Bad Girl Reputation (Avalon Bay #2)(69)

“Yeah … ?” I don’t know where she’s going with this.

“So, well, I was talking to Raya … you know, that coworker I was telling you about last week?”

I nod. “Right. The chick with the psycho toddler who killed their goldfish.”

Shelley sputters with laughter. “Evan! I told you, baby, that was an accident. Cassidy’s only three. She didn’t know fish can’t breathe out of water.”

“Sounds like something a psychopath would say.”

My mom lets out a loud snort that causes the couple in the neighboring table to glare at us with deep frowns. The woman is wearing a string of pearls and a high-necked silk blouse, while the man’s rocking a polka-dot ascot. I’m surprised they don’t go all out and shush us. They look like shushers.

Shelley and I exchange an eye roll, a moment of shared humor that makes me falter for a beat. This is a whole new mother-son experience for us. I mean, having dinner on the waterfront, exchanging conspiratorial looks about the uptight patrons next to us. Laughing together. It’s surreal.

Yet I don’t entirely hate it.

“Anyway,” Shelley says, picking up her glass. She takes a quick sip. “Not sure if I mentioned it before, but Raya has a second job. Works at a hair salon on the weekends. And yesterday, she tells me her salon’s opening a second location and is gonna have a bunch of chairs available to rent.”

“Chairs?”

“Yeah, that’s how it works in the industry. The stylists rent the chair from the salon.” She takes a breath. “I think I wanna do it.”

I wrinkle my brow. “What? Become a hairdresser?”

Shelley nods earnestly.

“Okay. Don’t you need some kind of degree for that? Or a certificate at the very least?”

Her cheeks turn even redder. If I’m reading her right, she looks embarrassed. “I, um, enrolled in cosmetology school. Fees for the first semester are due at the end of the week, and I start next Monday.”

“Oh.” I nod slowly, waiting for the rest.

I wait for: But I’m a little short on funds, baby, so can you … ?

Or: I’m gonna have to quit this housekeeping gig to focus all my attention on school, which means I’ll need a place to crash … ?

I stare at her and wait … but it doesn’t come.

“What?” Shelley’s face turns anxious. “What is it, baby? You think it’s a bad idea?”

“No. Not at all.” I clear my throat and try to paste on an encouraging smile. “It sounds great. It’s just …”

She gives a knowing look. “You thought I was gonna hit you up for cash.”

“Uh. Well. Yes.”

Regret flickers through her eyes. “I mean, you have every right to think the worst of me. But let me tell ya, when you’re not blowing every paycheck on booze? The savings are out of this world.”

I grin wryly. “I bet.”

“I’ve got enough saved up for the first semester,” she assures me. “And the classes are at night, so I don’t have to quit my gig at the hotel. It’s all good, baby. I promise.” She picks up her menu. “What looks good? I’m thinking the mussels. My treat, by the way.”

Luckily, her head is buried in the menu, so I’m able to wipe the shock from my face before she sees it. Forget surreal—this is downright miraculous. Who is this woman and what has she done with my mother?

I continue to battle my astonishment as we order our meals and proceed to enjoy a really nice dinner. I’m not na?ve enough to dive right into the She’s Changed camp, but I’m willing to dip in a toe or two. The conversation flows easily. There’s no tension, no uncomfortable silences. The only time we come close to one is when she brings up Cooper, but I brush off the subject by saying, “Let’s not go there,” and we move on.

“You didn’t tell me Genevieve is back home,” Shelley says, her tone tentative as she watches me devour my surf and turf.

“Yeah,” I answer between bites. “She came back for her mom’s funeral and stuck around to help Ronan out at the stone yard.”

“I was sorry to hear about her momma. I know they weren’t close, and God knows Laurie wasn’t the easiest woman to get along with, but it can’t be easy for Genevieve.”

“You know Gen. She’s resilient.”

Shelley smiles. “Oh, that girl’s a fighter.” She eyes me from across the table. “You gonna marry her?”

The question catches me so off-guard I choke on a scallop. Coughing wildly, I scramble for my water glass, while the jerk couple at the next table glower at me for the disruption.

“Gee,” I croak after I’ve cleared the obstruction, glowering right back at them. “So sorry to disturb you with my near-death experience.”

The woman huffs and honest-to-God clutches her pearls.

My mom is trying not to laugh. “Evan,” she warns.

I gulp down some more water before picking up my fork again. “To answer your question,” I say, lowering my voice, “I’m pretty sure Gen isn’t interested in marrying me.”

“Bullsh—nonsense,” Shelley corrects herself, shooting a glance at the judgey table, because God forbid we upset the Pearl Clutcher. “You two are meant to be together. I knew from the second you started dating that you’d get married someday and live happily ever after and all that.”