Page 17 of Three Not-So-Little Words (The Lawson’s #3)

seventeen

Not the Way I do Them

Ronnie

“ V eronica Jeanne, what the hell are you doing?” My mother asks as she comes walking into my house.

“Nothing,” I reply while lying on my couch.

She moves in front of me, blocking my view of the television. “I’m afraid that’s the problem, Veronica.”

“Please stop calling me Veronica. It makes me feel like I’m about to get scolded.”

“Well, buckle up, sunshine, because that’s exactly what’s about to happen.”

I grab the remote that I stashed under my pillow and turn the volume up. “Pass.”

She snatches the remote out of my hand in the blink of an eye. “I think it’s adorable that you think you have a choice.”

I close my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “Why are you here?”

“Because I’m not going to let you fall into a pit of your own despair.”

“Despair? Mom, I’m just relaxing.”

Without even acknowledging what I said, she mutters, “Why is that when all of my daughters come home, they do this?”

“Do what?”

“Act like their lives are over and lay around like giant lumps.”

That gets me to sit up. I see my mom cleaning up my mess of junk food wrappers and empty water bottles.

“Mom, stop.”

She keeps going, completely ignoring me.

“Suzanne!” I shout.

That makes her snap her head in my direction. “What?”

“Come here and sit down.”

It takes her a second, but she does it after throwing everything in her hands into the trash.

She takes one look at the couch and opts for the chair instead.

“Okay, Veronica, I’m sitting.”

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“I already told you. I came because I don’t want you to fall into some sort of deep depression.”

“What makes you think I’m depressed?”

“Look at you. You’re in sweatpants with no makeup on. Everything around here is a mess. This isn’t like you. With you, everything is always so neat and tidy and…” She looks me up and down. “Presentable.”

“Mom, I am always those things because I have to be. I’m always neat and organized because I’m always on the go, staying in places that aren’t mine. It’s easier that way. And because I’m always traveling, I try to look good.”

“Exactly,” she interrupts, but I stop her.

“Nope, I’m not done. For the first time in forever, I get to decompress a little bit.

I don’t have to look perfect, and I have my own space.

So, I don’t have to keep things perfectly neat and organized.

For the record, I’m not depressed. Far from it.

I’ve been sitting around, watching all of the TV that I didn’t get to when I was constantly busy with work. ”

In the middle of my talking, a sudden question pops into my mind. “Wait, how did you even know I was being lazy? I haven’t talked to you.”

“That was my first clue. I hadn’t heard from you. When you’re in town, you’re always trying to spend as much time with family as you can. When it was radio silence, I called Dylan who told me you were here. You know, the weird twin thing.”

I roll my eyes at the twin comment. “Mom, I would spend time with everyone because I had a finite amount of time with all of you. Now that I will be here more, I don’t have to spend every single second with you guys. Do you want us all to get sick of each other?”

She smiles. “You’re all my kids. I could never get sick of you.”

She and I both burst out laughing.

“Good one,” I tell her. “But really, I’m okay. Not depressed. Not wallowing.”

She leans forward in the armchair, resting her elbows on her knees. “Okay, I can appreciate that you’re trying to decompress. I also know that the longer you sit here alone and doing nothing, the easier it will be for you to fall into that hole.”

“Mom, why are you so worried about me?” I ask.

“Because you’re going through a whole lot of change all at once. That can be hard to process. When Liz had to come home—”

I hold up my hand to stop her again. “I am not Liz. First of all, Liz had to come home. Shit fell apart, and she didn’t have a choice. I came back because I wanted to. And if I really was depressed, you’d probably never know. Liz wallowed. I would put on a smile and pretend that I’m fine.”

She glares at me while pursing her lips together. “You both could use some therapy.”

I grin. “Been there. Done that. She said all of my problems stem from my dysfunctional mother.”

With an eye roll, she says, “Very funny.”

“Moral of the story is that I’m fine. You can go home now.”

“You’re not getting off that easy. I’m thinking we need to find you a hobby.”

“I have plenty of hobbies.” I hold up my hand to count them on my fingers. “I travel. I drink. I fuck. And I watch competitive baking shows.”

“Veronica, you travel for work. That doesn’t count. Watching baking shows doesn’t count either. That’s you watching someone else do their hobbies. And drinking and fucking are not hobbies.”

“They are when you do them the way I do.”

Her eyes narrow in on me. “With the way you do them, they’re more of a talent.”

I walk into the kitchen. “Do you want to explore one of those talents?” I open up my liquor cabinet.

“I sure hope you mean drinking.”

“You couldn’t handle the other thing,” I joke.

“You make a mother so proud.”

I start pulling bottles out of the cabinet. “What’s your poison?”

“What do you have?”

“Everything,” I reply.

“Surprise me.”

Two hours later, we are on our second pitcher of margaritas, and neither one of us is feeling any pain.

Mom finally joined me on the couch, and I have my feet stretched out in her lap.

She points at the TV. “There is no way those cookies are going to win her the championship. That’s the least creative thing she could have made.”

I sucked her into my vortex of baking shows. I knew if I gave her a drink and got her to relax a little, she would be way more fun.

Suzanne Lawson had five kids, had a grandkid before she turned forty, and has run a very successful business. The woman is always on. It’s like her survival instincts never take a night off. She has a hard time relaxing because she feels like she always has to take care of everybody else.

While I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t need her to take care of me anymore. Sometimes, I’d like to return the favor.

“Mom,” I say during a commercial.

“Yes, Veronica?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything.”

“Is there anything in your life you wanted to do, but you didn’t get the chance?”

She sets her margarita down on the table. “What is this about?”

“You’re just constantly doing stuff for everyone else. I want to make sure you didn’t miss out on the stuff you wanted to do.”

“Veronica, listen to me. I have always loved taking care of you guys. It’s the way that I show I care. By doing that, I have never felt like I gave up anything. I love my life.”

“Okay,” I say. “But if you ever change your mind and decide you want to go to Paris or something, you just let me know.”

She laughs, pushing a strand of her short blonde hair out of her eyes. Poor woman has five kids, and not a single one looks like her. That’s what happens when you marry a Greek guy.

We are silent for a moment before she says, “This is so weird.”

“What?”

“I can still remember the first time I ever looked at your face. It seems like it was just yesterday. Now, I’m here drinking margaritas with you. It all just goes by so fast.”

“Hey.” I point my finger at her. “If you start getting sappy on me, I’m going to cut you off.”

“My bad. I’ll try to reel it in.” She smiles.

We start watching the show again, and my phone vibrates next to me. I pick it up and see that it’s a text from Drew.

He and I have been messaging every night this week. Sometimes, it gets a little raunchy, but for the most part, it’s been some small talk and a lot of flirting.

Hey there, gorgeous.

Hey, you.

What are you up to?”

Just having some margs with my mom.

Sounds like a good time. I won’t bug you. Just wanted to make sure we are still on for tomorrow.

Dear lord, I hope so. We’ve been talking about getting together all week. My vagina has already penciled it into her calendar.

Definitely. What time do you want to come to my place?

I was thinking maybe I could pick you up, and we could go out for a little while.

Immediately, a pit forms in my gut.

Out? Like a date?

I typically don’t do dates. Let me rephrase—I do dates. But usually not when we’ve already hooked up. Then, it feels more like a second date.

I wait on pins and needles for his reply.

I don’t know that we need to call it a date. We go grab some dinner, you know to get our stamina up for all of the calories we will burn. And maybe we just do something fun while we are out.

I don’t immediately text back because I don’t know what to say.

My mom notices my sudden change in demeanor. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Huh?”

“You like you just saw a ghost. Are you okay?”

I consider lying, but I know my mother, and I know she won’t let it go.

“So, last weekend, I hooked up with someone at Liz’s wedding. We spent Saturday night and all day Sunday together. We agreed to see each other again on weekends, but on a purely casual level. We are getting together tomorrow, but now, he’s asking if I want to get…dinner.”

She throws her hand over her chest. “Oh, my goodness. Dinner? No wonder you’re so freaked out.”

I glare at her. “Your sarcasm is noted…and not appreciated.”

“Ronnie, what is the big deal about dinner?”

“It makes it seem like it’s a date instead of just casual.”

“Do you like this guy?” She asks.

“He’s alright.”

“I know you must like him a little because you’re willing to see him again. And you’re getting all smiley about when he texts you.”

“I did not get all smiley,” I defend.

“My point is that usually, you just ghost or block them.”

Although she has a little bit of a point, I’m not ready to admit that. “He was an exceptionally good lay. That’s it.”

“So, why not go get dinner before you jump back into bed? You have dinner with friends. Why not just think of him as a friend? Veronica, I know you don’t want commitment, and while I may not always understand that decision, I trust you to make it.”

“But–” I interrupt.

She decides to come at this in a different way. “You know how you live your life trying to have as much fun as possible? You don’t settle down because you say you may miss out on something great?”

“That’s a watered-down version of it, but yes.”

“What if you also miss out on something great because you were too worried about it becoming something else?”

“So, you think I should go to dinner?”

“Do I think you should get out of the house and have some fun?” Definitely.”

“Hmm,” I say, thinking out loud.

She leans forward and lowers her voice. “Veronica, you better listen, or I’m going to come over here and bug you every single day.”

I also lean forward, trying to match her energy. “I bet you’ll get sick of me before I get sick of you.”

“Then, I’ll just have to find other ways to convince you.”

My mother never had to use physical punishments on us. Suzanne Lawson may be small, but I’d bet on her in a fight against anyone. One look from her had us shaking in our boots.

I may be grown, but she still scares me.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go to dinner.”

“Good girl.”

I swear if that isn’t what Drew is saying to me this weekend, I’ll be highly disappointed.