Page 38 of All for You

A knot forms in my stomach. Disapproval radiates off her in waves, threatening to erode my resolve. But I swallow tightly, reminding myself that I’m not here for her approval. I’m here for Travis.

“Mrs. Kincaid.” I approach her with what I hope is a friendly smile and pull a piece of cheese from my handbag. “I have some chèvre. Would you like a piece?”

She examines the offering as if I were handing over a dead mouse.

My fingers tighten around the cheese, the cellophane wrapper crinkling softly. Now it feels like a foolish gesture, childish even. My bravado falters. “It’s really good. Organic and everything.”

She scoffs. “No thank you.” The last part is delivered with such sarcasm that I wonder if she’s even capable of smiling.

I shove the cheese back into my purse, trying not to let her get to me. “Travis mentioned you love gourmet foods. I just thought?—”

“Travis says a lot of things,” she cuts in. “Like how you’re a waitress.” She settles back in the rocker, her determined gaze never leaving mine. “I’m sure it’s very rewarding work, scraping by like that.”

Shame and anger churn in my belly. I’ve worked hard to build a life for myself, escape the suffocating expectations of my own mother, and leave behind a toxic relationship. And here is Travis’s mother dismissing it all with a few carefully chosen words meant to hurt. I want to shout and defend myself, but the words stick in my throat.

I bite the inside of my cheek, tasting a tinge of copper. This woman is unbelievable. “It is. I take a lot of pride in what I do.”

“Of course you do. Pride is important when you don’t have much else.”

I think of my tiny apartment, secondhand furniture, the dreams I’ve put on hold. Was that all she saw when she looked at me? A charity case? Someone not worthy of her son?

I open my mouth to say something—what, I’m not sure—but close it again. There’s probably no winning with her. She’s like a bulldozer, flattening everything in her path. Or a protective mama bear. I think about my mother and how she would probably get along with Laura Kincaid. The two could start a club for overbearing parents who think they know best.

“Look, Mrs. Kincaid.” I decide to try a different tack. “I know you’re worried about Travis. He means a lot to me, and I would never do anything to hurt him.”

She huffs her disbelief. “This is what your kind does. You want my son’s money and then pretend you’re magnanimous once you have your greedy hands on his wallet.”

Her words hit me like a sharp slap. “My kind? Greedy? I’m not using his money for anything. I don’t want it, and I’ve never asked him for a cent.”

Anger flares hot and bright in my chest. How dare she reduce me to some gold-digging stereotype? I take pride in supporting myself, no matter how few dollars sit in my bank account. But doubt creeps in, insidious and unwelcome. Am I fooling myself? Does everyone see me the way she does?

She waves a dismissive hand. “No, but you will. It’s only a matter of time. Don’t think I don’t see what’s going on here. You’re playing the long game, hoping to marry into security. It’s all very predictable. You’re all the same.”

“We’re not even that serious,” I blurt out, immediately regret it. Why am I trying to downplay our relationship? Maybe because a part of me is starting to believe Travis and I have been doomed from the start. I want to yank the words back as soon as they leave my mouth. I’m letting her get to me, making me doubt everything I feel for Travis.

She raises an eyebrow. “So, this is just a fling for you? That makes itsomuch better.”

I’m sinking fast. “I mean, we’re taking things slowly. Seeing where it goes.” The thought of losing Travis scares me shitless.

Her scoff is immediate and harsh. “Oh please, save that for someone who might believe it. You’re not fooling anyone, least of all me.” She crosses her arms, her gaze piercing as she leans forward in the chair as though she’s about to share somethingspecial. “Spare us all the drama, Rachel. You’re not good enough for him. And we both know it.”

Each word is a knife stabbing deep.

I inhale, working to steady myself. “I care about your son. That’s real, whether you believe it or not.”

She rises from the chair, her posture as rigid as a soldier’s. “Caring is easy. Love is hard.”

I stared at her, speechless.

“Stay away from my son.” Her voice is low and hostile, and the look on her face is brutally cold.

I start to tremble. I’d hoped we’d find an olive branch of some sort. I thought she’d like me once she got to know me. Doesn’t every mother only want their child to be happy?

She’s right about one thing, though. I am proud. Maybe too proud. But I’m not a fool, and I don’t use people. The longer I stand here, the more I wonder if this is a battle I can win.

Laura’s voice cuts through the silence again, icy and sharp. “Really, Rachel, what do you expect to gain from all this? Do you think playing house with my son will change your stripes?”

I clench my fists. “I’m not trying to gain anything. I just?—”

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