The Relationship Pact(12)

She groans. “I suppose. But by later, I mean tonight. If you don’t call me, I’ll assume you want me to make arrangements.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“I love you, Larissa.”

“Love you, too. Bye, Mom.”

I hang up and turn off the engine.

By this age, you wouldn’t think I would still be having these conversations with my mother. I haven’t lived at home since I was nineteen. But has that stopped her from trying to wield her influence in my life? Hardly.

Still, I’m thankful for her. Does she drive me crazy? Most every day. But what would I do without her?

Once I gather my things, I head to the front door. After a knock that’s unnecessary but makes me feel courteous, I enter the house.

A grand staircase greets me. The light from a heavy crystal chandelier makes it appear even more stunning. The dark and regal wood could tell a million stories if it could talk.

“Is that you, Riss?” Siggy calls.

“Yup.”

“I’m in the kitchen.”

I make my way down a long hallway with family pictures hanging on both sides and enter a bright kitchen. The cabinets are cream, and the floors a dark wood like the stairs. Windows flood the kitchen in sunlight, and it’s my happiest place on earth.

My aunt turns around to face me. She’s dressed in a black pair of pants and a white blouse. A large turquoise pendant hangs between her breasts. She’s gorgeous with her long, dark hair and bright golden eyes.

“Bad morning?” she asks, her smile faltering.

I nod.

“Sit down and let me pour you a drink. Then we can talk about it while you help me decide between snowflakes or an icicles beverage bar.”

I take a seat at her kitchen table.

“You are an aesthetic guru. I know you don’t need my help,” I tell her.

She leans into the refrigerator and pops out with two bottles in her hands. “Mimosas or tea?”

I raise a brow. It’s returned with a grin as Siggy slips the tea back inside the appliance and replaces it with a bottle of orange juice.

“I respect your opinion. You have an excellent eye,” she says as she pours our drinks. “I’m also surrounded by testosterone all day, and I need a little estrogen to balance it all out.”

My heart warms with the compliment—especially coming from her.

“So what’s happening?” she asks, handing me one of the drinks.

“Mom.”

“Oh.” She makes a face as she sits across from me. “That explains the look on your face.”

“She’s on my butt about not having a date for the Seahawks thing tomorrow night. And she’s irritated I don’t even want to go, but I think she should have the sense to ask me in the first place.”

Siggy takes a long sip of her mimosa. “She just wants you to be happy, Riss. Everything she does is motivated by that. She can’t comprehend how you don’t see that.”

“I know. That’s why I can’t get mad at her. But none of the world she lives in makes me happy—especially the having a date thing. I’m not into dating anymore, Aunt Siggy.” I reconsider. “Well, maybe if he’s super cute and not my type. My type of men don’t work for me. Such a shame.”

She laughs. “I can’t imagine doing it now. It’s terrible out there. I hear stories from my sons, and it makes me …” She shakes her head. “It makes me sick and nervous and, quite frankly, terrified.”

I laugh too. “Well, I can see that, depending on which of your boys is telling the stories. I mean, if it’s Boone ...”

“True,” she says, pointing a finger my way. “Very, very true. I learned the hard way not to press him about his dates,” she says, using her fingers to add air quotes.

I take a long drink of my mimosa and feel myself settle into the comfort of being here. It always has the calmest, most peaceful vibe about it that I gravitate toward. When my parents fought when I was little, I’d call my uncle, and he’d pick me up. During the rocky years after Mom and Jack got married, I’d come here and hang out. When I got my heart broken as a teenager, I’d be here digging through their refrigerator in the middle of the night.

“I swear my mom thinks I’m going to be old and alone,” I say. “Do you think I’ll be alone forever? Is there a chance of that? Should I be worried?”

Instead of sharing in my irritation, Siggy smiles gently.

I know what’s coming. It’s my aunt’s smooth way of siding with me and siding with my mother in the same breath. She always makes me feel great about my decisions, but when I look back, I realize she got what she thought was best, and everyone walked away feeling good about it.

How she does it—I’ll never know.

Siggy sets her glass down. “You know why she pressures you.”

She’s right. I do—at least kind of.

I distinctly remember my parents separating and the pure devastation it caused everyone in our family. I was too young to know what caused it. Even after all of these years, it’s a topic that’s yet to be explained. I just know that my mother isn’t the same person I remember her being when I was a little girl and my dad lived with us. She was honestly happy then, I think.

I have theories about what happened to my parents—everything from an affair to financial problems—but the one thing I know for sure is that my mother never got over my father. Not really.