“I was thinking of trying one of those restaurant delivery services. Your father thinks they’re millennial. That’s his new word for anything that annoys him. Which I’ve realized are things he doesn’t quite understand. Progress, which is something he despises. He wants it to be 1992. When greed was still good and Basic Instinct was a hit film and it was okay to villainize femininity. Where he was very approving of Jazzercise, because women should spend a good deal of their time engaging in whatever they could to make themselves attractive to a man. But disapproving of Anita Hill, because what was her issue? Men need to be free to be men and women should just put up with it.”

He grinned at her and encouraged, “That’s it, Ma. Get it all out. Though, if DoorDash is your big plan for tonight, you’re going out with us so we can celebrate. You can DoorDash tomorrow.”

Her jaw ticked to the side, she squeezed his hand, and he took her cue, let her go and sat back.

And this was because the waiter was there with his San Pellegrino.

“We also want a bottle of Dom,” he told the guy.

The waiter blinked.

Then he smiled. “Of course, right away.”

And he was off again.

“I can’t drink a bottle by myself, Axl,” his mother protested.

“Is Dad paying your cards?”

“I have my own cards now.”

“You still have the joint ones?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’s paying for lunch today and who cares if you leave a half a bottle of Dom?”

That was when she grinned.

She got serious again fast.

“I don’t want you to worry, darling. I took some classes. Then I opened a web design business about a year and a half ago. I do it from home.”

Holy fuck.

“Seriously?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Does Dad know that?”

She shook her head. “It was easy to do it under his radar. He hasn’t asked how my day was or how I spent it for at least ten years.”

Fuck, his father was a dick.