Page 80 of Don't Leave
“Thanks for saying that.”
She closes the distance between us before tugging me into her arms. At first it feels a little uncomfortable but after a moment, I allow myself to melt into her embrace. It’s been difficult to find the silver lining in what happened last year, but maybe this new relationship with my mom is one of them.
She pulls away just enough to meet my gaze. “I was wondering if you wanted to go shopping with us tomorrow morning.”
In all the years I lived at home, Mom and my sisters would get up super early and hit all the Thanksgiving Day sales. Normally, I’d be playing in some turkey shootout tournament but that’s not the case this year and suddenly, I’m glad for it.
“I’d like that. Thanks for asking.”
“Great.” Her eyes take on a sly look before she asks, “So, any plans with that foxy boy who gave you and Brooklyn a ride home yesterday?”
My mouth drops open as I repeat with a fair amount of horror, “Foxy? Did you seriously just say that?”
Her brows draw together as she says, “Isn’t that the hip lingo all the kids are using these days?”
I shake my head. “Um, no. And quite frankly, I don’t want to hear that word come out of your mouth ever again.” I shudder. “It’s so wrong, it can never be right.”
Her lips twitch. “How about sexy? Is that better? Like we’re just a couple of gals trying to keep it real?”
I slap my hands over my ears before howling, “Oh my god, that’s even worse!”
She perks up before asking, “What abouthot?”
Unable to bear another moment, I point to the door. “You need to leave. Now.”
When a chuckles escapes from her, I can’t help but join in.
“Oh, wait, I know—smoking!” There’s a pause. “Smoking hot!” She nods as if she’s totally nailed it this time.
“Are you trying to scar me for life? Because that’s what’s happening here.”
She waves a hand. “All right, all right. Sheesh. I’ll stop. I just wanted to know about the cute boy who drove you home.”
Unsure if I want to discuss Luke with my mother, I flop onto my bed before nibbling at my lower lip.
“He was quite studly.”
I shake my head. “You are seriously killing me. You know that, right?” Giving in, I throw her a tiny crumb of information, hoping she’ll refrain from using any more hip lingo. “He’s just a friend.”
She rolls her eyes. “It certainly seemed like more to me. He looked smitten.”
Smitten?
Nope, I’m not even going to touch that one.
“We’re just friends,” I repeat. For a moment, I debate whether to tack onright nowbut then decide not to because who knows what will happen between us.
It’s kind of amazing that my mom and I are even having this kind of conversation. We’ve never talked about boys before.Even though it feels like the tips of my ears are burning with embarrassment, it’s kind of nice.
When I remain silent, she waggles her brows. “He’s quite a handsome young man.” She leans a bit closer before adding in a loud whisper, “and he had a nice butt on him.”
I shriek again because I absolutely do not want to hear my mother talking about some guy’s backside.
With a chuckle she says, “I’m old, Cassidy. Not dead. There’s a difference.”
Clearly.
We both dissolve into another bout of laughter.
