"So my son is all bent out of shape because he read a few lines of your thesis and decided that it's about him and that you've been trying to screw him over this whole time?" Doreen asks.
"Sort of, I guess," I mutter. "Not exactly. He has a point. It probably feels like a huge violation of privacy – and trust – because it is. And people do have ulterior motives around him, and that's only going to get worse, you know? I didn't mean to hurt him. If he would have listened, or read further, I could have explained that what he was reading was just theories and I go on to explain the current research –"
"Stop," Doreen says, putting her hand up. "I've heard enough."
Shit.
"My son is the most stubborn, hard-headed person you'll ever meet. He was that way even as a baby. He was worse than his brother and his brother was pretty pigheaded. They used to get in some awful fights when they were kids," she explains. "They got that stubborn streak from their father. Lord knows it wasn't from me."
Not from her. I feel a laugh bubbling in my throat and I squelch it for fear that Doreen will kill me.
"Don't think I don't see that look on your face, Cassandra," she says, raising an eyebrow. "He did not get that stubborn streak from me."
"I said nothing."
"His father was the same way," she goes on. "Used to drive me crazy when we first got together. I don't know where I'm going with this except to say that my kid is being an idiot and going high and to the right about something that's clearly been blown way the heck out of proportion."
"I did screw up though."
"So what?" Doreen exclaims, standing up and taking my empty coffee cup. "Where'd you get the idea that if you screw up something, it's done with?"
"I don't think that's exactly my choice. Colton was pissed and he stormed out of here."
"I know," she says, returning with coffee. "I had to be in the same room with that sulky shit. You need to woman up and go see him and explain. And while you're there, tell him that his mother says his stupid ass needs to listen to you."
"I don't think he's going to want to see me," I start.
"I don't care what he thinks he wants or doesn't want," she says. "I care about what's good for him. And you're good for him. My boy's not dumb enough to think otherwise. So that's that. Then you both can forget this whole misunderstanding and get on with making grandchildren."
This time I do choke on my coffee, sputtering as the hot liquid goes down the wrong pipe.
"Oh, and I want to see this thesis that caused all of this trouble," Doreen adds. "I'm going to need some light reading anyway."
39
Colton
I'm on my third plastic cup of beer, sitting in a lawn chair by the pool, listening to the thump-thump of the bass pouring out of the speakers inside the house and thinking that I really have a massive fucking headache.
And another five or six beers might start to take it away. Another twelve might make me forget all about this bullshit with Cassie.
Pretty much the entire team is here for a post-finals blowout. Every hot, slutty girl on campus is going to roll through here, too.
Speaking of which…
A girl with bleached blonde hair and enormous tits pouring out of her tiny yellow bikini materializes right in front of me. "Colton King," she says.
"Yep." I look past her at the lawn, my eyes scanning the crowd for whatever. A small part of me is hoping that Cassie will just show up here, that she'll push through the bodies in one of her skirts and high heels, far too overdressed for a pool party, glasses perched on the end of her nose. And then she'll look at me and say –
"Do you need to blow off a little post-finals steam?" the blonde asks, and I blink for a second, somehow surprised that I'm hearing the sound of her voice and not Cassie's. "Because I really, really like to blow… off steam."
"I'm all set," I say, hardly able to hide the disgust in my tone. "Thanks anyway."
"There's the offending document." A ream of papers lands in my lap, and I look up to see my mother standing beside the chair giving me a murderous glare. She turns her attention to the blonde. "And you are?"
"Trixie," she says. Then she wraps a lock of blonde hair around her finger and gives my mother a vacant look.
If I wasn't so generally irritated, I'd be amused by the fact that my mother is going to eat this girl alive.
My mother looks back and forth from me to the girl. "This is how you're choosing to console yourself?"
"Hey!" the blonde sputters.
"Bless your heart, honey," my mother says to her. "I'm sure you're very smart and quite the catch. What are you studying?"
The blonde looks at her. "Um… maybe fashion?"
"Of course you are," my mother murmurs. "Walk away, please."
The blonde's mouth falls open and she huffs as she retreats.
"Are you finished here, mom?" I ask, irritated.
Emmett passes us, and my mother grabs his arm. "You like the bimbos, don't you, Emmett?"
"Hells yeah, Mrs. K."
"There's one right over there who's up your alley."
Emmett holds up his hand and my mother hi-fives him. "You rock, Mrs. K."