queens?”
She lifted her hands and let them flop down. “I think I’d hate them anyway but, yeah, I think we can safely put my mother at the root of my aversion. I love her—she is my mother—but most of the time I don’t like her and don’t want to be around her. She uses people, especially her daughters, and anyone who gets close to her gets manipulated and emotionally abused. No one deserves that, and I don’t want that kind of negativity in my life. I’ve had enough trauma to deal with—I don’t need her help on that score.” She patted her bad leg, but then looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I’m guessing someone who lost his mom wouldn’t understand someone who doesn’t want hers in her life.”
He heard the challenge in her voice, the defensiveness. He’d bet there’d been more than one person who’d tried to make her feel like shit for not wanting to deal with her mother. She was just mistaken in assuming he’d be one of them. “Just because you have something I lost doesn’t mean I resent you for not wanting the same thing. From all accounts, my mother was a wonderful woman. A bit on the shy, quiet side, but everyone in the family said she was the best thing that ever happened to my dad. She was his rock—always knew what to say, always there for him to lean on.”
The war had messed his dad up pretty bad, but he didn’t mention that. They were talking about mothers, not fathers.
Or maybe they should talk about fathers. Maybe that would help her understand his point of view. “My dad…blamed me for my mother’s death. He abandoned me. On the rare occasions I did see him? There wasn’t a kind word in that man’s mouth. He wasn’t physically abusive or anything, but he never stopped blaming me to the day he died.” He blew out a breath. “You said your dad died when you were a baby. Do you resent me because I had a father I didn’t want, just because yours died too young?”
“No.” She smiled, relief reflecting in her gaze. “I’m just so used to people…reacting badly when I say I don’t speak to my mother unless forced.”
“I get where you’re coming from. If my dad was still alive, and he actually wanted to have contact with me?” Compressing his lips, he shook his head. “I’m not sure how close I could ever let him get. That’s the sad truth.”
“I understand, and I’m sorry. For both of us, actually.”
She reached out and squeezed his hand, but he tightened his grip when she tried to pull back. Other than shooting another glance at him, she didn’t protest, and they walked hand in hand into the lobby of her hotel. There was nothing special about the place—everything was nice, clean, with an air of expensive about it. Exactly what you’d expect from a pricey resort that catered to business conferences.
She motioned toward a sign that pointed the way to the elevators. “I want to drop off my old glasses and the contact supplies in my room before I go to the next presentation. No need to lug them around unless I have to.”
“Makes sense. I’ll walk you to the elevators then.” Though there was no reason he’d need to go that far, he was loath to leave her. It had been the most intriguing couple of hours he could remember in years. Emergency contact lenses, randomly inviting someone to his house, dodging fondlers, discussing family politics. Not his average Saturday.
The elevator bank was tucked away in a quiet hallway, out of the way of the foot traffic in the lobby. He ran his thumb over her knuckles and decided it was time to nail down some plans to meet up again. “So. About dinner tomorrow.”
She pulled her hand from his to reach for the call button, but paused and looked back. “You were serious?”
“Of course. I need to start showing you the area, remember?” It was as good an excuse as any.
“My tour guide, right.” She tapped a finger against his chest.
He covered her hand with his, and her warm palm lay over his
She lifted her hands and let them flop down. “I think I’d hate them anyway but, yeah, I think we can safely put my mother at the root of my aversion. I love her—she is my mother—but most of the time I don’t like her and don’t want to be around her. She uses people, especially her daughters, and anyone who gets close to her gets manipulated and emotionally abused. No one deserves that, and I don’t want that kind of negativity in my life. I’ve had enough trauma to deal with—I don’t need her help on that score.” She patted her bad leg, but then looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I’m guessing someone who lost his mom wouldn’t understand someone who doesn’t want hers in her life.”
He heard the challenge in her voice, the defensiveness. He’d bet there’d been more than one person who’d tried to make her feel like shit for not wanting to deal with her mother. She was just mistaken in assuming he’d be one of them. “Just because you have something I lost doesn’t mean I resent you for not wanting the same thing. From all accounts, my mother was a wonderful woman. A bit on the shy, quiet side, but everyone in the family said she was the best thing that ever happened to my dad. She was his rock—always knew what to say, always there for him to lean on.”
The war had messed his dad up pretty bad, but he didn’t mention that. They were talking about mothers, not fathers.
Or maybe they should talk about fathers. Maybe that would help her understand his point of view. “My dad…blamed me for my mother’s death. He abandoned me. On the rare occasions I did see him? There wasn’t a kind word in that man’s mouth. He wasn’t physically abusive or anything, but he never stopped blaming me to the day he died.” He blew out a breath. “You said your dad died when you were a baby. Do you resent me because I had a father I didn’t want, just because yours died too young?”
“No.” She smiled, relief reflecting in her gaze. “I’m just so used to people…reacting badly when I say I don’t speak to my mother unless forced.”
“I get where you’re coming from. If my dad was still alive, and he actually wanted to have contact with me?” Compressing his lips, he shook his head. “I’m not sure how close I could ever let him get. That’s the sad truth.”
“I understand, and I’m sorry. For both of us, actually.”
She reached out and squeezed his hand, but he tightened his grip when she tried to pull back. Other than shooting another glance at him, she didn’t protest, and they walked hand in hand into the lobby of her hotel. There was nothing special about the place—everything was nice, clean, with an air of expensive about it. Exactly what you’d expect from a pricey resort that catered to business conferences.
She motioned toward a sign that pointed the way to the elevators. “I want to drop off my old glasses and the contact supplies in my room before I go to the next presentation. No need to lug them around unless I have to.”
“Makes sense. I’ll walk you to the elevators then.” Though there was no reason he’d need to go that far, he was loath to leave her. It had been the most intriguing couple of hours he could remember in years. Emergency contact lenses, randomly inviting someone to his house, dodging fondlers, discussing family politics. Not his average Saturday.
The elevator bank was tucked away in a quiet hallway, out of the way of the foot traffic in the lobby. He ran his thumb over her knuckles and decided it was time to nail down some plans to meet up again. “So. About dinner tomorrow.”
She pulled her hand from his to reach for the call button, but paused and looked back. “You were serious?”
“Of course. I need to start showing you the area, remember?” It was as good an excuse as any.
“My tour guide, right.” She tapped a finger against his chest.
He covered her hand with his, and her warm palm lay over his
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