglasses? What are you thinking?”
I stifle a groan. Trust your mother to be able to embarrass you in front of a girl, even when you’re thirty-six and a father of two.
This is going to be a challenging morning.
My mother looks at the shut door long after Bella’s left. I shake my head at the discussion I know is coming and lift Evie up out of her chair.
“Where did Bella go?” she asks.
“She went home. She has work to do, you know.”
“Coming back?”
“Eventually, yes, I’m sure she will. But probably not today.”
Evie really only gets the yes part of that reply, smiling as she totters off toward the playroom that sometimes masquerades as my living room. “Bella’s a doggy,” she murmurs to herself. “Woof woof.”
What in the world?
“So,” my mother says, sinking more meaning into the single word than many authors do in an entire novel.
“So,” I echo. “Why don’t you just go ahead and say what you want to say?”
Mom’s eyebrows rise. “Honey, I don’t know enough to say anything. What I have are questions.”
Sweet mercy. “I don’t have an awful lot of answers for you.”
She scoffs, like she knows that’s not true, and wiggles a little on the barstool. “Awfully uncomfortable, these,” she comments. “Why’d you choose them?”
“I didn’t choose them.”
“Right. Lyra did.”
Can I fire a distress signal? If I thought trying to explain Bella and me to my mother was bad, discussing my ex-wife is arguably much worse.
“Where are you going with this?”
Mom makes a tentative spin on the chair, holding on to the island the entire time. “So stupid,” she says. “Right. Well, the girl next door seems really nice. She knows how to cook. Kind, too. And she looks at you like… well, she likes you.”
I close my eyes. So far, so good. “That’s nice.”
“Yes, it is. So why don’t you take her out on a proper date?”
My eyes pop open again. “You want me to date her?”
“You’ve been alone for too long. And I include the years you were married to that bitch in that.”
“Mom.” I glance back toward the living room, but the joyful sounds of Paw Patrol drown out our conversation. Haven and Evie aren’t listening.
“It’s the truth!” she protests, eyes as just as determined as mine. “Let me take the darlings on Saturday and you go sweep her off her feet. You still remember how to, I