Page 37 of Lucky
“Matteo,” she says, her tone warning that if I lie to her, she’s going to lay into me next time I see her.
She waits.My mom is good like that.She lets silence do the heavy lifting.
“There’s this girl,” I say finally.
“Winnie the Not So Wild,” my mom says, and well… of course, she’d know.She knows everything.“I love her channel.”
“Yeah… it’s great content.”The elevator reaches my floor and I get off.
“You like her,” she teases.
“No, I don’t,” I insist out of habit more than anything.I enter my room, letting the door fall shut behind me.
“Matteo,” she says, her voice already loaded with suspicion.“Don’t lie.I can hear your guilty face through the phone.”
I snort as I plop down on the bed, leaning against the headboard.“That’s not a thing.”
“It is.You get all squinty and weird like you’re passing a kidney stone.”
“Wow.Thanks, Ma.”
She waits.Doesn’t press.Lets the silence stretch like she’s got all day and knows I’ll crack.
“Yeah… so she’s got great content.”
And then I lamely go quiet.
“Her rabbit’s a menace,” my mom says in a tone that is meant to prod me into conversation.
“Yeah… Buttermilk is basically a scathing ball of fluff on four legs.”I chuckle.“So you’ve seen the videos?”
“Matty, please.I know everything about my kids and grandkids.”
I laugh.“Of course you do.Well… she’s just—she’s something else.Smart, hilarious, sharp as hell.But this whole dating challenge, trying to find a ‘normal guy…’”
“And you’re the curveball,” she says firmly.
“I’m the extra-credit essay she didn’t ask for.”I glance at the clock on the bedside table.“She says I’m not normal enough.”
“Oh, honey,” she drawls, “you haven’t been normal since you were born with those ocean-colored eyes and eyelashes that make girls swoon.But you are steady.You’re good.You open doors and remember birthdays and say thank you to waitstaff.That counts.”
“Yeah, but she had a date with a guy last night that she apparently found to be refreshingly normal.”
“She also went to breakfast with you and posted about it like she just met her leading man in a movie,” my mom counters.“I’ve seen the way she talks about you in those videos.That girl really likes you.”
“She apparently likes Nate too,” I grumble.
“But he’s not you,” she says, as only a mother can with that pride in her voice.“He can’t hold a candle to you.”
I reach over and grab the room service menu and place it on my lap to flip through it.“You’re saying that because you’re my mom.”
“So sue me,” she teases.“What do you like about her?”
“She’s adorable,” I admit, eyeballing the eggs Benedict but reconciling probably not the best choice on game day.“And it’s fun.Like, genuinely fun.I feel like I’m getting to know someone worth getting to know and that’s not happened to me before.”
“Then stop worrying about what box you fit in.You’re not average, but you’re not a circus act either.You’re Lucky.And if she doesn’t see how rare that is, then she’s not as smart as I thought.”
I grin, because honestly, I don’t need advice—I just wanted to talk to someone who gets it.
