Page 17 of No More Bad Boys
Larson gives her bottom a playful tap, then seems to finally notice there are other life forms in the room. “Hey Cadence. Hello Mrs. Carpenter.”
“Hi Larson,” I say, giving him a quick hug.
Momma bustles over and lifts her cheek for a kiss. “I keep telling you to call me Lisbeth. And I’m also telling you—you’d better hurry up and putanotherring on it, Larson. Kenley’s always had men falling at her feet. Better lock her down before she gets away.”
“Lisbeth.” Daddy’s tone is low and calm and accompanied by a light squeeze to Momma’s forearm as he steps up to her side.
The man’s work is never done—he sure has more patience than I do.
Momma yanks her arm away, and her face takes on thatokay, okay, I knowexpression. Kenley shoots me a secret look, communicating what we’re all thinking—Momma hasn’t changedthatmuch.
“What did you think of my live shot today?” I ask to change the subject from husband-to-be-hounding.
“Oh. The whole show was wonderful, darling. Now remind me, which live shot was yours?”
Nope. Things aren’t that different. Momma has always been tuned into the Kenley Channel, even before her firstborn daughter got into TV news. Where I’m concerned, her reception has always been a bit fuzzy.
“The one at the aquarium, right pumpkin?” Daddy offers quickly.
I take a calming breath before answering. “Right. Remember the story where the reporter was in the fish tank?”
There’s a look of recollection in my mother’s eyes. “Oh yes.He’san attractive fellow.”
To my mortification, my face heats in a full blush. I open the refrigerator and stick my head inside, pretending to search for a drink.
“He’s okay, I guess. Any Mountain Dew in here?”
“You know I only buy diet drinks. Too many liquid calories will catch up with you,” she warns.
She’s probably right—after all, her midlife figure is one many girls my age would envy. But I spend enough time running and playing lacrosse I’m not worried about indulging in the occasional sugary drink.
“Momma.” Kenley’s warning tone floats across the room.
During our family “intervention” Momma promised to cut out the weight-shaming of her daughters, and for the most part, she’s been controlling herself. But the impulse is still in there and sometimes the comments leak out.
It’s probably second nature to her by this point, as her primary objective since our births was grooming us to meet and marry wealthy men. Ensuring we maintained attractive figures was a vital part of that plan.
Of course, Kenley, obedient and compliant child that she was, followed the plan a whole lot better than I did. That was, until her first engagement ended, and she completely rebelled.
She hooked up with Larson inspiteof his money, not because of it.
My own rebellion began at about age nine, when I adamantly refused to participate in any more Little Miss pageants and started coming home daily with my prissy, expensive school dresses mysteriously stained and shredded.
Eventually Momma gave up and washed her hands of the whole business, abandoning the her attempts to make me anappropriate ladyand doubling down on her efforts with Kenley.
My poor sister.
“You didn’t mention who you worked with today,” Kenley says. “Who was the reporter?”
“His name’s Blake.”
“Oh, I love that name. I dated a guy in college named Blake.”
Larson picks that moment to wrap an arm around his fiancée and pull her back possessively against his chest. Because he’s behind her, Kenley can’t see the slight downturn of his lips and the pinching of his brows—he obviously hates the thought she ever dated anyone before him.
She goes on without missing a beat. “So how was he? Some reporters can be hard to work with.”
“He was… fine.” I find myself not wanting to talk about Blake. “He did a good job. Almost got eaten by a shark, though.”
