all is good, but the devil plays favorites, and he’s taking a particular liking to fucking up my life.”
“So, fight back.”
I tilted my head up, smiling at her. “I know better than to argue with you.”
“You do. Because going up against me is one fight you’ll never win, Bug.”
“Tell me about it. Still can’t get you to stop calling me Bug. Why couldn’t your only child have been given a better nickname? Are you holding something against me? Did I kick you too much in the womb?”
Mom’s laugh banished the last traces of my bad mood.
“Actually, you tap-danced on my bladder every second of every day. Your dad joked about turning the bathtub into my bed and being done with it.”
“You remember that?” I whispered.
She cocked her head. “Of course I do, Bug. I also remember that a certain son of mine wanted to be carried everywhere. I couldn’t put you down for five minutes without you crying for me. Even as you got older, you’d run into my arms at the first sight of me. My little cuddle bug.”
A wistful grin came over her like she could picture it all right now, and I took a mental picture, capturing the sight and locking it away under good moments.
I hummed. “So Bug is a constant reminder to me that I was an unrepentant momma’s boy.”
“Still are, my love.”
“I’d deny it,” I said, laughing. “But the evidence holds up.”
“This summer, if you choose a girl who loves you even a fraction of how much I do, then you’ll be in for a lifetime of all the things that’s right.”
I drifted up to the photo on her vanity. A young, happy couple screwed up their faces at the camera, heads together and over a little curly-headed, smooshed-face baby making a face for a different reason. Whenever I looked at them together, I envisioned a deity throwing their traits into a blender, mixing them up, and then pouring out a big bowl of me.
Mom’s hair color, but Dad’s curls. Mom’s almond-shaped eyes, but Dad’s dark-brown orbs looking out from them. Her heart-shaped lips, but his grin. I was the perfect mix of this couple down to the light brown skin that fell neatly between them both. The only thing I didn’t get from them were the freckles. Those were all mine.
“You didn’t get a lifetime, Mom. Why should I?”
“But I did, Nathan.” She cupped my jaw, stroking my cheeks. “You and your father have gifted me happiness to last a dozen lifetimes. If I’d known that summer at Citrine Cove, as your father got down on one knee, that forever would only be twelve years, I’d still have said yes.” She shook her head. “No. I would’ve beaten him to it and asked the moment we both knew.”
“I’m pretty sure my soulmate isn’t waiting at that cove. Besides, I’m not looking for one. Just need someone who is willing to agree to my terms. A girl who’ll be happy living separate lives.”
She dealt me another smack upside the head. “What on earth are you saying?”
Rubbing the spot, I mumbled, “This is child abuse, you know.”
“No one would be happy living a separate life from their husband. While they’re out seeking real companionship, they’ll find someone who fills that void and the sham you’ve created will fall apart.”
“It doesn’t have to last long,” I said simply. “Just long enough.”
“Nathan, stop this silliness. Why should you propose to a girl you don’t love when Belle will be there?”
I stiffened. “What?”
“Belle. Belle Adler.” Mom pulled something out of the drawer. “The information packet had a list of—”
Springing up, I took the folder from her. “Why do you have this? Who gave it to you?”
She shot me a stern look that was so my mom, it stoked embers of hope I thought I had doused a long time ago.
“What do you mean? I’m your mother. Margaret told me about the reception tonight and gave me the information. I wanted to join you but she said it was too late.” She squeezed my hand. “How did it go? Was Belle there?”
“She was,” I forced out.
“I liked her, Nathan.”
“Mom, you never met her. Just spoke to her on the phone a few times.”
“So? I spoke to you on the phone all the time those summers, and you sounded so happy. Anyone responsible for that is my new favorite person.”
I looked away, wincing as another bucket of reality killed the hope. Mom remembers happy summers and weekly photos of us