Shopping for a Billionaire 3(33)
Author: Julia Kent

“Sorry, bud,” I whisper to him from across the room. “I’ll bring home some catnip. Please don’t eat the computer cords again.”

Amanda and I share one of those looks where a series of weird, covert gestures and eyebrow movements somehow translates into facial semaphore code. Does Mom know about me and Declan and the Twitter mess? is my basic question.

Seventy-two twitches and grimaces later, the answer is no.

Whew.

“Marie, we’re very late for work,” Amanda says. “How about I make us a coffee while Shannon showers?”

Mom’s eyes narrow to black-smudged triangles. Whenever any of her daughters are too nice to her, she’s suspicious, and Amanda’s her fourth kid in her mind.

“Is Declan in the bedroom?” she says with glee. “Is that why you’re acting so weird?”

I wish.

“If he were?” Amanda says. Ouch. Shoot me through the heart, but I see her point. Mom starts to back out slowly. It’s not technically a lie, right?

Then she stops and looks at Amanda, hard. “If he’s here, why are you in the bedroom?”

Amanda slowly, exquisitely, arches one eyebrow and stares Mom down. It’s like Laura Prepon in That ’70s Show and Orange is the New Black with a heaping dose of Angelina Jolie thrown in.

Mom’s look of horror is beyond perfect. “I, um, uh, I have to go,” she says quickly. We hear the apartment door slam and Chuckles gives Amanda an admiring look and lifts his front paw toward her like a high-five.

“I can’t believe you implied we’re having a threesome,” I squeak out. But hot damn, it worked! I need to file that little strategy away next time Mom comes over and wants me to get a Brazilian or those pedicures where the fish eat all the dead skin.

“I can’t believe some role play kink between her and your dad makes your cat piss all over my shoes.”

“Touché.”

Tears threaten to push through and I can’t quite catch my breath. What if it’s over before we really got started? So much is there with Declan, and I—

Amanda’s steady hand presses into my shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, the early reports are coming in from the credit unions and there is clear discrimination going on in at least two branches. The LGBT mortgage program will help weed that out. You might want a divorce, but—”

I stick my tongue out at her.

“—but we made a difference.”

That makes me cry, finally. “Great. Can’t even wallow in self-pity,” I sniff. “I may have screwed up my one chance at happiness with a great guy, but we also made a difference and helped people.”

“Don’t look so glum.”

I sigh. “I know. It’s just…I don’t regret doing the shop, but at the same time, let me feel what I feel. Okay? I can feel two conflicting emotions at the same time. It’s called being human.”

A few beats of silence stretch between us. And a handful of sniffles.

“Get your butt in the shower and let’s go see Declan and figure this all out. The longer you cower in the bed, the stupider this gets. Don’t let a Tweet dictate your life,” she counsels.

“When did you become a philosopher?” I stalk off to the bathroom without waiting to hear her answer.

“When your cat turned my foot into a litter box.” She taps Chuckles’ extended paw and I swear he separates his little toes and gives a “peace out” sign.

“What if he…what if I…oh, God.” My hands shake and my heart feels like it wants to run away and bury its head in a giant vat of double-chocolate brownie ice cream.

Amanda’s sympathetic face comes into view through the hair curtain I have covering me. “The only way to know what Declan is thinking or feeling is to go see him.”

“What if I’ve blown it?”

“You don’t know that you did.”

“Easter was so special.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” she declares. “No guy shows up for a holiday with the family and then ditches a woman because of a stupid tweet.”

“Really?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. That sounded like a supportive thing to say.”

“Too much honesty is not a good thing.”

“No kidding.” She sighs. “Why do you think I’m still single?”

I blink back my tears. “But not enough honesty gets you tweets from a woman who looks like something out of Madame Tussaud’s wax museum.”

My phone buzzes.

We both freeze.

It’s Declan.