"Oh no, oh crap. Not again. I need to get out; I need to get away from you..."
"But Lisa..."
"No, no, don't say it. I gotta get out."
She jumped up and headed for the door. Surprised by his own speed given his disheveled state, he managed to catch...
She had been suspicious when he had not called for over a week. He had promised to be in touch. Howe could he lie to her…again? She nervously checked her watch for the five millionth time. Then she picked up her phone, just in case she did not hear the peep of the missed-call indicator. No, nothing. That son of a bitch. And she was falling for him and his bull shit again. Or had she ever stopped? She was tempted to call him herself. Of course, knowing him, he would not answer. She hated his stupid voicemail. Hated him – almost as much as she loved him.
Surely he would not forget her birthday. No, he always remembered it. Why would this year be different? Especially since she had every reason to believe things between them were heading in the right directions…for once.
“Lisa, why in the world would you keep checking your phone? Have you heard a word I was saying?”
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Her mother eyed her with a stern look. Actually, mother really needed to lay off the Botox as trying to decipher the meaning of her facial expressions started to become like solving a puzzle. Annoyed? She looked…surprised. Mad….she looked surprised. Angry..surprised. Surprised…well….
Lisa had to giggle to herself. She did love her mother; even with all her faults, her over protectiveness, her old fashioned pre-conceived notions, and her hawk like business sense. Still, it was funny how she became obsessed with plastic surgery almost as much as her former son-in law. Only with much worse outcome. Michael was an artist. Her mother had become somewhat of a modern piece of art. If she ever had to find a home for her, maybe the Museum of Modern Art would bite. Lisa bit her lip to control the laughter starting to bubble up.
Just answer her, Lisa, before you are in the dog house. Again.
“It’s nothing. I was waiting for a call.”
Priscilla raised an eyebrow. Or attempted the feat, anyway.
“From?”
“None of your business, mother. You were saying?”
“I was asking if you planned to bring a date to your party?” came the haughty response, spawned, no doubt, by her daughter’s reminder to stay out of her private affairs.
“Nope, just the kids. The loves of my life.”
Come on, Mom,bite: let’s talk about the kids instead now.
“You are not seeing anyone?”
She obviously could not help herself. Wasn’t she a picture of maternal love and care. Not. Another moment to roll on the floor laughing. Or cry.
“Nope. No one special, anyway.”
She was lying her ass off. Had to. Her mother would go into cardiac arrest if she knew the truth. Her anger would be red-hot. Her face would be outraged…and look very surprised.
