Maybe it's Fate - Weston Parker Page 0,77

at the airline, and she definitely didn’t grasp the meaning of the core part of her job description. She wasn’t assisting. She was fucking pissing me off.

“Yes, sir. I understand that. She’s been out of the office, but I’ll be sure to pass your messages along.”

Fat chance of that happening. It seemed like my messages from before I’d even gone to Fiji hadn’t even been passed along yet. “Yeah, you do that.”

I ended the call with a frustrated grunt. Obviously, our HR department was a fucking mess. What made it worse was that any time I thought about human resources, I thought about Lindsay. I’d never even found out which company she worked for, but wherever it was, any department she was a senior member of would be much better run than ours was.

My mother walked out of her house smiling until she caught sight of my expression when I got out of the car. She rushed over to me, cupping my face in her hands and fixing me with her worried stare.

“What happened? No one should come back from a week on an island looking like that. Are you okay?”

“I wish people would stop asking me that,” I snapped before remembering who I was talking to. Smiling sheepishly, I pulled her into my arms and hugged her. “Sorry. I’m just really annoyed.”

“I’d say.” She ushered me into her kitchen. “Sit down. Tell me about your trip, and then tell me what’s got you so riled up.”

Just being in her small but familiar space calmed me down some. The magnets I’d brought back from all the places I’d been were stuck to her fridge, and the scent of roast chicken always seemed to be present.

I sat down on the closest stool, watching as she rummaged around for two tumblers. She came back to me carrying the glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

Fuck, I love my mother.

After I filled our drinks to the brim, I pushed one over to her and picked up my own. We clinked them together, each taking a long drink while she waited patiently for me to spit it out.

“Thanks for this,” I said finally. “I was really hoping you weren’t going to offer me tea.”

She made a disgruntled sound. “Who do you think I am? You’re not wearing a face that says you’re in the mood for tea.”

“Well spotted.” My mother read me better than anyone else. She definitely wasn’t the typical mom either. She never had been. “We might need another bottle. That one looks pretty empty.”

She pursed her lips. “Do I really have to ask you again who you think I am? There’s another bottle in the cabinet. Now quit stalling and tell me what’s going on.”

“You sound just like Kavan did. He even used those exact same words.”

Her eyes shone with satisfaction. “I knew I liked that boy. It’s good to know I’ve rubbed off on him.”

“You sure did.” Between my mom and Shira, the guy was becoming way too… something. I didn’t like it. “I’ve already had to sit down and tell him everything.”

“Tell it again,” she said firmly. “Everything this time. I know you well enough to know that you’d have left out some details when you spoke to him.”

I shrugged. “He wouldn’t braid my hair. I might’ve left out some stuff as his punishment.”

She smacked my arm. Hard. “I’m assuming from that statement that what you left out pertained to some of your feelings. Here’s a heads-up, honey. Women don’t have to braid each other’s hair to share those. We drink wine and bitch about you guys because you’re too scared to admit you even have any feelings. We feel what we feel, we tell it like it is, and then we can move forward without being burdened. We have the ovaries to admit what we’re feeling without turning into broody messes.”

She hardly took a breath and yet she didn’t seem at all desperate for air.

“Are you calling me a broody mess?” I downed half my glass, feeling the alcohol burn in the best possible way down my throat.

She batted her lashes innocently. “Am I calling my own son a broody mess? Why yes, I am.” Her face turned serious as she took another swig. “Do I need to be worried about you? I’ve never seen you looking quite like this before.”

“I met someone,” I admitted. “I’ve never looked like this before because I’ve never felt like this before. Are you happy with the size of my ovaries yet? Or

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