Page 21 of The Love Destroyers

My mother sighs and looks up from her phone. One of her friends put a dating app on it for her on Valentine’s Day, a few days ago, and now all she does is pore over photos of silver foxes from dawn until dusk. Really, you’d think she’d take more of an interest in the redecorating project. She’s a widow, three times over, and two out of her three marriages would warrant a one-star review. But a woman has needs, as she reminded me last night, when I asked her why she was on her phone throughout dinner.

I’d prefer not to think of my mother’s needs, mind you, but here we are. If her needs were just sexual, I’d care less. But she made it clear that she’s looking for the real deal. Again.

“This one’s bald as a cue ball,” she says thoughtfully, clucking her tongue. “He thinks he can fool me by wearing a newsboy cap, but I know a bald head when I see one. It’s there in the curve of the scalp.”

I gesture silently toward the chair.

She makes a dismissive gesture. “Yes, yes, very nice. Just like all of the other changes you’ve made. Someone should callBetter Homes and Gardens.”

Really, I don’t know why I put in the effort.

I head over to the bar and pour us each a drink. Handing hers over, I say, “I thought you wanted me to stay in Marshall. Youtold me I could have free rein decorating the house. You seemed excited about it.”

She sets down her phone, giving me a peek at Newsboy Guy. Yup. Cueball. Worse, I can see the introduction message he sent her. He called my seventy-year-old motherkittenand told her exactly what he’d like to do with her—

“Why don’t you sit down?” my mother asks.

I plant a hand on my hip, knowing some sort of lecture is on the way and in no mood for it. “No thanks. I’ll take it standing up, thank you very much.”

“Take what?” she says with an amused twist of her lips. “I just figured you’d like to sit in that chair you’re making such a fuss about.”

Glaring at her, I lower into it, and find it uncomfortable. Shit. Did I forget to sit in it before buying it? I smile at her and take a sip of the drink. “Perfect. I’ve never felt more relaxed.”

She gives me her patentednever bullshit a bullshitterlook. “I don’t think you’ve been relaxed for a single day in your whole life, Emma. There was a week when you were six or maybe seven when you couldn’t move your bowels, and I thought you were going to give us a diamond.”

“If I couldn’t shit for a week, you should have brought me to the hospital,” I say before I can reel myself in.

She gives me a haughty look over her gin and tonic. “You kids these days, going to the hospital for a papercut.”

I could point out that my brother hadn’t gone to the hospital after being whipped so badly he still has scars from it, but to be fair, Anthony kept what our father was doing a secret—and the day after my mother found out, my father plummeted to his death from an apple tree. It was an argument in favor of karma, because she did not, in fact, have to kill him, which she certainly would have done.

I settle for saying, “I haven’t worked for over two months, Mother. You don’t get more relaxed than that.”

She has the look of opposing council during a cross examination as she gestures around the room, which, admittedly, has changed quite a bit since I took up residence. “This may be the first time I’ve seen you sit down since New Year’s,” she comments. “Thank God you went and bought yourself a chair, but I’m afraid you won’t have long to sit in it. We’ve been invited to a house warming.”

“And you accepted?” I ask, horrified. Admittedly, I have no idea who is throwing this party, and Ididmostly enjoy myself at poker the other night, but the only other guests were Rosie, Anthony, and their friends. I’m not ready for the world.

She gives me a look that might have appeared sympathetic on someone else. “Emma, dear, when was the last time you left the house for something other than a furniture or home improvement store?”

“I went to Starbucks. The woman behind the counter told me all about the wart on her chin. It was a very meaningful interaction. There were tears in my eyes.”

“You’re unfulfilled,” says my mother, the woman who’s never had a job and is so rich she couldn’t possibly blow all of her money in one place, or even fifteen.

I straighten in the uncomfortable chair, trying to look relaxed. But what does a relaxed person even look like? My back should probably be slumped, I decide. I try it, and my mother watches me with a stiff expression. Sighing, she finally says, “I should have said something when you first arrived, but Ihadhoped some time off would be good for you. Back in my day, we enjoyed taking lengthy vacations.”

I narrowly avoid sayingyour entire life has been a vacation.

“Clearly, I was wrong,” she continues. “I think you need to get back on the horse.”

“What horse? The one you keep at the stables? Or is this your bid for me to join SilverFoxes.com with you so men can start calling mekittentoo?”

She makes a sound adjacent to a snort. “Do you have another nickname you’d prefer?”

I can practically hear Seamus in my head, whispering, “Daddy.” But to be honest, the thought of finding another silver fox holds no appeal for me. I wasn’t interested in Jeffrey because of his money—it was his experience and power that drew me in. But power, ill-gotten and ill-used, isn’t attractive at all, it turns out.

My mother waves a hand at the room, filled with opulence. “This lifestyle doesn’t suit everyone. You need to work to be fulfilled. You’re like your brother.”

She’s right, but at the moment I can’t work in the profession I spent my whole life preparing for. Which is truly a shame, because I would absolutely revel in taking someone’s shitty ex to the cleaners right now—his tears would be medicine for my bored and under-stimulated soul.

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