She looked at me for a long moment, releasing a long breath. You can do better than that,’” I countered. “Really? Because I clearly recall you saying, ‘He’s not good for you Mia. Dad didn’t like him because he’s broke, and you didn’t like him because you knew he’d never be a doctor or lawyer or whatever other fantasy man you envisioned me marrying.” “Nobody ever said we didn’t like you guys together,” she said.
“What does it matter anyway? You guys hated Jensen and me together.” The last one was definitely more serious than this one, not that it made a difference to her or anybody else. I bristled, feeling like she caught me in a lie. “Really? So who is this guy worth mentioning?” “Maybe I hadn’t met anyone worth mentioning until now,” I said, bringing my eyes to hers again. The headline story was about the Clark Estate … again. My gaze fell to the paper on the table, away from her questioning blue eyes. “I haven’t seen you date anybody, or even heard you mention any guys, for that matter, since Jensen left,” she said, cutting straight to the chase. I turned around when I heard the newspaper crinkle and took a seat across from her.
She hated when I called her by her first name. “Spit it out, Bettina, you know you want to,” I said, turning to get myself a bottle of water. That was what all the kids I grew up with said about her-that she was a MILF, in a sexy schoolteacher kind of way, with her long, wavy blonde hair and her librarian glasses. You look beautiful,” she replied, going back to her paper. She was leaning back in one of the wooden chairs in our breakfast nook, a newspaper in hand, looking at me like I was wearing a bikini, not skinny jeans and a floral top. “Hm,” she said, earning my attention with her non-committal statement. “Yes, a date.” I picked up my long, damp hair and wrapped it into a bun as I weaved my way toward the fruit. “A DATE?” MY mother asked as I stepped into the kitchen.
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