“I know you’re home, Weston,” she continues when I don’t immediately respond. “Your car’s out front.”
“So is another,” I mutter under my breath, which is probably the reason my mother chose to stop by today when I haven’t seen her in months.
These days, I tend to avoid her at all costs. I put on a smile and remain cordial in public, but the rift she caused after her treatment of Brooklyn in front of my friends and family — in front of Brooklyn’s friends and family — isn’t one I think will ever be repaired. Not unless she finally admits she was wrong and apologizes, something she’ll never do.
Wanting to get this over with sooner rather than later, I trudge to the front door and pull it back.
“Well, it’s about time,” she huffs, pushing past me and into my house as if she owns it, dressed in a navy blue skirt suit reminiscent of Jackie O.
I tower over her by nearly a foot, but I’d learned appearances can be deceiving. She may be petite with perfectly coifed, dyed blonde hair and kind blue eyes, but she’s as vindictive as they come.
“And is that how you answer the door?” Her analytical gaze scans my frame that’s clad only in a pair of pajama pants. “It’s indecent, Weston. I raised you better than this.”
Zeus chooses this moment to take a break from eating, growling and barring his teeth. He’s usually a gentle, loving dog, one that can’t even kill a lizard when he’s lucky enough to catch one. The only person he hates is my mother. Then again, I’ve always found dogs to be rather astute judges of character.
“Zeus, stop,” I admonish.
He looks at me, as if asking if I’m serious. Even he doesn’t think my mother deserves my attention.
“And as far as your concerns about the way I dress, this is my home. If I want to walk around naked, I have the freedom to do that. So why don’t you tell me why you’re here so we can get this over with.” I cross my arms in front of my chest, leaning against the large kitchen island.
“I was on my way to brunch with a few of the ladies from church. I noticed your car was in the driveway, like I said, and decided to stop by, since you haven’t been around much lately. I suppose you find it more important to spend your Sundays at that old shack as opposed to attending church like the good Christian I raised you to be.”
The one benefit from growing up around someone as phony and pretentious as my mother is she taught me how to fake it like the best of them. So, instead of rolling my eyes so hard they practically pop out of their sockets at her insinuation of being anywhere near a devout woman, I simply smile.
“Is that the only reason? To say hi and berate me on my lackluster church attendance when I’ve never exactly been a big believer?”
“I can’t stop by to see my son?”
“I’ve been around long enough to know you don’t do anything that doesn’t benefit you. So why are you really here?”
She opens her mouth, feigning indignation, then quickly snaps her jaw shut. “As it turns out, Caroline de la Roche is home for the weekend. She’s recently divorced. It’s not ideal, but I suppose when you get up there in age, as you are, you can’t be as choosy as you once were. She’s coming to brunch with her mother. I thought it would be beneficial for you to attend, as well.”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I have every time you’ve tried to set me up with another one of your friend’s daughters. I’m not interested.” I turn from her, hoping she takes the hint and ends the conversation. But I should know better than that. She’s almost as stubborn as I am. But what makes it worse is she’s also extremely narcissistic.
“When are you going to be interested, Weston? People are talking. It’s not right for a man of your age with your upbringing to still be single. Some say you’re gay. Others claim you’re in love with Julia because of how close you are.”
I whirl around, my eyes on fire. “She’s my sister. Who the hell are you hearing this stuff from anyway?”
“That’s not even the worst of them,” she continues, relentless in her search for the truth.
“Oh really? What’s next?” I gesture down to the dog. “That I’m in