Oh, Keep Your Shirt On - Michelle Pennington Page 0,11
very determined, so I closed my eyes and gave in to the inevitable. I might be able to sneak off and find a new place to live. I might even be able to ignore her calls and respond vaguely to her texts. But I couldn’t leave her standing on my porch all day. Because knowing her, she wasn’t going anywhere until she saw me.
Bracing myself, I nodded at Damien and stepped back so he could open the door all the way.
My mom’s eyes brightened as soon as she saw me. Then she looked curiously between me and Damien, who had leaned against the door frame next to me, just as if he was standing in his own front door. Which is probably why my mom said what she did.
“Krista. I never would have guessed you moved out because you wanted to live in sin.” Then she gave Damien another obvious up and down glance. “Not that I blame you.”
Was it too late to shut the door again?
Chapter Five
“Mom! I’m not living in sin.”
“Not yet,” Damien said, clarifying things.
I glared at him. “Don’t be helpful.” Then I turned back to my mom. “He’s not even my boyfriend. He’s my landlord.”
Her brow lifted. “Sweetheart, that doesn’t make it any better.” But even as I froze in horror at her new misconception, she swooped forward and pulled me into a tight, clutching, heavily scented hug. “I’m just so glad to see you and know you’re okay.”
After holding still for as long as I could, I pushed back, trying to unhook her talon-like fingers and surprisingly strong arms. “I guess you want to come in.”
“Well, of course.”
Damien stepped back and walked ahead of us down the hall into the living room. If he’d had a particle of decency, he’d have left. The only thing worse than having to talk to him about going to his cousin’s wedding was giving him a front-row seat to the circus that was my mother.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked as she sat down on my futon. “I, uh, have some tea in the fridge.”
“I’d love some.”
But when I turned toward the kitchen, Damien held up a hand to stop me. “I’ll get it,” he offered.
I pressed my lips together. As much as I wanted to argue with him, I didn’t have the head space for it right now. So I turned back to my mother. “Okay. So, you found me. Now what?”
“Well, now we can see each other like a mother and daughter should.”
“Mom. We’ve never done anything like a mother and daughter should.”
And then she sniffed while big, glimmering tears rolled out of her eyes. The woman had a talent for crying on demand. I was never sure if she did it to manipulate me or if she was sincere, but either way, I had long, long ago learned to lock my heart against it. She was crying now, but she’d soon move on to some other big emotion. I braced myself.
“I just don’t understand why you left,” she cried, her voice shuddering, her words spaced by gasping breaths. “What did I ever do that was so wrong that you would run away? Was I that terrible of a mother? Didn’t I always give you everything you need? Haven’t I always worked and slaved to give you a good life?”
I folded my arms across my chest and let her words flow around me.
When I didn’t answer, she tried a new tactic. “Martin keeps asking where you are. What am I supposed to tell him? That my own daughter is hiding from me? Do you know how that makes me look?” She broke down for a moment, clutching her hands to her mouth and rocking back and forth. “I’ve been so worried about you—whether you’re eating enough and sleeping well.”
Damien came quietly in from the kitchen, a big, gentle presence that eased my tension. I narrowed my eyes and studied him. He wasn’t looking at my mom like she was a crazy person. He wasn’t running for the hills. Instead, he put a glass of iced tea on the coffee table in front of her, along with a tissue box. She looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy but curious.
“Thank you,” she said. “Looks like Krista found herself a nice young man.”
I blinked. I knew how pointless arguing with her was when she worked herself up into this state, but I couldn’t let her continue to think like that. “Mom, this is Damien.