Arrow to the Heart: A Dark Cupid Romance

Chapter 26

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"Could I get one of the plastic boxes?" my mom asks the waiter as he grabs the bill folder off our table. "Last time you guys gave me this paper box and all my food tasted like paper."

"Um, I'm not sure if we have any plastic but I can check."

"Please do." She gives him a half-hearted smile that immediately falls when he turns away. "I swear this environmental nonsense is just too much. I might as well just throw it out here and now if they try to stick me with a paper box again. I can always taste when food has been in a paper box. It all starts tasting like cardboard."

She pulls out her compact mirror and touches up her lipstick. If there's one thing Mom cares about, it's appearances. That's why she has her dark roots touched up every two weeks to maintain the same shade of blond she had in her teens. It's why she goes to the gym once a day to keep her figure. And she'll touch up her makeup in every bathroom mirror, in her compact after every meal, and in the rear-view when she gets behind the wheel. It's also why she won't let me go anywhere without fixing my hair and why she'll scrunch up her face when my outfit choices are outside her comfort zone.

She wants to be the best, the most flawless—and always the center of attention. And for the most part, she usually is. She latches onto important people and charms and schmoozes her way up the ladder. And if you aren't important? If you can't do anything for her? Well, then you get to see the real Susan Logan. Condescending, passive-aggressive. She'll take that extreme perfectionist gaze and turn it on you. And she will always find something to complain about.

Susan Logan is an acquired taste.

And to be honest, I'm not sure I've personally acquired it.

I feel guilty. People are supposed to love their moms. I'm supposed to be grateful for her raising me. But being around her sucks the life out of me.

"I knew we shouldn't have come back here. The food is good but the service is terrible."

"He seemed fine to me."

"Well of course he seemed fine to you, he's been swooning over you all afternoon. God forbid he pay attention to anyone else at the table," she grumbles, rolling her eyes. "You see, that's the kind of person you attract when you do things like the pink hair. Is that really what you want?"

Of course she had to comment on the hair. I'm honestly amazed we made it all the way through lunch first. Every time I see my mom she inevitably finds a way to comment on my appearance. I went out of my way to wear an outfit I thought she would approve of today—a preppy, oversized grey cardigan over a white collared shirt and dark-wash jeans. But it figures that she comments on my hair instead.

I want to kick myself for even trying. I know better than to try and win with her. It's a pointless endeavor.

"There was nothing wrong with that guy, Mom. He seemed very nice." And he managed to deal with your snide comments throughout dinner. The guy deserves a medal.

"Nice isn't everything, Brianna. Your father was nice too and look how we turned out."

This is a trap. She's just looking for an excuse to go down the rabbit hole of Dad and their divorce and how he 'left her for a younger woman'. He didn't, but she insists otherwise.

"We should get going," I say, slipping an arm into the sleeve of my coat.

This cannot be over fast enough.

"The waiter hasn't brought back my card yet, Brianna," she says with a huff. "We should probably wait for that, shouldn't we?"

Uggh.