Page 59 of Denial

Then, I switch to my mother's text.

Mom: If he has a drop of sense in his head, he'll come running, baby. Oh, and PS, I booked a cruise for next week.

I hesitantly type out:With who?

Mom: Only me. Me, myself, and I.

I smile as I type my next message.

Me: I love that, Mom.

Light turning green, I feel just a little lighter as I begin driving again. Either Ezekiel comes groveling, or we lock him in a crib. Sounds good to me.