Just like how those maternal instincts kicked in, my mother has started asking when I’ll settle down, when I’ll find a nice girl like Georgia, when I’ll stop wanting the bachelor lifestyle. I don’t live the bachelor lifestyle. I’m living the survival lifestyle—working my ass off, fighting my demons, and not wanting to punch the world in its face every time I think about how it’s fucked me.

That isn’t me being a whiny bitch either. I’ll accept responsibility for what I’ve done and the choices I’ve made, but there are people in high places who hate me. And they brought me down.

“Why haven’t you asked her out?” my mother rushes out as if she’s been holding on to it like a breath underwater. “She’s better suited for you than … others you’ve dated.”

A fucking Kit Kat bar would be better suited for me than the women I’ve dated … well, was involved with because dating is a heavy term. A term I’ve never used with a woman—nor have I had to with the type of women who found their way, sneaking into my bed.

I scratch my cheek, averting my gaze to the opposite end of the room—to where Cassidy is talking to Lola and pouring herself a drink. Talking about the women I’ve dated is the last talkfest I want to have with my mother. The situation, the women I was involved with, is awkward enough.

I clear my throat, hoping to dispose of the uneasiness. “We’re just friends. She’s young and—”

“Honey, honey,” she interrupts. “She isn’t that young. And so what if she’s a few years behind you? She’s full of life, and she obviously likes you … and from the way you’ve been staring since she walked away, I’d say the feeling is mutual. She reminds me of Georgia. Look how good she is for Archer.”

“Georgia and Archer are different.” I slip my hands into my jean pockets. “Archer has his life together, and his past isn’t as fucked up as mine.”

My mother’s fair-tinted face falls while she captures my hand in hers. “I’m sorry for what happened, but in order to be happy, you have to move on from the past. We’re suffering the same pain—in different ways but still similar. I want you to rise above it more than I want it for myself. All it takes for you is a reason, an incentive, a realization that not everyone will judge you for your past.”

“I know; I know.” The thought still sends nausea through my stomach.

Thankfully, Archer and Georgia walk in, interrupting our conversation. The surprise is delayed this time, happening a good minute after they come into view, and everyone cracks up in laughter. Archer, not appearing one bit surprised, thanks everyone for coming.