“Is that Loren?”
“No idea.”
Man, I really hope it’s not, because I haven’t decided how, what, or whether I should say anything to her about my mom being here. But if I don’t reply to multiple messages from her, she’ll worry. And Loren already worries too much.
I check the texts.
DEX
It’s on, buddy. We’re officially celebrating you Saturday night. 7PM. Tequila Mockingbird. Be there or be square.
Act surprised.
“It’s not, Loren,” I say. Then, for good measure, I hold up my phone so my mom can see the texts. The entire thread is nothing but innocent plans for a birthday party and, further up, a back-and-forth about our workout this morning. Plus a gif of some wrestler slamming someone on the mat, because Dex is gonna Dex.
Is showing my mom giving her control? Maybe. Or maybe I’m offering her a false sense of it. Either way, there’s nothing incriminating here. And now I have a choice to make.
Neither option is good.
Leaving Loren out of the loop means she’ll walk into the lion’s den completely unprepared. And by lion’s den, I mean our home. Where she should feel safe. And where my mother’s lying in wait. So I could text her a quick heads-up.
On the other hand, sending Loren any kind of message will give my mother another reason to suspect us. She’s clearly looking for evidence that I’m not sure how my wife will react.
So.
I could set my phone in plain sight, demonstrating my complete confidence in Loren.
Or I could say screw it, and try to dash off a quick text to her right now.
SOS MOM HERE.
The real question is this: Do I trust Loren more than I fear Margaret?
I lock the screen and set the phone on the table.
Loren wins.
“Anyway, I can’t wear sweatpants to our in-person business meeting,” I say, absently, like there isn’t a fist around my throat. “I need to change first.”
“Naturally.”
“We can use the study for the meeting, if that’s all right with you.” I nod to the hallway on the left.
“Of course,” she says, with an elegant dip of her head.
My next question to her is a gamble, but it’s one I’m willing to take. “Do you need to freshen up a bit first?” I ask. “A little grooming, maybe?”
She hoists a brow, always so cool, calm, and collected. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Bingo.
“Then I’ll just go ahead and put your luggage in the guest suite upstairs. You can wait for me in the study.”
Unless she’s willing to shift gears and admit she needs some polishing up after all, my mom will have no choice but to head directly to the study, which is down theoppositehall from the suite Loren’s been using. I’ll use the back staircase to trade my mom’s bags with mine, and drag my stuff down to Loren’s suite. Temporarily.
Hopefully.
A smile slants across my mother’s face. “Wonderful.”