CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

KIM

Ignoring Mom’s calls doesn’t stop her. She’s persistent. The next thing you know, she ‘ll be showing up at my place. And that’s something I don’t want to happen.

I finally listen to some of her voicemails. She’s found the perfect guy and wants me to go out on a date with him. She’s done this before. The dates aren’t perfect, far from it. I tell her repeatedly, “No more.” Yet she continues to do it. The big problem is, the guys she sets me up with are her type, not mine.

And they think that since Mom is so easy, I am too. They get all handsy with me, and I end up sneaking off. She, in turn, gets mad at me for flaking out. Gawd.

It’s been a week since I woke up alone in the hotel room. Still can’t get over Josh leaving me that morning. I’m thinking I need to take a break from men; maybe permanently.

I text my mother back: Not interested.

She texts me: I’m in town. Lunch?

I really don’t want to. The woman drives me crazy. That’s the reason I’m trying to break all ties with her. It’s just hard, since she is my mother. She’s always scheming, and sometimes tries to involve me. The woman doesn’t have a motherly bone in her body.

As a kid, I wanted a mother who baked cookies and took me to the park. Not the one who worried about me gaining weight because I could make money modeling. She even became my manager. Good for her, bad for me.

Mom always wanted to be a model herself, but she got pregnant, and that ended any hope she ever had. I ended any hope she ever had of becoming a famous model. And she never lets me forget it.

Eventually, I quit modeling, mainly because of her. And then she disowned me. Until she needed something.

It’s been months since I’ve heard from her, and then she starts calling and keeps calling. I thought she was with husband number six. Or is it seven? I can’t remember, and it doesn’t matter. Something must have happened, though, because now she just won’t stop.

I stare at her message. I have a terrible urge to bite my nails. It’s my bad habit that my mother can’t stand; it’s my nervous tick.

I can do lunch, I reply, “but I won’t meet any men. Don’t try to set me up!!!

It’s a bad idea, but if I don’t meet with her, she’ll hound me to the ends of the earth. Going back in our relationship, I had to be the adult worrying about bills and groceries. My mother was the child who liked shiny things that caught her eye. But once she plays with something for so long, she grows bored and moves on to the next toy. That’s how she is with everything in her life.

Meet me at The Dearborn at one o’clock.

I didn’t even know she was in town. Mom prefers Los Angeles or New York if she’s in the States. I wonder what she wants. I refuse to give her any money. No way, no how.

I drop my head and sigh. At least we’re meeting at one of my favorite places. It’s a coincidence that she picked it. No, really. She doesn’t know any of my likes and dislikes. For the longest time, I didn’t know them either; I just went along and always agreed with her.

I consider not dressing up for the lunch date with Mom. Show up in full grunge. But I wouldn’t hear the end of it. So, I pick a dress that is semi-flattering and a comfortable pair of shoes. Take some time with my makeup. Get the hair just right. Then hit the road for a lunch date that I now wish I hadn’t agreed to.

I arrive on time and don’t need to search for my mother. She’s easy to find because she always chooses a table up front so everyone can see her. I notice she’s brought a date. He’s younger than her but still older than me, probably in his thirties. I wonder what she’s up to.

He’s a good-looking man, but he’s one of those who takes more time to get ready than I do. His brown hair is styled just right, and his clothes fit well enough. He no doubt works out. I stop before I reach the table. I shouldn’t judge him. My mother likes these types of men.

I waltz toward her, and she notices me coming and makes a production of greeting me, knowing everyone in the restaurant is watching us, exactly how she likes it. I give her a fake kiss on each cheek without touching her skin. She doesn’t like it when you mess up her makeup.

“Darling,” she says. “I’m so glad you could come. I want you to meet Paul.”

He stands and says, “Pleasure to meet you.”

I give him a half-smile and take a seat.

“I knew you’d be late, so I already ordered you a salad.”

Wonderful. Now I’ll have to buy a sandwich on the way home. Salads never fill me up.

Paul moves his chair a little closer to mine.

“Kimberly, your mother tells me you make jewelry.”

He looks at my chest instead of my face. My eyes are up here, fella. I try to shimmy my chair over to get away from him. Mom throws me a disapproving glare.

Before I can make some inane comment to Paul, I feel a presence behind me. I twist around. Josh is standing there. Where did he come from? Where?