I loved my mom. Really, I did, but I was never letting her choose a restaurant again. Not for a Sunday brunch, or a Saturday dinner.

Nothing.

Ever.

Again.

In every aspect of her life since my birth, she chose the boring, predictable route…except when it came to selecting restaurants. Instead of picking a nice Italian place or maybe Thai, Cuban, Japanese, she always went for the odd ones out. The restaurants with gimmicks or strange menus.

Like the place in the Bronx last year that tried to do pizza stir-fry with BBQ sauce. Or the one that used stationary bikes instead of tables and chairs so that people could burn off calories while they ate.

This one, however, was the last straw, and I made sure she knew it.

“Never again, Mom.” I glared at her across the table. “I mean it.”

She smiled at me, and not for the first time, I wondered if people thought we were sisters rather than mother and daughter. She’d been twenty-two when I was born, but even now, she barely looked ten years older than me. We had the same raven-black hair, though I wore my long and she kept hers at chin-length. My blue eyes had some green in them, while hers were pure, pale blue. Other than those small details, the two of us looked so much alike that it was occasionally creepy.

“You work too hard,” she said. “You need to have some fun.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s your excuse for bringing me here? I’m going to have nightmares for months.”

Mom laughed, but the sound was drowned out as the next act took the stage. Karaoke was bad enough, but a restaurant that awarded prizes for the worst karaoke possible? That was just evil.

I dipped a French fry into some ranch dressing and popped it into my mouth. At least the food was good. One place we’d gone a few weeks back had only served things that tasted like cardboard. At least what I assumed cardboard would taste like. I’d had to pick up a pizza on the way home.

I winced as someone attempted to hit a high note. I didn’t know how Mom could listen to this, especially when I knew how she felt about pop and ‘adult contemporary’ music. Unlike some of my school friends’ parents, my mom hadn’t forbidden me to listen to rock music. In fact, she’d encouraged it, sharing her favorites before I could speak.

She’d never hidden her past from me. I couldn’t even remember the first time she told me about how she’d followed bands around the country from age fifteen until she’d gotten pregnant with me, but it was young enough that, no matter how much I loved her, I’d always known that I didn’t want to repeat her life.

Which was why, even though she’d never been overly permissive or overly strict, I’d always been a good kid. No partying, no drugs or drinking, no sex, no late nights. I worked. First at school, then college, and now my job.

Except this horrific rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” was making me feel more than a little rebellious.

“I can’t take another song,” I said as soon as the song ended. “Please.”

Mom sighed good-naturedly and nodded. I didn’t give her a chance to change her mind and waved over the waiter, a tanned, blond athlete who looked like he’d be more at home on a California beach than a restaurant in New York City. He came over almost immediately, which wasn’t surprising since he’d been staring at me almost from the moment we’d walked in.

“Check, please,” I practically shouted to be heard.

When he came back five minutes later, his cheeks were flushed, and from the way his eyes kept darting to the bill, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he’d either left a note asking for my phone number…or left me his. I wasn’t about to encourage him, so I slipped a couple bills into the fold without looking inside. I’d done enough of the math in my head to know I’d covered the cost of the meal and given him a nice tip.

“Keep the change,” I said with a polite smile. I turned to my mom before I could see any disappointment on the young man’s face.

It wasn’t anything personal. He was handsome and seemed nice enough. The sort of guy that most women would love to have hitting on them, but I wasn’t most women. Finding a man wasn’t high on my priority list. It wasn’t on it at all, actually. Not for dating, marrying, or fucking.

I didn’t hate men. I just didn’t need one. Not at this point in my life, and maybe not ever. I had enough on my plate without adding the complication of a relationship. Hell, I’d never met anyone worth the hassle of a one-night stand.

I blew out a breath and twisted my hair up behind my head in preparation for stepping out into the late August heat. As a native New Yorker, I was accustomed to the city summers, but I always preferred the city in the winter. Sure, the sidewalks could be downright dangerous at times, but I’d take cold over hot any day.

“Next time, we’re going to Maialino,” I said as we made our way to the subway.

Although I wasn’t rich, I made enough money that I could have rented us a car, but this was part of our tradition too. Sometimes, we missed a Sunday or two because life got in the way, but when we did go, we had a certain way of doing things. Taking the subway back to the apartment where I’d grown up so we could have dessert was part of it.

“That’s not very special,” Mom said.

I gave her a sideways look. “Your idea of a special place to eat and mine are definitely not the same.”

As we turned the corner, she changed the subject, but not to something new. “You’ve been working a lot of overtime lately.”

I nodded. “Ms. Feldt has been giving me more responsibility now that I’m done with school.”

She pushed a few strands of hair from her face as she looked at me with concern. “You’ve only been out of school since May. Shouldn’t she be easing you into things?”

“I don’t want to be eased into things,” I said, fighting to keep the irritation out of my voice. We’d had this discussion a dozen times since I graduated. “I like my job. I like working.”

I didn’t have to look at her to know she was giving me the same skeptical look she’d given me every other time we’d had similar discussions over the years. Mom had worked hard to raise me on her own, but she only saw work as something she needed to do, never something she wanted to do. She didn’t understand that I did what I did because I wanted to. No matter how similar we were in many ways, I wasn’t like her.

“Speaking of work,” I continued, “how are things going for you in that department?”

“Same as always.” She shrugged, her mouth growing tight at the corners. “It’s a job.”

“You know, you could go to college, pursue a career of your choosing.” We picked a place on the platform and waited. “Now that I’m done, it could be your turn.”

Her smile was soft, but she looked past me, not at me. “There’s really no point. I’ve never had anything that I’ve really wanted to do. Nothing I wanted to be. Other than a mom, of course.”

Sometimes, I thought she actually believed it when she said that, but I’d spent too many years hearing the happiness in her voice when she talked about being on the road with all those bands. If I hadn’t come along, she probably would’ve ended up being a manager and never settled down. I knew she didn’t resent me for it, but there were times I wondered if she found herself missing the life she’d missed.

“You know that I just want you to be happy,” Mom said as we moved onto the subway car.

I forced a bright smile. “I am happy.”

She gave me a skeptical look but didn’t argue with me. She didn’t need to. We’d had this discussion before. She meant well, I knew, but like a lot of parents, she just didn’t get how different the two of us really were from each other. She loved me, I never doubted that, but she didn’t get me.

Even as I thought it, she reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “Why don’t you tell me about your latest project?”