It's Always Been You - Page 7/62

Her mother had obsessed about this reunion     for over a year, since she was the only member of the family that lived in Las Vegas. The hosting family always stayed at the hotel with everyone else, and Gloria needed Love’s assistance to help make the reunion     a success.

“Like I had a choice,” Love grumbled, wrenching herself out of her mother’s arms.

“Don’t get smart.” Gloria smoothed her hair back and grinned at Drake. “Hello, Drake. I’m so glad you’re here.” She embraced him.

“Good to see you, too, Mom,” Drake said.

Love’s best friend had called Gloria that for as long as she could remember. Drake and Gloria had a loving relationship and Love often found herself on the outside looking in at the two of them. They shared the same taste in food and television, preferring big steaks and fried potatoes with their zombie and sci-fi shows.

“You’re looking handsome as ever, son.”

“Mother,” Love said, cutting in, “I know you want to talk about the reunion    , but I have to make a few runs. Then I wanted to visit with friends.”

Peering up the ceiling, Love let out a long sigh. She hated lying to her mother. Love was many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. She lacked the ability to make it convincing, even though she’d tried to perfect the skill growing up. Although she had made plans to visit with her friends, she had no intention of doing so now. She had business to take care of, a marriage to annul.

“Love, this is family time.” Gloria picked at her daughter’s hair with a frown on her face. “Why did you straighten your beautiful curls?”

Love pushed her hands away. “My hair is fine. And I promised them I’d stop by. The last time I came home to visit, I wasn’t able to spend any time with my friends.”

Gloria dropped her purse on a chair and scanned the room. “This is nice,” she said, as if she couldn’t care less what Love wanted to do. “Listen, a couple of your cousins really wanted to come but they couldn’t afford a hotel. I figure they can sleep in this big ole room with you.”

“No,” Love said. “That’s not possible. Drake is my roommate. The second bedroom is his.”

“I can get my own room,” Drake offered.

Love glared at him. “Mother, how about I catch the next flight back to Michigan, and they can have this room? Or better yet, I can go stay at your house.”

Gloria lived in the Las Vegas suburb of Summerlin South. It was just fifteen miles from downtown. The house held many fond memories for Love and she’d love to get away and sleep in her old room for the night.

“That’s not a good idea,” Gloria said. “You need to stay and be in the thick of things, with me.”

“It’s actually okay. I figure I can spend some time in my childhood home, prepare the house for the cookout you want to have there on Sunday.” Love scratched her neck and tried to ignore the skeptical look on Drake’s face. He must have caught the sarcasm.

“Okay,” he said, elbowing her. “I’ll book a room for them. My treat.”

“Thank you, Drake,” Gloria gushed. “I just love you.”

“So it’s settled, Mother.” Love picked up her mother’s purse and handed it to her. “I have to finish getting ready now. I have so much to do.”

“Wait, I wanted to ask you something. I’m planning a visit to Ann Arbor in a few weeks. Do you have room for your dear old mother?”

Love adored her mother. She really did. But Gloria Washington was a professional nagger. The last time her mom had stayed with her she’d rearranged everything, put all her canned goods in the recycle bin, threw away her favorite socks and insisted Love eat those nasty breakfast bars filled with millet grains.

“Uh…w-well,” she stammered, “I would’ve said it was no problem, but I…it would be awkward.”

“Why?”

That one word was enough to make Love hyperventilate. Briefly, she wondered if her mother would accept it if she answered the question with a whopping “because I said so.” Or better yet, a big fat “nunya.”

“Why, Lovely?” Gloria asked again. “You have a huge three-bedroom condo you’re renting all by yourself. Why would it be awkward? Unless you lied to your mother about living alone?”

Love hated when her mom referred to herself in the third person. She struggled to find a suitable excuse. “I meant to tell you sooner. I don’t live alone anymore.”

“A roommate?”

“Kind of,” Love lied. Again. She pressed a hand to her stomach, uncertain why she felt the need to tell her mother she had a roommate. I have to throw up. “The economy is rough. I figured it would help.”