Page 38 of The Truth About Love

That she’s brave. That she’s extraordinary. That she’severything.

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My truck grumbles to a stop outside my tiny ramshackle conch house. The blinds are open downstairs, the windows open to let in the air, confirming that Mama’s home. And if she’s feeling brave enough to have the windows open, then I can probably assume today’s a good day.

Summer-Raine sits beside me rubbing her clammy palms together. She chews at the inside of her cheek, brows furrowed as she stares at my house in dread.

“You seem tense,” I say, stating the obvious.

Wide eyes swing to mine. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“That won’t happen.” I snort. “But even if it does, she’ll have forgotten all about it tomorrow.”

“Her condition gives her amnesia?” she asks.

“No.” I shake my head. “But the alcohol does.”

“Gotcha.”

I jump out the truck and rush round to the passenger side to open Summer-Raine’s door, only to find her already swinging herself onto the sidewalk.

“If Mama’s spying on us right now, then I hope you realise you’ve just got me in deep shit.”

She looks at me in confusion.

“Told you she raised me to be a gentleman. But it’s kinda hard to be one when you refuse to let me every time I try.”

She swats me on the arm and then immediately shoots a worried glance towards the house. I take her hand and pull her up the front path. The closer we get to the door, the more her steps falter and the quicker her breathing becomes.

I unlock the door and lead us inside.

Rotten floorboards creak underfoot as we make our way to the kitchen. I watch Summer-Raine as she takes in the house, breathing in the chipped and faded wallpaper, the old wooden flooring and flickering lamplight. There’s no pity in her expression, there never is, but her eyes shine bright with concern.

“Do you not get any financial aid?” she whispers.

“Mama gets alimony, but it mostly feeds her drinking habit.”

I steer her into the kitchen, finding Mama on her knees on the tiled floor as she clears out one of the cupboards.

“Hey, Mama.”

The sound of my voice surprises her and she smacks her head on the countertop as she shunts herself out of the cupboard to stand up. “Oh, darling, hello.” Wiping her hands down on her apron, she finally raises her head to look at me.

And then her eyes catch on Summer-Raine and my breath hitches.

Because I wasn’t exactly truthful when I assured Summer-Raine that Mama would like her. There’s no way I could predict what her reaction would be to meeting a girl of mine for the first time. She’s a tornado, my mother. She can be anywhere from weak and harmless to wild and treacherous. And this is the first time I’ve ever put someone else at risk of getting caught up in her storm.

Mama drags her gaze up and down Summer-Raine’s body, taking in her branded Stella McCartney gym leggings and Tommy Hilfiger tee. Her clothes don’t scream rich kid as much as they could do, but it’s clear as day that she comes from money. And Mama fucking hates people who come from money.

“Who the fuck is this?”

“This is Summer, Mama.” I say, knowing Summer-Raine would hate me to introduce her using her full name. It’s only me who’s allowed to call her that. “My girlfriend.”

I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me, but I don’t take my attention off of my Mama.

“I see.”

She stares at Summer-Raine down the slope of her nose.

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