A Sticky Situation (Awkward Love 7)

“Oh, it’s bad. Even Absinthe isn’t going to be strong enough for this,” I promise her.

Her eyes begin to gleam. I hate how much she’s going to enjoy this. I take a deep breath, and just as I begin to unravel the whole sorry story, my phone rings. I pull it out and sigh. Mom.

Has she bugged my phone so she can choose the worst possible time, or is that just talent? At least I know where my sister gets it from.

“Hi, Mom,” I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

I could pinch myself for not calling her back before I came up here, because she’s probably mapped out my route home from the clinic.

“You promised me you’d call me back,” she reminds me.

“I’m not even home yet,” I protest.

“Why not? You live exactly fourteen minutes from the clinic.”

I swallow a laugh. I knew it.

“Why did you kick your sister out?”

“What?” I say, laughing. “I didn’t kick her out. What are you talking about?”

“She called me whining because you’re making her and Sophie leave. Something about you making her pay for everything? You know she doesn’t have money right now, Hannah.”

“I told her to buy her own groceries—”

I stop and rub my head because it’s not worth the energy I’d be wasting trying to explain this to Mom. I knew my sister would go running to her. She always does. No wonder I’m stressed out.

“Hannah?” Mom presses.

“All I said is money is a little tight and it would be good if she could help out with food—”

“She lost her job, Hannah,” Mom chides. “You could try and be a little more sensitive toward her.”

“Are you kidding me?” I hoot. “Look, I feel for her, but I’m not her mother.”

My silent dig at her parenting skills hangs in the air until she abruptly changes the subject.

“I assume you’re still doing temporary work at that rehabilitation facility?”

She says it with such disgust, like it’s on the same level as offering hand jobs on the street corner, to the highest bidder.

“Yes, Mom.”

“Then what’s this bakery I keep hearing about?”

Fuck.

I’m gonna kill Soph.

“There’s no bakery,” I snarl. “Have you tasted my cooking? It’s worse than yours.”

“That’s what I said,” Mom gripes. Then she sighs. “For God’s sake, Hannah. When are you going to come to your senses and move back home? You have a good, steady job waiting for you here—”

“Mom, no offense, but I didn’t do four years of college and get a degree in nursing to work in your friend’s pet salon,” I say in a testy tone. I don’t point out to Mom’s that she’s the reason I moved away in the first place. “Besides, I like it here.”

“But you don’t even have a job—”

“Why aren’t you hounding Sara? You know, the daughter who actually does need a job?”

“You do too,” Mom argues. “Temp work is hardly—”

“I was promoted, actually,” I interrupt. “I’ve been offered a private nursing gig that a few dozen other nurses all wanted. One-on-one care of a very high-profile client.”

“Who?” Lou whispers, her eyes lighting up, but I wave her away.

“Really?” Mom asks suspiciously. “Who?”

“Look, I have to go,” I say with a sigh. A; because I can’t deal with her shit right now and B; because I don’t want to tell Lou about this with my mother on the phone. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Fine, but please make sure you do this time.”

I press end, then toss my phone into my bag with a loud groan. Lou smiles at me. Her eyes sympathetic, but she can’t wipe the smirk off her face. The more I glare at her, the harder she loses control until she’s on the floor, gasping for air.

“I’m sorry, but your mom just cracks me up.” She giggles, her cheeks rosy red. “She hasn’t eased up on you at all, has she?”

I shake my head. “Nope,” I say. I laugh, because laughing is all I can do when it comes to my mother. “If anything, she gets worse as time passes. Last week, she called me at four in the morning because she’d watched a late-night documentary on the areas of LA that women were most likely to be raped. Of course, I’m smack bang in the middle of the hotspot.”

“You mean this whole city isn’t a hotspot?” Lou jokes as I rub my head.

“The week before that, she was watching a Hallmark movie where the female lead was taken from a nightclub and sold into slavery,” I explain. “So, of course she called me and gave me a lecture.”

“Maybe she’ll relax a little with the security of this new work role?” Lou offers. “Who is this client, by the way? I’m dying to know.”

I throw myself back on the couch and groan.

“What’s wrong?” Lou asks, her expression more curious than concerned.