Texting With the Enemy (Digital Dating #1) - Marika Ray Page 0,9
wasn’t one of the adjectives I’d use to describe the woman who gave me life, but I loved her fiercely just the same.
The minute I pulled under her carport, she came out onto the stoop with a big wave, both wrists in bulky black splints and a lit cigarette leaving smoke in a halo around her head. Typical Mom right there.
“You’re here!” she said with a toothy grin and raspy laugh.
“Of course I’m here, Mom. I come every Sunday.” I got out of the car and looked up at her as she took another drag off the cigarette.
“Figure one of these days you’ll forget about me and go on with your fancy life.” She tossed the still lit cigarette on the dirt down by my feet where I stomped it out and kicked it into the pile I cleaned up every visit.
“I don’t see why you think my life is fancy, and I could never forget about you.” I gave her a saucy wink. “I’m waiting for you to hit it big one of these days when they draw the Lotto numbers and I’m going to remind you how much you love me so you split the money.”
She clutched her hands to her chest. “You wound me, child. Only here to collect when I hit the jackpot. Kids these days.” She rolled her eyes, but I knew she was smiling as she headed back into the house to grab her purse. I didn’t go into the house until we were done with the grocery shopping and I had to help her put it away, preferring to spend as much time in the fresh air as I could.
“Okay, let’s get to the market and buy up all the booze!” Mom shouted, coming down the stairs at a snail’s pace. Between her knee replacement and carpal tunnel in both wrists, she was slower than a snail and ornery as a honey badger when she was in pain. And she didn’t have a car. Hence the trip to help her do her grocery shopping. And despite the enthusiasm she shared with all the neighbors, the woman didn’t drink much. She reserved all her addictive behavior for nicotine. As long as I kept her in food and smokes—and paid a few of her bills that disability didn’t cover—she was a happy camper.
By the time the cart was mostly full at the grocery store, I’d told her all about my week, ending with the wine festival and the offer from Pam. Mom threw in a box of cookies when she thought my head was turned.
“Holy cannoli, El. You gotta call her right now. I can just see my baby in sales, swindling all those wineheads out of their cash.” Mom beamed at me as she shuffled to the checkout line.
“Sales isn’t about swindling people, Mom.” I pushed the cart closer to the register and got busy loading all the food items onto the conveyor belt. “It’s about suggesting the perfect product for each customer to solve their problems.”
“See! You already sound like a schmoozer!” Mom cackled, which turned into a violent chest cough that made me cringe. The guy just finishing his transaction in front of us turned and looked at Mom like he might attempt the Heimlich.
“She’s good. Just had some dairy this morning that stopped her up.” I explained lamely.
He turned and walked away with only a couple of concerned glances over his shoulder. The grocery worker—good gracious, was he even old enough to have a job?—started swiping my items across the scanner and I moved down to help bag it up. This wasn’t one of those fancy places where someone else bagged your groceries for you. You only cracked eggs a few times before you learned how to pack it right.
“You know, your father was in sales,” Mom continued once she had the cough under control and the unhealthy red tone had left her face.
I kept right on bagging, not really interested in a trip down Daddy Lane.
“Goodness, that man could get an Eskimo to buy a freezer. He reeled me in and dazzled me, that’s for sure.”
I frowned, instantly angry on her behalf. “Yeah, real dazzling to get a girl pregnant and then leave without a trace.”
Mom waved her hand through the air. “Oh, we got along just fine, didn’t we? You’re a fancy accountant and I get to watch those soaps I love every day. We’re just living the good life.”
I finished bagging the groceries and came back around to