“I don’t think it’s my dog.” Mom tosses her hair over her shoulder, the brown and gray strands sticking to her Carhartt vest. “And I’m not hiding anything. Why would you say that?”
“You haven’t even met the damn thing yet,” I hiss, jamming a finger at the door. “And you’re blocking the entrance.”
“No. I’mrestingon it.” She smirks and sinks her weight back with a casual shrug. “Big difference.”
“Mom.”
“Son.”
My mind races, trying to figure out her game. Her hands are tucked behind her body now, right booted foot tapping a restless tune. She’s shifting like she has to pee, reminding me of my three year old nephew.
It’s suspicious and shady, and I don’t like it one bit. The hell would my own mother have to hide from me?
A deep laugh bounces around from inside the shop, and she jolts like she’s been struck.
Then it clicks.
“Mother,” I choke out. “Do you—do you—” I press a hand to my chest and drop my voice. “Do you have amanin there?”
Her eyes flash, a glint of wickedness I hate. “And what if I do?”
“I—what?” My soul leaves my body. “No. No, you do not.”
“I might.”
“You don’t.”
She huffs, the sound so indigent, it’s like she’s been studying with my teenage sisters. “Why the hell not? I’m a grown woman, Kade.”
“Because—” I flail a hand at the door like that explains anything. “Because you’re supposed to be inknittingclub!”
“So?”
“So,” I splutter. “You can’t be dating! You’re my mother.”
“Oh, Kade. Handsome as can be, but dumb as a rock.” She sighs, real tragic-like. “Who says I’m dating?” Her mouth tilts up in a slow, devious smirk as she leans in and drops her voice to a whisper. “Last I checked, you don’t need to be on a date toget some.”
“Get…” I jolt backward, my hands flying through the air in ahell nomotion repeatedly, like I can erase the last five minutes of my life. This can’t be happening. “Get some? Why—who—”
“Is that not the right terminology?” Little lines pop up around her eyes as she squints and snaps. “Ah! Netflix and chill!”
I gape at her, reeling, my childhood flashing before my eyes like a tornado of casseroles and PTA meetings and Mom swatting Dad with a dish towel when he tried to steal food off the stove.
“Jesus Christ.” I gag, dragging a hand down my face. “Who the fuck corrupted you?”
“The internet.”
“Someone needs to take your phone.” I hold my palm out. “In fact, give it to me now. I’m deleting everything.”
She just smiles wider, pleased as pie.
“No, you know what?” My hands land on my hips as indignation rolls through me. “I’m going in there. Whoever the dude is, he’s done for, so say goodbye to your little boyfr—” Another gag. I choke on my next breath and she cackles—actually laughs so hard, she cries.
“You’re so cute, son,” she coos. “But you’re not going inside. You’re not going to do a damn thing, and we both know it.”
“I’m putting you in a convent right after I kick his ass.” I try to move her gently, but she plants the heels of her worn boots like she’s bracing for battle. “Move it, Ma.”
“You can’t!” she whisper-hisses, shoving me away. “No one’s allowed in the knitting club but knitting club members!”
