Page 13 of Best Wrong Thing

We were getting along, weren’t we? Or was I imagining that?

Ugh.

Mementos of the night: a sore arse, a bruised ego, and a battered pride.

“Hi, Mum.” I kiss her on the cheek and sit opposite her.

We’re in her favourite coffee shop. A fruit smoothie waits for me on the table. She’s drinking a cappuccino.

“Hi, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

She shrugs. “No reason. I have something to show you.”

“What—?”

She holds out her left hand and waggles her ring finger. I gawp at the two unfamiliar rings on her slender finger.

“I got married.” She squeals like a schoolgirl.

“You—What?”

“Got married.”

“When? Who to?” Why wasn’t I invited?

“A few days ago, in Vegas.”

I blink slowly. What the fuck? “Who to?”

“Barry Hart. I’m so happy. Say something, Archer.”

“He cheated on his wife.”

“So?”

“Once a cheat, always a cheat?”

She waves her hand. “Nonsense. He wouldn’t cheat on me.”

“I’m sure his wife thought that too,” I mutter.

Mum presses her lips together and gives me a pointed look. It’s the one she directed at me when I was a teenager and wasn’t telling the whole truth about something.

“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” I say.

“You don’t need to be. Barry and I are in love. Now, because we eloped, we’re going to have a reception to celebrate with our friends. I’ve managed to book Weetwood Hall for Saturday evening.”

“How the hell did you manage that?”

“They had a cancellation.”

What destroyed that relationship before vows were exchanged?

“You’ll be there, won’t you?” She gives me puppy eyes.

I sigh. “Yes, I’ll be there.”