“I think it’s going to be a big success,” I declare confidently.
“You would think that.” She huffs. “Tucker could’ve bought the realty business back home. He should be in an office, not working in a bar.”
She says bar like someone else might say whorehouse.
“And now he’s living over it.” She heaves another huge, disappointed sigh. “This isn’t what his daddy would’ve wanted.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I turn the conversation to Jamie because surely she couldn’t be critical of Jamie.
“Was Jamie awake when you got home? She’s so smart. We’ve been reading to her every day. I found an article that says if you read to your infant at least two hours a day, she’ll be an advanced reader.”
Jeez. I’m beginning to sound like Nana, spouting off pseudo-facts that are presented in click bait articles as if they’re gospel.
Tucker’s mother ignores my remarks. “Tuck says you’re breastfeeding and that she’s only in the fifth percentile for weight. That sounds dangerously underweight. In my day, we all used formula. It filled those tummies up and helped them grow.”
I resign myself to the fact that there’s not a thing associated with me that Mrs. Tucker won’t find fault with.
Grabbing for the threads of my fraying patience, I say, “Most doctors really push for breastfeeding these days. The mother’s milk is calibrated to match the infant’s needs, and there are studies—”
“There are studies that prove anything,” she says disdainfully. She flicks the burner to low and moves toward the sink, where she begins to wash her hands vigorously. “I heard there was a study that said kids who are around alcohol tend to grow up to have a lot of problems. I hope that isn’t the case with Jamie.”
I place one foot over the other and stomp down, hoping the pain will serve as a distraction since grinding my molars isn’t doing the trick. I remind myself that Mrs. Tucker loves her son and that all her criticism, some of it founded, comes from a place of love. Not for me, but for her son. I should respect that.
“We aren’t going to live here forever,” I say with false cheerfulness.
I finish up with the dishes and then swing into the living room. Maybe the distance will keep me from saying something stupid out of anger. That would only cause more damage to the already difficult relationship I have with Tucker’s mom.
If I’m going to stay with Tucker, I need to make this thing with her work.
“Law school is going well. I got in with a great study group. They’re super important because we all help each other see the bigger picture. When I first started, I thought I wasn’t going to make any friends, but it was early day jitters for all of us.” I’m rambling as I tidy up my coursework. “There’s this one guy in my group—Simon—who’s a genius. He has a photographic memory plus this keen ability to really narrow in on the important issues. I get bogged down in the details too much.”
“Simon? You study with other men?”
I jerk upright at her suspicious tone.
“Yes, there are men in my class,” I answer carefully.
“Does John know about this?” She crosses her arms over her chest, looking at me as if I’d just confessed to boning another student in front of her son.
“Yes. He’s met Simon. We’ve studied here.” Well, actually at the bar. My study group loves to come here.
She shakes her head, the red-gold strands highlighted by the kitchen light behind her. “This is…” Another head shake. “Exactly what I expected,” she finishes.
A frown puckers my mouth. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you take advantage of my son and have been doing it since the day you two met.”
I suck in a breath. “W-what?”
“How soon after you learned about his inheritance did you decide to trap him, Sabrina?” Her expression is colder than ice. “It’s pretty convenient how he pays for everything while you go off studying with another man.”
Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me.
I straighten fully, indignation injecting into my bloodstream.
It’s one thing for her to criticize my housekeeping. I suck at it.
I can handle her objection to the breastfeeding. I’m concerned about Jamie’s weight too, even though the doctor assures me it’s perfectly normal for breastfed babies to be underweight.
I don’t care if she derides my parenting, housekeeping or mothering skills from one side of Boston to the other.