Page 77 of Man Seeking Woman

“You and your mom don't get along?” I asked.

“My mother is an entity of her own, you'll see what I mean. She's a difficult woman, someone who sees the world through violet lenses. I love her, I respect her, but she's a handful on her own.”

“If you're trying to help ease my nerves, that's not comforting.”

“I just don't want you to get blindsided, that wouldn't be fair.”

The elevator doors opened up and I was immediately stunned. Looking across the hall, all I could see were the tops of buildings and the lights from windows. The skyline was a washy gray, with swirls of black, blue and silver.

“Oh wow,” I said, stepping forward and placing my hand on the window. Looking down, my forehead touched the cool glass as I watched the small taillights of the cars moving like red rope lights. “This is incredible.”

August rested his hands on the top of my shoulders, leaning over and kissing my cheek. “I can think of something more incredible.” The tips of his fingers trailed down the curve of my throat. “Like earlier, before we left to come here.”

A shiver ran up and down my body as he touched me. The weight of his fingers on my skin was delicate and gentle, but within the feathery tickle was something else. Something more personal.

I could feel it as he passed it like a hot torch and it spread across my skin like fire. My body ignited, the small flame now a burning inferno in my belly.

Twisting to look at him over my shoulder, our eyes were fixed on each other. His lips hovered over mine as his thumb followed the smooth curve of my jaw. The look in his eyes was filled with a million different thoughts and words he was holding in.

“What are—” I started to ask, but was suddenly interrupted.

“Oh good lord. You do realize you're in public, and not in a red light district or sex club, right?” Turning around quickly, I saw a small, older woman standing in the middle of the hall. She looked like my grandmother, except she had extremely good fashion sense.

Dressed in a satin Kaftan with sequin embellishments along the neckline, her silhouette was almost flawless. But as my eyes settled on her face, I knew instantly that this wasn't your sweet little grandma who baked cookies, and cooked big five course meals.

This woman had a resting bitch face. There wasn't a smile to be seen. Not built within her weathered lips or frayed eyes.

“Mom,” August said, pulling me to his side. “I want you to meet—”

“Was she—” she asked, ignoring her son completely as she pushed her head out, reminding me of an aged turtle. Her neck was long and wrinkled, her lips smacking as she opened and closed them. “She was, she was touching the window,” she said, answering herself. “Great, now I have to get Olivia to come and clean it before anyone else sees this greasy mess.” Rolling her eyes, she cupped her hip. “I can only imagine what your windows look like, August. Do you let her just paw at them freely?”

“And so it begins.” August whispered into the air, his voice loud enough so only I could hear it. Braiding our fingers together, he took a firm step forward. “The window is fine, you don't need to have anyone come and clean it.”

Swinging a finger in the air, she pointed at the window. “Don't you see that smudge? It looks like she ran her nose across it, just like that dog who lived across the street from us when you were really little.”

Did she just call me a dog?

I stood shocked, balancing on this single thread of doubt. I didn't want to think that his mother could be so vile, but I also couldn't ignore the words she used. Biting my tongue, I took the high road and let it go.

“His name was Sam, and it wasn't a dog, it was Mrs. Neylon's son.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, squinting an eye. August nodded and his mother scoffed, throwing a hand in the air. “Well, we're cutting apples here if you ask me. I swear that boy barked once.” Glancing up in the air, it looked like she was recounting that moment, only to shrug it off. “Come on, let's go inside, dinner will be ready shortly.”

Following his mother in silence, she opened her door and stepped inside. Lifting both her arms as if she was an Egyptian princess, his mother glanced back at us over her shoulder as her feet swept weightlessly over the floor without a sound.

“Ella is it?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

Stopping short, she spun around in one graceful move. “Please, call me Fran, Ma'am makes me feel so old.”

“You are old,” August said, winking at me as he smirked.

His mother glared at him, pursing her lips like a tight asshole, but not reprimanding him for his cocky remark. “And no Mrs. Burke either, because I haven't been Mrs in a very long time.”

“Of course, thank you so much for inviting me for dinner, Fran. Your home is beautiful.”

“Isn't it?” she asked, her voice coming out as more of a fact than a question. “Does your family live in the city?”

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