Midnight Sommelier - Anne Malcom Page 0,36
of those traditional values injected into him by his mother.
The mother who was looking remarkably similar to what I imagined she would look like after I slapped her. It was immensely satisfying.
“I have a smart son,” I continued. “He gets almost straight As, except in Physics, which is fine with me since I don’t think he plans on becoming an astrophysicist. He’s smarter than most kids in his class. He reads Ray Bradbury, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Thomas Wolfe. He listens to Metallica, Guns N’ Roses, and Bach. He’s a green belt in karate and can run a marathon. He’s comfortable in his own skin and can cook better than his mother. Beyond that, the entire reason he was at that police station was because he was protecting a girl from being assaulted by some jock dickhead that likely looks like the ideal college candidate on paper.” I took a breath, paused to give my mother-in-law the opportunity to try and spill more ugly judgement.
She stayed silent.
“Now I know I’ve dropped the ball as a mother this past year,” I continued. “And had David and I not raised two excellent boys, then maybe they might’ve taken advantage of that. But we didn’t. Jax likes to dress up as heroes from old movies, and Ryder’s first instinct is to protect his friend, regardless of the consequences. I may not be proud of myself lately, but I’m proud of my boys. If you came here to shame me as a mother, consider the job already done.”
I stood. “I’ll make some tea and happily offer you some.”
The cogs moved in her mind. I could practically hear them creaking. I’d never spoken so bluntly to her before. Even in the midst of my grief this past year, when I’d treated everyone else like shit, I somehow managed to hold on to my manners for the one woman who actually deserved to get spoken to straight.
She pursed her lips and stood, snatching up her Lady Dior as she did so. “No. I prefer to have tea in a more civilized manner,” she sniped. “We will make a plan to have dinner with the boys. I’ve got Ryder’s gift since you didn’t deem it appropriate to throw him a proper party.”
“I did throw him a proper party,” I replied. “A normal teenage party that involved pizza and didn’t have any of the members of Cirque du Soleil performing. I invited you.”
“You texted me the day before,” she said, as if I’d sent the invitation on a severed human hand. “We’ll have dinner. I’ll make a reservation.”
I sighed. “Sure.”
She leaned in to give me those air kisses that reeked of Joy Baccarat and superiority.
I was drinking wine when Alexis walked in.
She did not comment on this, despite the fact it was only three in the afternoon and I was meant to be waiting until the more acceptable time to start drinking.
“Josephine paid me a visit today,” I said.
Alexis winced.
She reached up to grab her own glass from the cupboard. “Do you need any emergency emotional surgery from the wounds she no doubt inflicted?” she asked, reaching for the bottle in front of me and pouring.
I laughed. “No, I think the alcohol will do the job well enough.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t let that she-bitch try and make you feel like you’re doing something wrong or that you’re lacking. You’re doing amazing. And your hair looks fucking great today.”
I grinned. My hair did look fucking great today. After I dropped Jax off, I’d gone to the salon and spent three glorious hours with Jesus, the hair magician and all-around glamazon. He could’ve been charging thousands in New York or LA, but instead he was here, in Black Mountain, still charging hundreds of dollars more than any other stylist in the area, but not living up to his full potential either.
Not that I minded, since he knew how to give me a sunkissed blonde, Jennifer Aniston style better than Jennifer Aniston’s stylist. Plus, he didn’t engage in conversation unless I initiated, nor had he mentioned my dead husband or general mess of a life. He’d just told me my ass looked good, handed me a mimosa, and got to work.
Usually, I’d be tapping away at my phone for those four hours, fielding texts, calls and emails from my manager, from brands wanting to collaborate, replying to messages, planning content.
But since my social media had been a wasteland for the past year, there was none of that. I didn’t have