Chapter 14
“Nothing good ever follows the words ‘Aren’t you going to let me in?’”
Sloane
I yawn as I make my way from the bedroom to the kitchen. I should still be in bed, but Zane has a meeting this morning and asked me to watch Adele earlier than usual.
I couldn’t say no. Saying no to Zane is difficult enough, but when he’s holding an adorable baby in his arms? It’s impossible.
I really need to save some money and find a place to stay that doesn’t include temptation on a daily basis.
“Good morning,” he greets when I enter the kitchen.
I grunt. I’m not usually a morning person and today I’ve had even less sleep than usual.
He hands me a cup of coffee. “Milk and no sugar. The way you drink it.”
My eyes widen. Zane knows how I drink my coffee? Nope. I’m not going to read anything into this. He doesn’t care for me. He is simply observant.
“Thanks,” I mutter before taking a cautious sip. It’s perfect. Enough milk to kill the bitter taste, but not too much to make the coffee milky.
The doorbell rings. I sigh before setting my coffee down. “I’ll get it.”
“If it’s one of my brothers, don’t let them in. They’ll hide some kind of prank and we won’t find it until the smell gets to us.”
I giggle, but when I open the door and see who’s standing on the porch, the giggle dies in my throat. This isn’t one of his brothers. Not even close.
Mom flips her dyed blonde hair over her shoulder. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”
I open the door and motion her inside.
“What are you doing here?”
She snorts. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”
“I live here.” My brow wrinkles. “Speaking of which, how do you know where I live?”
It’s not as if she keeps in touch. Unless showing up every few months for money is considered keeping in touch. Not in my book, it isn’t.
“Some woman at your former apartment building told me where you’re living.”
I groan. I’m going to kill Melanie. I’ll poison her moonshine. No one will figure out it was me.
It’s bad enough, she had me kicked out of my home. She couldn’t send Mom on a wild goose chase? It’s what Smugglers usually do with visitors who aren’t tourists.
“What do you want?”
She plants a hand on her hip and her bangles clink with the movement. The bangles are part of her whole hippie outfit. The hippie movement died in the early 70s – when my mom was still a toddler – but she clings to the movement as if it were her own invention.
She’s wearing a loose, flowing top in tie-dye. She paired it with a long, white skirt. And, since it’s December and chilly, she topped the outfit with a fringe jacket. She hasn’t changed a bit.
“Is that any way to treat your mother?”
I bark out a laugh. “Mother? Some kind of mother you were.”
“I birthed you.”
“Which is pretty much when you stopped being a mother.”
She rolls her eyes. “You always were such a dramatic child.”
“I was a dramatic child because I wanted dinner, but we couldn’t afford it because you’d spent all your money on booze and marijuana?”
She sighs. “I don’t know what your problem is with marijuana. It’s perfectly legal.”
I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t give a shit if marijuana was legal. I was hungry and wanted dinner.”
She dismisses me with a flick of her hand, causing those damn bangles to jingle again. I swear she cares more about those bangles than she does me.
“You got breakfast and lunch at school.”
“In case you missed the memo, there are three meals in a day.”
She definitely missed the memo. Mom is skinny as a rail. Probably because she continues to spend all of her money on booze and marijuana.
For the record, I don’t have a problem with either one of those substances. I’m a bartender on Smuggler’s Hideaway for mermaid’s sake! But when you don’t have money left over to feed your kid? That I have a problem with.
Zane strolls into the living room carrying Adele in his arms. My face heats. The last person in the entire world I want to witness this interaction is him.
Mom’s gaze rakes up and down Zane. I fight the urge to stand in front of him to protect him from her. Mom doesn’t have an issue with age. Young, old, extremely old? It doesn’t matter to her.
“Who’s this?” She actually licks her lips. Licks her lips.
“This is Zane, and the baby is Adele.”
“Baby?” Her lips purse. Did she not notice Adele on Zane’s hip? She’s hard to miss. “Do you have a baby?”
I open my mouth to correct her but she carries on without listening to me – nothing new there. “I thought I taught you better. Children will weigh you down. You’re better off without one.”
“I’m well aware of how you feel children will weigh you down.”
“Don’t get snarky with me, young woman.”
My nostrils flare as anger fills me. How dare she boss me around! “You literally told me less than a minute ago how I weighed you down and you would have been better off without me. I’m pretty sure I’m entitled to be snarky.”
“You always were such a righteous child.” She motions to Zane and Adele. “And now here you are with a husband and child. I am disappointed in you.”
It’s a good thing I no longer care if she’s disappointed in me. Otherwise, those words would wound worse than a jellyfish sting. And everyone knows jellyfish stings are the worst.
Zane clears his throat. “Mrs. Wilder—”
“It’s Poppy, darling. I’m not married. Never have been.” She bats her eyelashes and bites her bottom lip.
She believes Zane is my husband, and she’s still hitting on him. Now do you understand why I’m not worried about getting my mother’s approval?
He steps closer to me and places a hand on my hip. “How can we help you today?”
She sighs at the hand on my hip. “At least you found a faithful man. Most men aren’t, you know.”
Yes, I know. My father wasn’t faithful. He was a player who played Mom when she was young. He got her pregnant and then disappeared. I’ve never met him. I don’t even know his name. Assuming ‘that man’ isn’t a proper name.
Zane squeezes my hip before releasing me. “Sloane and I aren’t together.”
“Oh.” Mom’s eyes light with interest. “You have an open relationship? Perfect.”
I stare at the floor. If ever there was a time for a hole to open up and swallow me whole, now is the moment. I wait but nothing happens. Darn it.
“I’m his nanny,” I explain.
“Nanny?” Her nose wrinkles. “You choose to be involved with a child when it’s not required? How odd.”
“Ms. Wilder.” Zane waits until her attention is on him. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
She doesn’t make a move toward the door. Of course not. Far be it for my mother to listen to anyone but herself. “But I haven’t had a chance to catch up with my daughter yet.”
Catch up? What an odd way of saying beg for money.
“She doesn’t appear to want to catch up with you.”
“It’s her face. I believe the young people refer to it as ‘resting bitch face’.”
Zane growls. “Tell me I misheard. You did not just say your daughter has resting bitch face.”
Mom clutches her chest. “I’m sorry. Did I use the term wrong?”
She knows exactly how to use the term. But is she fooling Zane with this innocent act? I glance over at him. His jaw clenches, and a muscle in his cheek pulses. He’s not fooled.
I knew there was a reason I liked Zane. As a person. Not as a potential partner. Unlike my mother, I don’t fling myself at every available and some non-available men.
“I’m trying to ask you politely to leave. But I can forget the polite.”
“To leave?” She blinks. “You want me to leave?”
Despite evidence to the contrary, she’s not deaf. She heard Zane when he told her it’s time for her to leave. But she only hears what she wants to. And I’m the one who’s stubborn.
“I want you to leave and to stop harassing your daughter.”
Warmth fills me until my knees wobble. No one’s ever stood up for me with Mom before.
Not the school guidance counselors, not the police officers who responded to the emergency call when she started a fire by putting her shoes in the oven, not the neighbors who mooched liquor from her, and definitely not the boyfriends who leered at me and made me feel uncomfortable.
“You can’t harass your own daughter,” Mom argues instead of leaving the way she was asked.
“Enough.”
Zane hands me Adele and the little girl immediately curls into me. She knows she’s safe with me. She’ll always be safe with me. No matter what my relationship with Zane is, this little girl will never be harmed. Not if I can help it.
“Ms. Wilder.” He motions toward the door.
When Mom doesn’t move, he herds her toward the door without touching her. It’s impressive.
He opens the door and ushers her out. She stands on the porch and sputters nonsense at him but he shuts the door in her face.
I want to clap. It would be bad manners to clap or?
I also want to throw myself at Zane and thank him with my tongue for his help.
Whoa, Sloane. No thanking the player with your tongue. It would be entirely too easy to fall for this man who showed me a caring side of himself I’ve never seen before.
Hands – and tongue – off!