I know. I blame the multiple orgasms. Rots thebrain.
An hour later, I’m covered in bleach, and the center is so sterile you could eat off the floor. The ring is spotless, the equipment is sanitized, and the showers are scrubbed. Every nook and cranny a teenage boy could desecrate with his bodily fluids has been sprayed, wiped, and polished until theyshine.
“Look at you, cover girl,” I say, congratulating myself. I’m not sure how it’s even possible, but my smile getsbigger.
Not bad for a woman who a couple of months ago had no idea she even owned a washer and dryer, much less knew how to use them. Ripping off the rubber gloves—another invention I had no idea existed before coming here—I toss them into the side pocket of the mop bucket and push the whole thing down the hallway toward thecloset.
Fishing in my pocket for the set of keys Cary gave me, I try to unlock the door when my ass rings. Well, the phone in the back pocket of my cut-off denim shorts rings to be exact. Leaving the key stuck in the door, I reach behind me to see who the hell hates themselves enough to be up this early as well. When the name pops up on the caller ID, I’m both shocked andamused.
This should befun.
“Good morning, Mother,” I say in an obnoxious sing-song voice. “Are you just getting home, or is Lars teaching the early morning hot yoga classtoday?”
“Cute, darling. For your information, I had a full night’s sleep lastnight.”
Not saying a word, I unlock the door while I ride out her deep abhorrence for uncomfortable silences. Just as I shove the mop and bucket inside the closet, shecracks.
“And for your information, Rachel was instructing thismorning.”
“Because…?”
“Lars is on vacation,” she finallymumbles
I laugh. An honest to God, genuine laugh. And it almost makes me laugh harder when I realize I’m not laughing at her or about her, but simply because she’s her. She’s not the perfect mother, but one thing I’ve learned since being forced into interstate prison trading is that nobody’s perfect. Least of all me. But at the end of the day, she’s still my mother, and we can be not perfecttogether.
The dark supply closet isn’t exactly my ideal place to chat, so I back up and lean my shoulder against the doorframe. “What can I do foryou?”
“Nothing. I just miss you.” She’s quiet for a moment as if she doesn’t want to say the wrong thing. “You’re always over at Cary’s, and I never see youanymore.”
“You never saw me when I wasthere.”
“True, but at least I knew I could if I wanted to. It’s just so quiet here withoutyou.”
A shuffling noise in the hallway momentarily diverts my attention, and I lean backward to peer around the corner. Of course, nothing’s there, and the harder I stare, the more I think Cary and I need less sex and moresleep.
“How about we have dinner tomorrow night?” I ask, reclining against the doorframe. “I need new clothes, and I think Cary can handle one night withoutme.”
“I’d love that.” I can’t remember hearing such hopefulness in my mother’s voice before. It makes me realize what a shitty daughter I’vebeen.
“Then it’s adate.”
She hedges. “We still haven’t talked about what you did, or the consequences of all thispublicity.”
“I know, but can we talk about it tonight? Today’s kind of a big day. The health inspector is coming and from what Cary tells me, he has it out forhim.”
“Mason McDaniel?” She chuckles—a low, knowing laugh that tells me I don’t want to know whatever’s behind it. “I’ll have a chat with him. One thing about socializing in a small, elite circle…nobody’s private business is ever private. Cary won’t have to worry about him. Trustme.”
Yeah, I absolutely don’t want toknow.
“Thanks. I’d better go. I have less than an hour to get everything put away here before everyone starts coming in for theday.”
“Okay, darling.” I start to move the phone from my ear when she calls my name. “Hey,Shiloh?”
“Yeah?”
“I loveyou.”
In twenty-five years, I’ve never heard those three words come out of Bianca West’s mouth. I don’t know how to react, but I know what tosay.
