It’s been nearly a week since Georgia stormed out on me, and I’ve spent nearly every evening since in the damned hotel bar, nursing a single glass of Scotch. She’d come looking for company once before, and given how explosive our chemistry was, I thought there might be a chance she’d do it again.

I’m just about to head out for a lunch meeting when my mother calls. “Mom, welcome home. Did you and George have a fabulous time?”

“We did, and if you’re free for supper tonight, we’ll be happy to tell you all about it.”

‘If you’re free’ is my mom’s polite way of telling me to change any plans I might already have.

“Of course I’m free, Mom. What time?”

“Be here for six, we’ll eat at six-thirty.”

“Looking forward to it.”

When I arrive for dinner, I’m surprised to see an extra setting at the table. “Georgia’s coming?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” My mom says. “I didn’t hear back from her, but it was short notice, so I thought it best to be prepared.”

I hold my anger in check, but it’s hard, especially when I can practically see steam shooting from George’s ears. As always, my mom is optimistic beyond reason.

It’s not just Georgia I’m angry at, though. I was foolish for taking her at her word, for thinking she’d consider avoiding confrontation with her father reason enough to stick by it. I was foolish to think her storming out angry because she thought I didn’t trust her meant she’d keep her promise. I trusted her, and she let me down.

“She sent me the loveliest little card while we were away. She had an urgent matter to attend to, and she thought she’d be done in plenty of time to make it to the wedding and reception and she apologized for her lack of judgement.”

The smile on my mom’s face makes me feel ill, knowing the only thing in that card that wasn’t complete bullshit was her lack of judgement.

“And sweet dear that she is, Georgia had a lovely bottle of 2002 Krug Clos du Mesnil waiting for us when we arrived home. Such a lovely gift.”

“Squandering that kind of money on such frivolities and living in that dilapidated old apartment building, I can only imagine the state of her trust fund.” George mutters.

“Don’t be a grump. We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” my mom retorts. “In the meantime, I think we’ll save the champagne for our first anniversary. We can have a lovely family dinner and enjoy it together.”

Jesus, all it took was a card and bottle of fancy champagne to convince my mom that Georgia is a fucking saint and will now magically attend every family event from here to the end of time. My mom’s disappointment is going to be more profound than it was when the step-bitch skipped their wedding.

“How was the trip?” I ask, genuinely interested, but happy to provide a distraction.

“It was lovely. But then, Italy always is.”

“I’m surprised you decided to do dinner so soon. You must be exhausted from jet lag.”

“A little tired, but it’s a good tired. I missed you. A month is a long time to go without seeing you, and I didn’t want to wait any longer.”

I give her a gentle squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. “I missed you too. Glad you’re both home, safe and sound.”

My mom checks her watch and frowns slightly. “Maybe she’s just late. Supper is ready, so we should go ahead and start, and I can serve her up a plate when she gets here.”

“Franny, my love, she’s not coming,” George says gently as he kisses the top of her head. “I’m sorry, but it’s the more likely reason she’s not here by now.”

Mom nods slightly. “You’re probably right. Go sit down, and I’ll bring the food through.”

George heads toward the dining room, but instead of joining him, I follow my mom into the kitchen. She looks at me with sad eyes. “You’re a good boy, Heath.”

“I try. Now what can I carry in?”

The subject of Georgia was skillfully avoided by sticking to questions about their honeymoon. It’s always easy to get my mom to talk about her travels.

When we’re done, my mom starts to rise from the table. “Stay there. I’ll take care of the dishes and kitchen.” I tell her. I stack the dirty plates, and add the offending empty plate and all the cutlery that had been mocking us all through the meal. I know my mom would have taken the clean stuff separately and put it away, but its presence offends me, so I want to ensure it’s all sanitized. Petty, but it pales in comparison to multitude of things I want to do.

George comes into the kitchen as I’m loading the dishwasher. “I’m at a loss. When I was the only one her behavior affected, it angered me, but nothing like this. I can’t bear the way Georgia keeps hurting your mother.”

“I don’t know what to say. I thought I’d got through to her that day after brunch. She gave me her word that she’d always respond to invitations, even if she couldn’t, or wouldn’t attend.”

“And you believed her?” George asks, incredulous.

“I didn’t want to, but she seemed earnest.”

“She’ll say whatever she thinks you want to hear to make you go away. If I thought your mother would let me get away with it, I’d disown Georgia here and now.”

“She’s your child,” my mom says as she enters the kitchen.

“She’s an adult, Franny.”

“No matter how old she is, she will always be your child. I know it’s just your anger and frustration speaking, but talk of disowning a child breaks my heart. It makes me think of poor Alasda—oh my goodness, I totally forgot. How was he?”

“Stoic as always, Mom. Although he did suggest we change things up next year. Oh, and he had a good laugh when Nick double-booked himself at the same bar. It was bound to happen one day.”

“Oh dear. I assume it didn’t end well.”

“Weirdly, he left the bar later with a completely different woman. Honestly, I have no idea how he keeps them all straight. And with that, I must wish you both good night. You look worn out, and I have back-to-back meetings most of tomorrow.”

When I get into my car, I know I should go to my place and sleep off some of my anger. That I should wait and confront the step-bitch in the morning when I’m calmer and more reasonable.

But I don’t always do what I should.