“It’s new. I got it for Oriol, for our anniversary.” I had to laugh, it was just like my mother to get my stepfather a couch she wanted for his birthday. “But tell me what you were up to today, I’ve barely seen you,” she said as she walked over to her open-plan kitchen.

I sat on the new couch as my mom came out from the kitchen with glasses of fresh juice. “Here. Have some carrot and ananas.” She sat down next to me on her gorgeous brown leather sectional, wearing her “at home” clothes. Which usually consisted of jeans and a nice sweater. The braids in her hair coiled into an intricate design. She looked young and lovely, like the successful businesswoman she was. She’d had me when she was just twenty-one, so she was only fifty-six and did not look a day over forty.

She clicked her tongue at whatever she saw on my face, patted my leg with a perfectly manicured hand. “So tell me, how is it? I want to hear more about your new place and job.”

I sipped from the juice and sighed, so good.

“I sent you the photos,” I teased, knowing that would not be nearly enough. She’d asked for pictures the day I moved in, and I made sure to send a few featuring some of the kitchen cabinets which were laden with the dishes and glasses she’d gotten me. “It’s very nice, almost brand new, and the guy who owns the building is—”

I cleared my throat and looked down, annoyed that after just a few words I was already bringing up Easton. I’d been thinking about him nonstop. Since that dinner, we’d texted a couple of times. Just silly shit about books we’d been reading or we’d send each other pictures of something we saw or were doing. I’d even promised him a photo of the soup.

I looked over at my mom and she gave me a weird look, probably because I was smirking and staring into space like an idiot.

“Pardon, Manman.” I squeezed her knee and she waved in my direction indicating I needed to keep talking.

“I have a guest bedroom for when you and Oriol come and visit. I’m starting to feel comfortable there.”

She smiled and kissed my cheek. “Good, you deserve it. You worked so long and so hard for that. I’m proud of you, bébé. But we need to talk about these clothes. I thought we agreed you needed to dress more formally.”

I rolled my eyes because I knew she’d get on my case about it. “Odette, we would mean you and I both decided on something, not you telling me what to do.” She gave me her patented unbothered look, and raised as eyebrow as to say, and your point is?