“I’m sure you’ve received my messages,” I grumble.
Mother lingers near the barrel-lined wall of the cellar, her raincoat draped over her arm, her back to me. She’s quietly inspecting a barrel that was quality-tested, approved, and filled months ago.
“Darling, you know how I hate it when you mutter. Now, speak up,” she demands.
I think about the podcasts Avery recommended.Reclaim your own identity. Be firm. State what you want clearly.
Straightening, I clear my throat.
“As I stated in the texts, voicemails, and emails, I’m asking you to rescind Carina’s invitation,” I say sharply. “We’re both moving on with our lives.”
Her slender fingers steady on the wood.
When she turns to face me, a placating smile evens her expression.
“Darling, it wouldn’t be right. She’s already RSVP’d. She’s our family, and we don’t throw people away simply because the dynamics of your relationship have changed.”
I hate the patronizing edge to her tone.
Her hand hovers tellingly over her chest the way she always does when she’s uneasy. “Besides, would it really be so unbearable for one afternoon?”
An exhausted laugh blusters from my chest.
I drop my head in my hands, scrubbing them over my face before I meet her unreceptive stare again.
“Yes!” I scoff.
My mouth tenses.
The edge to my tone echoing in the cool, enclosed space seems to take her by surprise. I never raise my voice with her. I’ve never had to. But I can’t budge on this.
Her face contorts.
“Who’s more important, here, hmm? Me or my ex-wife, who’s parading around her new boyfriend?”
Mother’s posture shifts.
I feel her attention fixated on me, studying me, reading my energy, looking at me with assessing eyes. Almost like it didn’t warrant her focus before, Mother’s gaze catalogues my unkempt curls, casual, loose-fitting khaki chinos and heather grey quarter-zip sweater. As she works her way down to my white leather sneakers, I’m grateful I decided against theDream Teamshirt, lest she question whether I’m her son at all.
Self-consciously, I rub my hands along my pants.
“Obviously, I choose you,” Mother says, but her searching brown eyes beg:Tell me what all this stems from.
I hate that I’m letting this conversation get under my skin, when it’s not Mother’s nor Carina’s feelings I’m concerned about in this situation.
Avery deserves more than I gave her.
If I’m really going to try with her—and make no mistake about it, I want to—I can’t do it with my mother clinging to the past.
Especially, not if I’m going to ask Avery to be my wedding date.
Briefly checking my watch, I suck in a deep breath, then steady my gaze on her again.
“Listen, Mother, if your tea party gave us any insight at all, I’d hoped you’d have seen that it’s hard enough with everyone commenting about our divorce. Inserting themselves in Carina’s efforts to start anew.” I’m still struggling to keep my head but the question I’m working toward is steady on my tongue. “What if I found someone new, too?”
Mother perks up.
She arches a curious eyebrow.
