Page 68 of Toxic Wishes

“Ya, Grandma, didn’t you tell someone on the phone the other day you were fifty-two?” Bodie says, taking a bite of his mashed potatoes.

My mom makes a tsking noise before saying, “You know a lady never reveals her true age to a man, including her son and grandson. I raised you better than that.” She picks up the basket before her, placing one corn on the cob on her plate.

“Right,” Sarcasm slips from my lips as I draw out the vowels.

“Just eat your chicken and let a lady soak in denial in peace.”

My mom was beautiful for her age. She took excellent care of herself. She didn’t even get Botox or any of that crap most women did in their fifties and sixties. She had naturally smooth skin. She always wore sunscreen and never drank much. Only on occasion. Whenever anyone complimented her, she said, “That’s the product of living a clean life.”

She dated a guy after my dad but never got married or wanted to. She was content. That’s what she told me anyway, but I know she gets lonely now and then. As much as I wanted to see her grow old with someone, I didn’t mind being the only man in her life right now, along with Bodie. And I know my mom didn’t mind it, as long as there was no lady in my life to make her feel like she was taking away from my relationship. Knowing my mom, once I was committed to someone, she would tell me to take care of my family, even if she needed help with something. It’s another reason why I built a lake house nearby.

“So, are you two still working things out?”

I look over at Abigail, and when she meets my eyes, I quickly avert my attention back to my food.

“No, Mom, I told you I was just trying to let her down gently. I mean, I couldn’t just cut ties with her cold turkey after her dad died.”

“Well, I didn’t know. You brought her over here not too long ago, so I’m just asking. Don’t get your cleats in a wad.”

This is the part I hated about my mom, she talked way too much.

I groan as I push my plate away, “Mom, that was three months ago.”

“Really? Could have fooled me, felt like a month ago.”

“We’ve been on a break for almost five months.”

“So why do you still string her along? Spending time with her, if you are not interested anymore? You’re wasting her time and yours. You know that, right? And I ain’t getting any younger.”

Abigail clears her throat loudly, and I glare over at her. She smiles sweetly, not saying a word.

“Ya, know-” A sly grin spreads across my face when I think of the perfect detour for this conversation. “Namoi is Abigail's cousin.”

“No,” my mom says, averting her sole attention from Abigail now. I know that was not the most noble thing to do, but I would rather have my mom ask her questions than me. I’ve had to deal with this nosey woman my whole life. Abigail can handle one lunch.

“Ya,” she clears her throat again, setting her chicken wing on her plate and taking a sip of water. “Colt and I met before that, but I had no idea they dated until my other cousin, Jenna, had her baby shower a couple of weekends ago. I was too busy in California to keep up with drama or anyone’s dating life.” She smiles sweetly as she places a spoonful of peas on her spoon.

“Oh, yes, Namoi mentioned one of her cousins was pregnant and getting married at the same time, which is wonderful. Knock two birds with one stone.” Abigail glances at me with pierced lips, but it’s so swift you wonder if it happened.

“So, are you all related or just Naomi?”

“Yes, they are my cousins. We all grew up together.” Abigail says, but her tone sounds agitated instead of eager.

“How lovely! I would have never guessed, with all that gorgeous curly hair of yours, that you all were ever related,” my mom says with a light laugh.

Abigail’s eyes look down at her hands, and she is quiet. I’m not sure why, but it’s like my mom’s comment did something to her. Upset her? Angered her?’

“No one knows where my curly hair came from.” She jokes. “That’s the power of genetics, right?” She takes another sip of her water, and this time, I can tell she’s uncomfortable with how she shifts in her seat and clutches the glass tightly.

“Like I said, Once I moved to L.A., we all grew apart since no one came to visit me. Not even my parents.”

“That’s awful. How long were you out there?” my mom asks, which I’m grateful for because I wanted her to continue asking Abigail all the pestering questions I was too proud to ask.

“Almost five years.”

“And your parents never saw you?” My mom’s voice shoots up an octave, and Abigail shifts in her seat again.

“I came here for holidays, so I saw them, just not as often as I-” she hesitates, “they wanted.”