Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

“Ma, it wasn’t for you. It was for him.”
“Oooh,” she croons. “A man? Finally. I told Gabby I thought you were going
for that friend of yours with all the fancy piercings, but she told me you don’t
bark up that tree.”
“Gabby would be correct. Besides, Lorena’s way out of my league.” Sighing,
I swivel the phone so the camera faces Ren. “Ma, this is Ren Bergman. Ren, this
is my mom, Maria Zeferino.”
He waves hi and her jaw drops. “Jesus,” my mom whispers.
Ren glances nervously from me back to her.
I lean toward him and grin. “Where do you think I got my love of gingers,
Zenzero?”
Ren turns a brilliant red. Clearing his throat, he smiles at her. “Nice to meet
you, Mrs. Zeferino. Frankie’s said wonderful things about you.”
Like hell I have. I dig my heel into his bare foot, but he doesn’t seem to care.
Ma cocks an eyebrow. “Nice to meet you, Ren. But I doubt that highly. I
drive her crazy. It’s why she moved a country away from me.”
I roll my eyes, bringing the phone back to facing only me. “I moved crosscountry
for a kickass job and mellow weather.”
She waves her hand. “How’s your health?”
“It’s fine,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You exercising? Taking your meds? Getting your bloodwork and X-rays—”
“Ma. I said it’s fine.”
She squints at me. “You look thin. And your nose is red. Are you sick?”
Ren makes a disapproving noise. “See?” he whispers. “I told you.”
I glare at him. “And I told you,” I hiss back, “that I don’t need another fussy
mother. So, back off, Ren.”
He sits straight, eyes narrowed. On an abrupt stand, he sweeps up his coffee
and goes inside. Guilt settles in my stomach. I shouldn’t have snapped at him,
but damn, is it aggravating to be talked to so paternalistically. I’m a grown
woman. It’s my body to manage.
Or mismanage.
And tough shit. I warned him this would be an issue, that it was a sensitive
and unwavering boundary for me.
As I hear him through the open screen door, banging around in the kitchen
and muttering to himself, my stomach tightens in unease, weight presses on my
chest that no deep breathing resolves. I’m definitely getting sick. Just with what,
I’m not sure.
Tell him. Trust him.
I can’t. Because I can’t trust him to be objective. He’ll toss aside his