Page 15 of His Choice

I sighed. “And you know I love you, Mom. Pointing out that you’re a pain in the ass doesn’t mean I hate you.”

My mother’s expression softened. “I love you, too. And you’ve been a pain to me longer.”

“No, I think you pretty much have been, off and on, since I was born,” I corrected with a grin.

“Then you’ve just confirmed I’m right. It has been longer for me. You don’t remember all the times you gave me morning sickness or began practicing your soccer skills while still in the womb,” she argued.

“Yeah, can’t say I do,” I acknowledged, shaking my head at her comparison.

Just then, James entered the room with my mother’s drink. “Here you go, Ms. Walker.”

“Thank you, James. You’re such a dear. Cliff says you’re seeing someone?” My mother had asked me why I had never dated the help, including James. In her younger years, she had dated bosses, and her mindset about it hadn’t progressed with the times.

“Sort of a long-distance romance, Ms. Walker. I met him in Manchester,” James replied. “We see each other every weekend, though.”

“Well, the lack of intimacy can be a challenge. You don’t want him filling his week nights with someone else’s affections. If I were you, I’d entice him with phone sex,” she advised.

“Mom!”

My mother batted her eyelashes at me, innocent-like. “What? You know, that squeamish part of you isn’t going to play well with His Choice viewers. You’d better loosen up, darling.” There was another reminder that I might be too stodgy for the show.

James smirked. “Thanks for the advice, Ms. Walker. I’ll um…float the idea by my boyfriend.”

She tapped her polished nails against the cocktail glass. “Sweetheart, just initiate it. No man will say no unless he’s cheating on you. It will be a way to find out. And if you ever suspect he is, get my number from Cliff and call me. I’ll take care of things for you. I know people.”

James laughed. “Okay, Ms. Walker.” He turned to me. “Would you like anything, Cliff?”

“Are you strong enough to lift and carry my mother to her car?”

James played along. “She’d be light as a feather considering how well she takes care of herself. Give a shout if you change your mind about a drink, or if Ms. Walker would like a refill.”

After he left, my mother shook her head. “You could learn manners from him. Which brings me back to why I’m here. I know it’s important for you that everyone loves you—except me, apparently. Here’s my first tip so you won’t read negative reviews after the show airs then end up disappointed. People like men who are sweet to their mothers.”

“Why would viewers see me interacting with you at all?” I wondered.

“Because I persuaded the producers and director to let me be on the set when I want to coach you.”

“You what?” I exclaimed.

She exhaled, as if she had seen my protest coming. “They thought it was brilliant. That bald producer—I forget his name—he said women and gay men would love the idea of your stylish mother sharing her insights and experience with you. And let’s face it, darling, you need me through this.”

“No, I don’t,” I disagreed. “Mom, I think I can handle dating.”

She seemed unconvinced. “If going home with men you meet in a bar is called dating.” I was about to object and she held up a hand. “I’m not criticizing, God knows. If that made you happy, I wouldn’t say a word about it. Most people would love what you have—sex when you want and tons of money.”

“Are you describing me or you?” I asked. I regretted it immediately. My mother’s willingness to playfully argue didn’t justify me losing all respect. “I’m sorry, Mom. That comment was rude.”

Her face softened. “Yes, but not unfair. Cliff, I cross a line with you, too. One thing you inherited from me is an enjoyment of sarcasm. I can’t very well get upset about it when it’s in your genes.”

“I don’t think that’s genetic, but thanks for giving me a pass. Just because you’re tough doesn’t excuse saying things that could hurt your feelings.”

“You think I’m tough?” she asked, seeming surprised.

I chuckled. “The woman who threatens to call in the goons to solve other people’s problems? Yeah. I admire it, though. I really do. I might have picked up some of my snarkiness from you, but I never developed the thick skin you have. Like you said, I worry too much about what others think. With all the struggles of raising me on your own without much money, you must have had to deal with a lot of crap. Maybe that’s how you got your strength. Yet you made my path to success easy. I am grateful for that, and having you, my friends, and all this…stuff should be enough. It’s selfish that I want even more and worse, that I’m stooping so low by trying to find it on this dumb show.”

“Why do you believe there’s a limit to how much you deserve? Rich or poor, a man has a right to desire love and a soulmate. I know that would mean more to you than the possessions. You need to find a man who wants the person you are…generous, caring, responsible, intelligent and who can put you in your place when you use that caustic humor of yours. The problem is, the first thing that draws people to you is your handsomeness and wealth. It’s understandable that you’d question whether they value the most important things.”

I wiped a hand over my face. “But I think I’ve always doubted myself. Thank God you were always there to keep me from becoming too pathetic.”