Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)

“I’m giving you a two-day suspension, then you’re going to come back and remind everyone why they’ll never be any higher than second place.” Greer grabs me by the shoulder and shakes me. “Do you understand me?”

“Yeah,” I say, watching my vision of Ever float away. “First place.”

What choice do I have?





Chapter 17





Ever


My mother is wearing sweatpants. Not the cute kind, either. These are End-of-Times sweatpants. They are stained and loose and covered in lint. The kind you don’t wear unless it’s laundry day and there’s no chance of human interaction. Not even with the mailman or the food delivery guy. My mother is rocking them hard, paired with gold-studded Chanel flats. Today marks the first time in my life I’ve felt overdressed around my mother, and I’m wearing jean shorts.

I haven’t seen Charlie since Saturday. This morning, while sitting on a bench in Washington Square Park—a pit stop I made on the way back from buying ingredients for brie cheese and mushroom crepes—I considered texting Charlie. I was anxious after how he’d opened up to me about his mother. Maybe it was a mistake to drop him so hard when he was clearly having a difficult moment. Sure, I’d been having a tough one, too, but that didn’t stem the flow of guilt.

Recognizing the fact that I was about to cave, I’d dropped the bags of ingredients off at the apartment, left Nina a note that I would be back soon and took the train to Columbus Circle. My mother owns a two-bedroom condo in a high-rise—not quite a park view, but still swank—and close enough to the Garment District where she works. I needed to remind myself why broadening my horizons was so important. My mother’s initial visit had shaken me up in the first place, so here I am again.

Drinking grape Fanta and eating Chinese take-out on a dinner tray. I’m not fancy by any stretch, but the last time I visited my mother, we’d been served by a maid. Coupled with the sweatpants, I’m wondering if her epiphany has led to a full-on lifestyle makeover. Her energy is almost relaxed, compared to the nonstop hummingbird movements I associated with her for so long.

“So have you met anyone yet?”

Yeah. A stubborn, gorgeous, anticommitment police academy recruit who talks to me with his heart in his eyes, but will never, ever, hand it over. “Uh, no one special just yet.” Her shoulders deflate, so I rush to add, “I met some nice boys in sunglasses while speed dating. And I’m seeing a fire academy recruit on Friday night.”

“Oh.” She perks up. “Firemen don’t make great money, but we all have to start somewhere.” She salutes me with grape soda. “Consider it practice.”

“Practice.” I nod, unable to think of a better response. “Okay.”

I confirmed my plans with Reve last night through the dating site. He only gave a short response to my knock-knock joke, so I’d almost been nervous to try again. But when he’d cited a heavy work schedule and assured me he’d be at our date, I decided not to take his abruptness personally. Some time had passed since we’d arranged the date, so maybe the magic was dwindling without any actual face-to-face interaction? I wasn’t sure, but all the mysteries would be solved on Friday night.

The silence stretches between my mother and I. All I can hear are the bubbles popping and fizzing in my soda. Out in the hallway, I hear an apartment door slam and musical laughter as neighbors pass her condo. She shoots me a glance from beneath naked eyelashes, and I scold myself for not visiting sooner. Coming home to an empty apartment and hearing lives being lived on every side of her must be awful. Especially in light of her realization that flying solo isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

I set down my drink because my arm simply can’t support it anymore. “Mother, I know it’s hard learning to live without the three rules, but you don’t have to sit here alone. You can go out and make friends. Or even meet someone who’s single—”

Her scoff cuts me off. “And what would I tell them? I’ve spent the last twenty-odd years carrying on with various married men?” She gives me a pointed look, but it’s laced with sadness. “I doubt people will be very receptive.”

“You won’t know until you try.”

“Maybe it’s not even about my past,” she blurts. “I don’t . . . really know how to talk to anyone. All my life, most of my conversations outside of work revolved around sex. Where to meet. How to be discreet. And don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed some of it, even if I have regrets now.” Her laugh is watery. “I wouldn’t know where to start if I walked into a bar or met someone for dinner.” She sighs. “I’d probably ask my date to wear a wedding ring for old time’s sake.”

Even though I’m shaking my head, we both laugh and something melts inside me. I’ve been waiting for this warmth for a really long time and it doesn’t disappoint, rolling over me like a honey glaze. “When I went speed dating, I chugged a glass of wine, I was so nervous. And you know what, it was awful. I didn’t even make it through to the end.”

My mother sits forward. “But you’re so . . . industrious. Brave. Out on your own and running your own company.” She shakes her head. “I might have climbed the corporate ladder, but creating something uniquely mine? I never had it in me to do that.”

“Yes, you did,” I rush to say through the overwhelming shock of having her pride bestowed on me. “When I think I can’t handle a situation, I just ask myself what you would do. And the answer is always, kick ass and take names.”

There’s a sheen in her eyes. “Really?”

“Yes.”

My open adulation has caused her to retreat into herself, becoming more recognizable as my aloof mother, nudging aside the earnest woman I saw breaking through. For now. Never expecting us to make any progress, though, I’m . . . content. I don’t need to push for another Hallmark moment just yet. Maybe it’s just enough to know there is potential for more. “How about this? You go out and give the over-forties single scene a try and . . . I’ll go out tonight and try, too. With twenty-somethings, obviously. Bumping into you might be awkward.” That earns me a laugh. “We don’t have to tell one another how it went. Or what happened. It’ll be kind of like a mistress honor system.”

She snorts, then covers her nose, as if she can’t believe that sound emerged. “I don’t know . . .”

“Wear that green dress. The loose one with pockets you wore that time we met for dinner in Chelsea.” I snap a wonton in half and pop it into my mouth. “You look smoking hot in it, but also approachable.”

“Leave fashion to the expert, daughter.” Her expression is stern, but she softens it with a wink. “Fine. What’s the worst that could happen, right? I just end up back here watching The Dog Whisperer.”