Page 20 of Lessons in Love
“I didn’t say I was, but I’m living, experiencing, and I’m better off than I was four years ago.”
“Better off?” She appears reflective as she sips her champagne. When her light blue eyes hit mine, she asks, “We had some good times together, right?”
“We were alike in many ways, but we were terrible together.” God’s honest truth. We were lucky the cops were never called during one of our blowout fights. The woman knows how to use words that cut right to your core. She also has always had a philandering problem. That’s why it’s just better to avoid that catastrophe of locking oneself down to another altogether. Then when you fuck around with someone, no one else gets hurt.
“I remember us so differently. Living in the city with great paying jobs right out of college. You had that great apartment with the view. So many good memories were made there.”
“Our family’s connections afforded us our degrees and careers. It was never what I wanted. I was working to protect the Richard name while destroying myself.”
“You didn’t seem unhappy.”
I finish my whiskey in one go. “I was drowning in my life, waking up every day wishing I was living another.”
Eyeing my empty glass, judgment creases her forehead as she raises an eyebrow. A motion I’m surprised she can still make. “You’re doing a good job now.”
“I have different reasons to drown out tonight.”
“You sound bitter, Hardy. It’s sad to see someone with so much potential throw it all away on a walk up in Brooklyn and a run down bar.”
I set my glass on the tray behind the bar and walk away. It’s a bad habit I’ve developed. Once I turned twenty-eight, I ran out of patience for people who carry negativity around like the latest designer bag. Isabella Collins is the queen of holding my past against me. She was always one for the low blow.
“Hardy?”
I stop walking, the exit is so close, but slips from my reach when I hear my mother’s voice. Plastering a big smile on my face, I turn around. “Mother. I was just looking for you.” Lies to appease.
Her face lights up. She’s actually a really good mom. Isabella just has a way of souring a good mood. I greet my mom with a kiss to her cheek and a hug. She embraces me and then leans back to get a good look at me. “Honey, you look so handsome in dark gray. Your suit fits you perfectly. Is this custom made? Though you’re too skinny living in the city. It’s so competitive there. You should move back to Connecticut and let me feed you home cooked meals every night.”
The suit is Gucci and tailored to me, but I know she’s more worried about my eating habits. Chuckling, I say, “I feel better when I’m fit.”
Wrapping her arm around my back, she leans her head on my shoulder. “I’m allowed to worry about my youngest. You don’t need anything else from me, so give me that. Okay?”
“Yes, Mother.”
This time she laughs. Loud enough that a few people look our way. She has always had a free spirit, not caring what others thought of her. What she doesn’t realize is that everyone adores her.
Virginia’s laugh rings through my ears and an image of her pops into my head. My mother whispers, “Are you seeing anyone?”
The woman has a second sense for when her kids meet someone worth seeing twice. “Nah.”
Her hands are clasped together in front of her mouth, a smile rivaling the Grand Canyon, and I actually see a mischievous delight dancing in her eyes. That or I’ve been reading too many Playboy stories online. That’s probably it. Yeah, yeah, I read it for the articles. I get enough of therealthing inreallife. I don’tneed pictures of women who’ve been photoshopped to get me off. I’ve got enough offers and spank bank material in my head to do the job just fine.
Damn, I forgot I’m with my mom. I shudder, ridding the images now circulating around my brain, I say, “I haven’t seen Dad yet.”
“He’s here somewhere,” she replies, looking around the ballroom. “We’ve raised over five hundred thousand already.”
“Big donations.”
“Yes, the fundraiser is doing well. Can I bother you for a donation?”
“No bother. How much do you want?”
“Five thousand would be great. Ten would be better.”
I reach for my checkbook, pulling it from the inside pocket of my jacket. “Pen?” She hands one to me. I write out a check for the full amount hinted at and hand it to her.
“Thank you, Son. Now, go get something to eat before I have to force feed you some of my pot roast.”
“You don’t have to force-feed me your pot roast. I’d take it happily.”
