Tossed Into Love
Page 17
Palo was upset about my leaving, but happy for me all the same. I also had tea with Miss Ina this morning, who was funny and sweet in her grumpy-old-woman way.
“Coming!” I shout, jolting myself out of my thoughts. I don’t even bother looking through the peephole; I just unlatch the lock and open it. I start to tell Antonio that I’m not dressed, that he will have to wait for me. My mouth drops open when I see my mother standing outside my door.
“Mom?” I frown.
What’s she doing here?
She lives on Long Island, so it’s not like she just drops by often.
“Libby.” She moves past me, tosses her purse on the couch, then takes off her coat and tosses it, too, before she crosses her arms over her snowflake-embroidered, sweater-covered chest.
“What’s going on? What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Where’s Dad?” I ask, each question in rapid succession. I don’t even stop to take a breath.
“Apparently there’s a lot going on. I’m here because my youngest daughter is keeping secrets from me. Everything is not okay, but your father is at home, in front of the TV where I left him.”
“Is this about the pizzeria?” I ask, figuring that’s the only thing I’ve kept from her.
Okay . . . so I haven’t told her about Antonio, but technically there is nothing to tell.
“Yes, it’s about the pizzeria!” she shouts, uncrossing her arms and planting her hands on her hips.
“Mom . . .”
“Do not ‘Mom’ me, Libby Alice Reed. You went to your dad and asked him to help you, and you didn’t even mention anything about it to me.”
“I was going to tell you,” I say, shifting uncomfortably.
“When? I’ve known about it for a week now, and you still haven’t even mentioned it, although we’ve talked every day!” She shouts the last word.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been a little busy.” I hold my hands out in front of me in a placating manner, hoping to calm her down. Her eyes move to my hands, then drop down the length of me and narrow.
“Busy doing what? And why are you getting dressed up? Where are you going?”
Oh lord.
I do not want to tell my mom that I have a date tonight. Seeing as how she’s standing in my living room and Antonio is supposed to be here soon, though, I realize I probably won’t have a choice.
“Ugh . . .”
“That is not an answer.”
“I have a date.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“A date?”
“Yes, a date. And he’s supposed to be here soon, so if you could please get out whatever it is you need to say about the pizzeria before he comes, that would be awesome. He doesn’t know that I’m going to buy it—and I don’t want him to know about it yet.”
“Why don’t you want him to know?”
Crap.
“I . . . well . . . it’s his parents’ shop. And . . .” I pause, trying to get my thoughts in order. “Everything has been a little weird between us. I don’t want to tell him I’m buying the shop and rock the boat. I know how he feels about the pizzeria, and I don’t want him to try to talk me out of it.”
“Seems to me you’ve gotten good at keeping secrets from people.”
Have I?
I’m not sure. I know that lately I’ve been more closed off with things going on in my life, but I don’t think I’m keeping secrets.
“Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the pizzeria. I promise I was going to tell you.”
“You have always been open with me about everything,” she says.
Guilt fills the pit of my stomach. I have always talked to her about anything and everything going on in my life. She never made me feel like I couldn’t share—no matter what was going on or how embarrassed it might make me.
“You’re right,” I whisper.
“And . . .” She stops speaking when tears fill her eyes. “I feel like I’m losing each of you.”
“You’re not losing us, Mom.”
I close the space between us and wrap my arms around her.
“Fawn got married in Vegas. Vegas, of all places! And then Mac finds out she’s pregnant and doesn’t tell me. While you . . . you buy a pizzeria and don’t even mention it to me.”
“I haven’t bought it yet, Mom. It’s a long process. There is a lot of paperwork before it’ll be officially mine.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean,” she grumbles, sniffling.
“I think we are all just trying to figure out who we are on our own. Don’t get me wrong—we love you. But sometimes you can be a bit overbearing when it comes to our lives and your opinions about them.”
“Overbearing?” she whispers, sounding offended. I cringe, knowing that wasn’t the right word to use with her, even if it is the correct word.
“You love us. It’s normal for a mom who cares about her kids to be overbearing,” I say, trying to soothe her.
She sighs.
“I do love you girls. I just want you to be happy.”
“We’re working on that, Mom. Each of us is just trying to figure out our own version of happiness.”
“And making pizzas is going to make you happy? I thought you loved doing makeup and hair.”
“Makeup and hair is something I’m good at, but I don’t feel fulfilled doing it. Not anymore. It’s not a challenge to me. I love working at Tony’s. Each time I walk through the doors there, I get excited.”
“It’s just pizza . . . ,” she says, sounding confused.
“I know, but it’s also the idea of starting something on my own, doing things my way, and building a business that I’m proud of—one that I’ll be proud to have my name attached to.”
“You have always been determined to make a name for yourself in this world.”
“I get it from you. You taught me to be independent, to go after what I want. To be confident about who I am.”
“I did teach you that, didn’t I?” she mutters, sounding pleased with herself.
I laugh. “Yes, you did.”
“So you’re really going to own a pizzeria in New York?”
“Hopefully . . . ,” I say quietly.
Her expression shifts, and warmth fills her eyes. She rests her hand against my cheek. “I’ve always been proud of you. So has your dad.”
“I know you both have.”
“I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too, Mom,” I whisper back over the lump that has formed in my throat.
She wraps her arms around me again, and her hand smooths its way down my back. Eventually, she leans away to look at my face.
“Now tell me about the guy you’re going out with tonight.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “He’s just a guy.”
“Just a guy?” She narrows her eyes, and I sigh.
“He’s a guy that I have had a stupid crush on forever.”
“Antonio?” she says, sounding excited and surprised.
I realize then just how much I used to share with my mom. Maybe she’s right—maybe I have gotten really good at keeping things to myself.
“Yes.”
“Oh my,” she whispers. Her eyes go to the clock on the wall in the kitchen. “What time is he coming?”
“Seven,” I say, realizing that I now only have a few minutes to finish getting ready before he is supposed to arrive.
“You’re not dressed.”
“I know. I was getting dressed when you showed up.” I wave my hand down my body at my robe.
“Go. Go get dressed. If he shows up, I’ll keep him busy while he waits.”
Oh lord.
“Mom . . .”
“It will be fine. Promise.” She takes a step back, waving off my worried look.
“Mom . . . ,” I repeat.
“Go. Hurry, you don’t have much time. You don’t want to keep him waiting when he gets here.”
“Don’t you need to get back to Dad?” I ask hopefully.
“No, I’m having dinner with Miss Ina tonight at seven. I’m just going downstairs, so I have time to wait for your date to arrive before I head down to meet her.”
“Coming!” I shout, jolting myself out of my thoughts. I don’t even bother looking through the peephole; I just unlatch the lock and open it. I start to tell Antonio that I’m not dressed, that he will have to wait for me. My mouth drops open when I see my mother standing outside my door.
“Mom?” I frown.
What’s she doing here?
She lives on Long Island, so it’s not like she just drops by often.
“Libby.” She moves past me, tosses her purse on the couch, then takes off her coat and tosses it, too, before she crosses her arms over her snowflake-embroidered, sweater-covered chest.
“What’s going on? What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Where’s Dad?” I ask, each question in rapid succession. I don’t even stop to take a breath.
“Apparently there’s a lot going on. I’m here because my youngest daughter is keeping secrets from me. Everything is not okay, but your father is at home, in front of the TV where I left him.”
“Is this about the pizzeria?” I ask, figuring that’s the only thing I’ve kept from her.
Okay . . . so I haven’t told her about Antonio, but technically there is nothing to tell.
“Yes, it’s about the pizzeria!” she shouts, uncrossing her arms and planting her hands on her hips.
“Mom . . .”
“Do not ‘Mom’ me, Libby Alice Reed. You went to your dad and asked him to help you, and you didn’t even mention anything about it to me.”
“I was going to tell you,” I say, shifting uncomfortably.
“When? I’ve known about it for a week now, and you still haven’t even mentioned it, although we’ve talked every day!” She shouts the last word.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been a little busy.” I hold my hands out in front of me in a placating manner, hoping to calm her down. Her eyes move to my hands, then drop down the length of me and narrow.
“Busy doing what? And why are you getting dressed up? Where are you going?”
Oh lord.
I do not want to tell my mom that I have a date tonight. Seeing as how she’s standing in my living room and Antonio is supposed to be here soon, though, I realize I probably won’t have a choice.
“Ugh . . .”
“That is not an answer.”
“I have a date.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“A date?”
“Yes, a date. And he’s supposed to be here soon, so if you could please get out whatever it is you need to say about the pizzeria before he comes, that would be awesome. He doesn’t know that I’m going to buy it—and I don’t want him to know about it yet.”
“Why don’t you want him to know?”
Crap.
“I . . . well . . . it’s his parents’ shop. And . . .” I pause, trying to get my thoughts in order. “Everything has been a little weird between us. I don’t want to tell him I’m buying the shop and rock the boat. I know how he feels about the pizzeria, and I don’t want him to try to talk me out of it.”
“Seems to me you’ve gotten good at keeping secrets from people.”
Have I?
I’m not sure. I know that lately I’ve been more closed off with things going on in my life, but I don’t think I’m keeping secrets.
“Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the pizzeria. I promise I was going to tell you.”
“You have always been open with me about everything,” she says.
Guilt fills the pit of my stomach. I have always talked to her about anything and everything going on in my life. She never made me feel like I couldn’t share—no matter what was going on or how embarrassed it might make me.
“You’re right,” I whisper.
“And . . .” She stops speaking when tears fill her eyes. “I feel like I’m losing each of you.”
“You’re not losing us, Mom.”
I close the space between us and wrap my arms around her.
“Fawn got married in Vegas. Vegas, of all places! And then Mac finds out she’s pregnant and doesn’t tell me. While you . . . you buy a pizzeria and don’t even mention it to me.”
“I haven’t bought it yet, Mom. It’s a long process. There is a lot of paperwork before it’ll be officially mine.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean,” she grumbles, sniffling.
“I think we are all just trying to figure out who we are on our own. Don’t get me wrong—we love you. But sometimes you can be a bit overbearing when it comes to our lives and your opinions about them.”
“Overbearing?” she whispers, sounding offended. I cringe, knowing that wasn’t the right word to use with her, even if it is the correct word.
“You love us. It’s normal for a mom who cares about her kids to be overbearing,” I say, trying to soothe her.
She sighs.
“I do love you girls. I just want you to be happy.”
“We’re working on that, Mom. Each of us is just trying to figure out our own version of happiness.”
“And making pizzas is going to make you happy? I thought you loved doing makeup and hair.”
“Makeup and hair is something I’m good at, but I don’t feel fulfilled doing it. Not anymore. It’s not a challenge to me. I love working at Tony’s. Each time I walk through the doors there, I get excited.”
“It’s just pizza . . . ,” she says, sounding confused.
“I know, but it’s also the idea of starting something on my own, doing things my way, and building a business that I’m proud of—one that I’ll be proud to have my name attached to.”
“You have always been determined to make a name for yourself in this world.”
“I get it from you. You taught me to be independent, to go after what I want. To be confident about who I am.”
“I did teach you that, didn’t I?” she mutters, sounding pleased with herself.
I laugh. “Yes, you did.”
“So you’re really going to own a pizzeria in New York?”
“Hopefully . . . ,” I say quietly.
Her expression shifts, and warmth fills her eyes. She rests her hand against my cheek. “I’ve always been proud of you. So has your dad.”
“I know you both have.”
“I love you, honey.”
“I love you, too, Mom,” I whisper back over the lump that has formed in my throat.
She wraps her arms around me again, and her hand smooths its way down my back. Eventually, she leans away to look at my face.
“Now tell me about the guy you’re going out with tonight.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “He’s just a guy.”
“Just a guy?” She narrows her eyes, and I sigh.
“He’s a guy that I have had a stupid crush on forever.”
“Antonio?” she says, sounding excited and surprised.
I realize then just how much I used to share with my mom. Maybe she’s right—maybe I have gotten really good at keeping things to myself.
“Yes.”
“Oh my,” she whispers. Her eyes go to the clock on the wall in the kitchen. “What time is he coming?”
“Seven,” I say, realizing that I now only have a few minutes to finish getting ready before he is supposed to arrive.
“You’re not dressed.”
“I know. I was getting dressed when you showed up.” I wave my hand down my body at my robe.
“Go. Go get dressed. If he shows up, I’ll keep him busy while he waits.”
Oh lord.
“Mom . . .”
“It will be fine. Promise.” She takes a step back, waving off my worried look.
“Mom . . . ,” I repeat.
“Go. Hurry, you don’t have much time. You don’t want to keep him waiting when he gets here.”
“Don’t you need to get back to Dad?” I ask hopefully.
“No, I’m having dinner with Miss Ina tonight at seven. I’m just going downstairs, so I have time to wait for your date to arrive before I head down to meet her.”
