Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)

Unfortunately, while my mother was out kicking ass and taking names, she wasn’t home very often as I grew up, leaving me with babysitters or interns. Whenever we spoke, it was almost always about the dangers of trusting the opposite sex. How to be independent. How to avoid entanglements.

“Are you headed out of town?” She still works for the same company in merchandising, sending her across the pond pretty frequently. “I lost track of the date . . . is it Paris fashion week or—”

“I’ve come here with something to say.” She stands and clicks over to the window on impractical high heels. “Something very important, Ever.”

At the rare use of my name, I fall back into my chair. Everything about this situation is rare, really. We don’t have heart-to-hearts, my mother and I. She informs me via e-mail or text message if she’s going out of town or relocating. That’s about it. So there’s a quickening in my pulse knowing she’s thought of me, planned a conversation for us to have. Together. “What is it, Mother?”

“Until last night, I was seeing a man. Married, yes. I know you don’t approve.” Her slim shoulders lift and fall on a breath. “He . . . ended things before the month was up. Decided to give things with his wife another try.”

“Oh.” I know better than to reach out and comfort her. Her associations with married men are a bone of contention between us, so I have to strike the right note of sympathy if I don’t want to sound like, them’s the breaks when you creep on another woman’s dude, Ma. “I’m sorry.”

She starts to wave off my apology with an impatient hand, but doesn’t follow through, her hand just . . . dropping. “Last night was the first time since your father . . . that a man ended things first. I’ve learned to choose my men very carefully, and I never failed to adhere to the one-month rule. But it had only been a week. A week.” She meets my gaze, but it flits away before cementing. “For so long, these short associations have been a constant in my life. I was guaranteed one month with no strings. But last night . . . I realized there are no guarantees in the rules we live by. Not anymore. Not even the single month I’ve gotten so used to relying on.” She smoothed a hand down her scarf. “It took being cut loose to realize something. The only thing I’ve guaranteed is my own loneliness.”

Numbness moves straight down to my toes. “Mother. I’m . . . what are you saying?”

“I haven’t been happy for a long time, Ever. After your father, I followed the rules because I was hurting. I needed to earn my self-respect back. Gain back the power I’d lost. And I don’t know when following the rules stopped being . . . fulfilling. But it’s been a while.” My mother turns, and with sunshine streaming in on either side of her face, she looks almost divine. Divine but so incredibly sad. “I’m a lonely woman, Ever. I don’t remember the last time I confided in another person. Or laughed. Actually laughed. And I think those opportunities with men have been right in front of me for the last twenty-three years, but I pushed them aside, because I was afraid of being hurt again.”

You could have laughed with me. We could have laughed together.

Those words stick in my throat as my mother comes toward where I’m super-glued to the chair. Since walking into my apartment, she has aged a decade, I would swear to it. She’s crumbling under the truth of her words, and it’s a tragedy playing out, right here in my apartment. Seeing it, hearing it, makes my stomach twist into a pretzel. “Ever, I’ve steered you down my path, telling you to stay free and committed to no one. But there’s still time to change.” She kneels in front of me—such an uncharacteristic action for my unflappable mother—and tears push, hot and full, behind my eyelids. “Find someone to grow old with, Ever. A man who’ll look you in the eye and respect you. A man who will care enough to argue with you. A man who can’t think of a better place to be than with you. Get off this path. It only leads to meals for one and no one to laugh with, baby girl.”

“But . . .” I haven’t cried in so long, my garbled voice jolts me. “You said a woman doesn’t need a committed man to make her happy. I can’t . . . how can I change when it’s all I’ve ever known?”

“Maybe it’s okay to need someone, so long as they need you back just as much.” My mother rises and lays a hand on my head. “Just promise me you’ll try. Really try, Ever.”

I’ve never been given the opportunity to make my mother proud before. My whole life, I’ve been heeding her advice, but we’ve never bonded over it. Our emotions have never collided in any way. Now I’m in the center of the impact, seeing the strongest woman I know fall down on her proverbial knees. For me. She’s humbling herself for me, so I don’t face the loneliness she’s experiencing. She’s trusting me with her advice, with her hurt, and I’m not going to squander this chance.

As a young girl, I used to yearn for my mother to come home from work and talk to me. Talk to me about anything but avoiding being tied down. It’s a long time coming, but her being here and opening up? I have a sense that it’s her unique way of apologizing. For all those times she didn’t hold me close. All those times she shut down conversations about boys, telling me to ignore them and stay smart. Be independent. She isn’t the type to come right out and issue apologies, but actions speak louder than words. And she is physically here, trying to save me from her mistakes.

If easing my mother’s concerns means dating—with the intent to become one-half of a relationship—so be it. I can do that for her. I can do that for us.

First step: end things with Charlie. My blood pumps heavily in my temples at the thought. I’m no longer abiding by the one-month rule, but that hardly matters now. He doesn’t want a serious relationship. Our whole association is founded on that fact. So . . . in order to move forward, giving up Charlie is a must. No big deal, right? Why am I thinking about it so hard?

Maybe because . . . lately, I’ve been wishing he wouldn’t run out so fast.

There. I admitted it. I’ve been secretly hoping he’ll ask to try one of my brownies. And feeling disappointed when he doesn’t text about something besides hooking up.

If I can feel the beginnings of more with Charlie . . . maybe there’s someone else out there who could inspire the same feelings. Sure, I’m skeptical, but I need to find out. Not to mention, she could be right. Letting go of my resolve to be alone could be the first step toward shaking what’s got me in a funk lately.

“Ever?”

I look up to find my mother paused at the door, hand on the knob. “Yes, Mother. I’ll try my best.”





Chapter 4





Charlie