Page 34 of The Disasters of Dating (Love Connections #6)

POPPY

You will be very productive over the next few days, according to your Cosmic chart. But don’t overdo it. Take one task at a time and only move on to the next thing when it feels right.

I lean into the fridge and pull out some containers of food. I have no recollection of eating it in the first place. Although, to be fair, I’m not around for most dinners. So for all I know, my mom could have made this last night.

I cautiously open the lid and peer inside.

I’ve learned not to tear into things willy-nilly.

It only takes one time of spoiled Alfredo sauce spraying all over your face, hair, and shirt to make one cautious.

I can still smell it when I think about it.

It’s not pleasant. I move over to the cupboard by the fridge and grab a roller bottle of lavender oil and rub a dot under my nose. Much better.

I continue with the fridge cleaning. School starts next week, so I need to get some of these chores done that I’ve been promising my mom I’d get to.

The garage door opens, and my mom walks in.

I look up over the fridge door. “Hey, Mom. What are you doing home?”

She smiles at me. “I thought maybe we could go to lunch? I haven’t seen you much lately, and I know you start school next week.” She looks at the containers and puts them all in the sink with a grimace .

I have a tug of guilt that I’m going with Keaton tonight instead of spending time with her.

I hadn’t even asked her about our weekly hangout tonight.

She has turned me down so many times in the last month, I’m kind of out of the habit.

Which is so weird to me. A twelve-year habit—it used to be a family hangout when Brody and Sadie lived at home—has gone by the wayside in the matter of a month.

Way to go, book club and food drive. I internally grimace, feeling a little guilty for blaming people who are going hungry.

“I’d love to go to lunch. And about tonight?—”

Mom grimaces. “I know it’s supposed to be our night, but it was the only night everyone on the food drive committee could meet.”

I smile. “It’s okay, Mom. I have plans, too.”

She perks up. “Oh?”

I nod. “Yeah. I’m going to get ice cream with a friend.”

“A ‘friend’?” She gives me a sly look, which is not flattering on her.

“Yes, Mom. A friend.”

She raises a knowing brow but lets it drop. “Just ice cream?”

I bounce my shoulder. “I’m not sure. We’re going to Suedeman’s, which you know how long those lines can be on a Monday night.” I tilt my head to the side. “Maybe we’ll do something afterwards. I don’t know his plans yet.”

My mom gives me another weird, sly look. “‘His’?”

I roll my eyes at her ridiculousness. Was she like this with Sadie and Max? I’d ask, but then I’ll have to get crap from Sadie—and listen to her talk about Max. Hard pass on both fronts. Besides, the information I may get likely won’t be worth the price.

She smiles. “Then you’re okay if I have the house tonight? I told the committee that we could meet here.”

I nod. “Sure thing. I’ll stay out of your hair.”

Mom looks relieved. Am I that difficult to have around? It’s not like I’m a toddler or a moody teenager. “Great. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

I give her a look. I still have questions and concerns about this so-called food drive committee, but I will give her the benefit of the doubt. She’s given it to me plenty of times over the years.

“How much time do you have for lunch? Do I have enough time to empty these containers, load them in the dishwasher, and take out the garbage before we go? If not, I will do it when we get home.” My nose flares slightly at the thought of the percolating smells that will greet me if I wait.

Mom pushes up her sleeves. “I don’t have another client until 2. If we work together, we can do this in no time and still have plenty of time for lunch.”

I smile at her. “Sounds like a plan. I’ve missed our together time lately. Even if it is only dishes.”

She looks a little sad. “Me too, Soda.”

We step into my favorite Vietnamese restaurant and get in line to order. We’re quiet as we wait. It’s kind of weird because we’ve never had a hard time talking to each other. Especially chit-chating.

“How is Paisleigh doing?” she finally asks. “I haven’t seen her much lately.”

I smile. “She’s doing good. She actually applied to be on that show, Beyond Limits .”

My mom’s eyes widen. “The one where you go to some remote island and all you can take are, like, two pairs of underwear for a whole month?”

I tilt my head and look at her with a creased brow. “Two pairs of underwear? Really, Mom? That’s what you take away from the show? Not the gameplay or the social game? But the underwear?” I shake my head slightly. “I’m not even sure that’s a real thing or if it’s just a rumor.”

My mom flicks up her brows. “It’s not healthy to wear the same underwear for that long.”

“I’m pretty sure they wash them, Mom.”

She shrugs. “One can only hope.”

“I’ll make sure Pais is aware of the underwear concerns if she’s accepted—which she doesn’t think she has a chance of. I mean, it’s pretty unlikely. They get thousands and thousands of applications each season.”

My mom smiles. “But Paisleigh is such a cutie. They’re sure to see she will make good TV.”

“I think so, too! But Paisleigh is convinced it won’t happen.

I think that may be why she applied. It’s so out of her comfort zone.

But I think she figured it’s such a long shot that she may as well.

Then she can say she applied but wasn’t selected.

It makes her seem outgoing and adventurous without her actually having to be outgoing and adventurous. ”

“I suppose she found the right loophole, then. ”

We step up to the counter, and I order my garlic ribeye Banh mi sans the jalapenos and cilantro. My mom orders the honey-glazed pork noodle salad and pays for it all. I know I should have offered, but I’m still a poor student. I’ll pay for all the lunches once I have my chain of newsstands.

We find a table and sit down. I look around the restaurant, not sure how to start our conversation. Finally, as the silence is nearly deafening, I look at her and smile. “Mom, are you feeling okay lately? Do you feel like you’re remembering things okay?”

My mom frowns at me. “Yeah, I feel fine, and I remember things well enough. I’m not thirty-five anymore. But I’m not losing my memory, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

I nod, but I’m not one hundred percent convinced. “Are you sure?” I press.

“What is this all about, Poppy?” And then her eyes widen slightly, and she nods a few times. “Is this about the Margo Conway thing?”

I shrug. “Among other things.” I blink a few times. “Mrs. Conway acted like she had no idea what I was talking about with the food drive. In fact, she asked me to have you call her because she’d like to help with it.” I take a breath. “And she has no recollection of seeing you.”

My mom tilts her head to the side like she does when she’s trying to reason with me because I’m being unreasonable. Which I’m not.

She reaches across the table and pats my hand. “I’ve been trying to figure out why you thought Margo Conway was helping with the food drive after you mentioned seeing her the other day. And I think I must not have told the story very well. I obviously confused you on the facts.”

I narrow my eyes slightly. Is this going to be another book club thing where she insists she didn’t say something that she actually did?

“I must have made it sound like me seeing Margo Conway in the store—which we didn’t actually speak because she was talking on her phone and I didn’t want to interrupt her—and me helping with the food drive were the same story, which they aren’t.

” She looks at me like she’s cleared up all the confusion. She hasn’t.

“Okay, whatever,” I brush the stupid Margo Conway debate to the side. “But how many book clubs do you belong to?”

She frowns. “One, why?”

I spear her with a look. I’ve read that description before and didn’t understand it until now.

If my gaze were a dagger, my mom would be pinned to the wall.

Only her clothes, mind you, I am not visually harming my mother.

“Then why did you tell me twice this month that you were going to book club? Were you trying to get out of going bowling? We haven’t been since, like, March. ”

She stares at me. “What do you mean I told you twice this month I had book club?”

I pull out my phone and scroll through our text. “See, you did it here on the 3rd and then again last week.” I cross my arms over my chest in a very challenging and closed-off way. My aura is likely a murky gray with the accusations coming off me in waves.

My mom grabs my phone and looks at the texts.

“Oh, that’s because I was thinking it was later in the month than it was.

I was off a week. It’s been super crazy at the office.

” She gives me an exasperated look. “I went to the first of two house closings thinking they were that day when they were last week instead.” She frowns.

“Maybe I do have something wrong with me.”

“You were just mixed up on which week it was?” My shoulders sag in relief. “So we could have done something?”

She nods. “Yeah, sorry, Soda. By the time I realized it, you had already made other plans.”

Our name is called. I hurry up to the counter and grab our tray of food.

I’m relieved there’s an explanation for the book club thing, but something still doesn’t settle right.

Maybe it’s that I’m still not convinced of the Margo Conway thing.

Or maybe it’s something else that I can’t put my finger on.

I do feel a little better. I mean, I’m not scheduling an appointment for her with a neurologist or anything. (Is a neurologist who you go to for memory problems?) But nor am I going to text Brody or Sadie and call off ‘Operation Watch Mom like a Hawk.’

I place the tray on the table and grab us each a water before settling in to eat. We both stop talking as we take a few bites of our lunch.

“So,” Mom says as she puts her fork down. “Tell me about your new ‘friend.’”

Ugh. Can’t we go back to talking about her sus behavior?