“Hello, Mom.”
There was Christmas music on in the background. We hadn’t even got Thanksgiving over with, and she was playing Christmas music.
Maniac.
“Hi, sweetie!” She stretched out the end of sweetie so long I thought she was a robot who had just malfunctioned. Then finally she continued, “What are you up to?”
“Nothing, Mom. I just popped into Mugshots for a coffee. You remember, it was that place I took you when you and Dad helped me move here.”
“I do remember! It was a cute place, pity they serve alcohol.”
And there was my mom in a nutshell.
Mace chose that moment (an unfortunately silent moment) to say, “Max, babe, you want your usual?”
I waved him off, and stepped a few feet away.
Mom must have had me on speakerphone because my dad cut in, “And who is that, Mackenzie?”
Mackenzie.
I shuddered. I hated my parents’ absolute refusal to call me Max. And if they didn’t approve of Max for their baby girl, they sure wouldn’t like that I was dating a guy named Mace.
My dad would have an aneurysm.
“Just a guy,” I said.
Mace nudged me and rubbed his thumb and fingers together. That’s right. He’d been fired from his job. I handed him my purse to pay.
“Is this a guy you’re dating?” Mom asked.
I sighed. There wasn’t any harm in giving her this, as long as I fudged some of the details. Or you know, all of them.
“Yes, Mom. We’ve been dating for a few weeks.” Try three months, but whatever.
“Is that so? How come we don’t know anything about this guy then?” Dad, again.
“Because it’s still new. But he’s a really nice guy, smart.” I don’t think Mace actually finished high school, but he was gorgeous and a killer drum player. I wasn’t cut out for the type of guy my mother wanted for me. My brain would melt from boredom in a week. That was if I didn’t send him running before that.
“Where did you meet?” Mom asked.
Oh, you know, he hit on me at the go-go bar where I dance, that extra job that you have no idea I work.
Instead, I said, “The library.”
Mace at the library. That was laughable. The tattoo curving across his collarbone would have been spelled villian instead of villain if I hadn’t been there to stop him.
“Really?” Mom sounded skeptical. I didn’t blame her. Meeting nice guys at the library wasn’t really my thing. Every meet-the-parents thing I’d ever gone through had ended disastrously, with my parents certain their daughter had been brainwashed by a godless individual and my boyfriend kicking me to the curb because I had too much baggage.
My baggage was named Betty and Mick and came wearing polka dots and sweater vests on the way home from bridge club. Sometimes it was hard to believe that I came from them. The first time I dyed my hair bright pink, my mom burst into tears, like I told her I was sixteen and pregnant. And that was only temporary dye.
It was easier these days just to humor them, especially since they were still helping me out financially so I could spend more time working on my music. And it wasn’t that I didn’t love them . . . I did. I just didn’t love the person they wanted me to be.
So, I made small sacrifices. I didn’t introduce them to my boyfriends. I dyed my hair a relatively normal color before any trips home. I took out or covered my piercings and wore long-sleeved, high-neck shirts to cover my tattoos. I told them I worked the front desk at an accounting firm instead of a tattoo parlor, and never mentioned my other job working in a bar.
When I went home, I played at normal for a few days, and then got the hell outta Dodge before my parents could try to set me up with a crusty accountant.
“Yes, Mom. The library.”
When I went home for Christmas, I’d just tell her it didn’t work out with the library boy. Or that he was a serial killer. Use that as my excuse to never date nice guys.
“Well, that sounds lovely. We’d love to meet him.”
Mace returned to me then with my purse and our coffees. He snuck a flask out of his pocket and added a little something special to his drink. I waved him off when he offered it to me. The caffeine was enough. Funny how he couldn’t afford coffee, but he could afford alcohol.
“Sure, Mom.” Mace snuck a hand into my coat and wrapped it around my waist. His hand was large and warm, and his touch through my thin tee made me shiver. “I think you would actually really like him.” I finished the sentence on a breathy sigh as Mace’s lips found the skin of my neck, and my eyes rolled back in bliss. I’d never met an accountant who could do that. “He’s very, ah, talented.”
“I guess we’ll see for ourselves soon.” Dad’s reply was gruff.
Hah. If they thought there was any chance I was bringing a guy home for Christmas, they were delusional.
“Sure, Dad.”