Page 15 of No More Bad Boys
I do. But I’ve promised to have dinner at my parents’ condo, which holds about as much appeal as a forest fire… or swimming in a tankfullof sharks.
Momma is better these days than she used to be. But that isn’t saying much. A yeast infection is better than an STD, but you don’t really want either of them.
“I wish I could. I have to have dinner with my parents.”
“Come by after that. These things usually go until about ten.”
“Okay. I’ll try.”
“Give me your phone.” Luce holds out her hand, and I give her the phone. She talks while punching buttons. “I’m putting in my number. There. I just called myself from your phone, so now I’ve got yours. I’ll text you the address of the place, and you can let me know when you’re on your way.”
Although we’re buddies at work, we’ve never done anything outside the station before. I need to study, but she’s hard to say no to. I guess there’s a reason a lot of the reporters let her knock on the doors when they’re out on tough stories together.
“Maybe. If I can.”
“I’ll see you there,” she says insistently as she steps out of the live truck followed by Blake, who’s strangely quiet all of a sudden.
In fact, he doesn’t even say goodbye.
FIVE
Fuzzy Reception
I’m almost ready to go by the time Kenley drags in from work.
“Hey. Hard day?”
“Ugh. You have no idea. These fashion people can be so difficult. I had to spend an hour on the phone with Giovanni Rocco’s assistant today, assuring her we wouldn’t useharshlighting on the set when he came on. We used every soft filter we had, and he still wasn’t happy. I don’t think he would’ve been truly satisfied unless we’d used only candlelight in the studio. So vain.”
“Sounds stressful. However, it does not get you out of going to Momma and Daddy’s tonight, so don’t even try.”
“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t abandon you like that. And Larson’s still coming, too.”
“Thank God. He’s like the ultimate camouflage. Momma won’t even notice I’m there.”
“True. Even better, you should find yourowndistraction and bringhimover,” she teases.
“Are you kidding? And give her the joy of seeing me paired up with someone? She doesn’t deserve that much happiness. Besides, I don’t know anyone that distracting.”
But a burst of recent memory makes me a liar. I get a picture of Blake undressing in the live truck mirror, and the image is so vivid I feel my face flush in a wave of heat and color. Thankfully, Kenley’s not looking at me—she’s sifting through the day’s mail on the counter.
She turns back to me. “Are you ever going to forgive her? Not that she deserves it, mind you.”
“Momma and I are fine,” I protest in a tone that I can tell doesn’t convince Kenley at all.
I’ve always envied her ability to forgive and forget. Our mother hurt her just as much over the years—I saw it happen.
But somehow she always seemed to find another bit of room in her heart, some reserve supply of mercy I wasn’t born with apparently.
When Momma threw herself at our feet a few months ago, acknowledging her awful behavior and promising to change, Kenley was actually moved and is apparently willing to give her a total do-over.
I’m not sure I can do the same. Momma and I aren’t openly fighting, and I don’thateher. In fact, I can’t seem to muster any emotion at all where she’s concerned anymore.
She’s made one remark too many, and now our relationship rests more on obligation and civility than any sort of affection on my part.
The good news is—she can no longer hurt me. I guess the bad news, if it isbad, is that I basically feel indifferent toward the woman who gave birth to me. It’s better than hate, right?
Kenley steps close, touching my arm lightly then letting her hand fall to her side. I look at her face. Nope, she didn’t buy it even a little bit.
