Kayla Perrin - Getting Lucky

“All right,” I say after a minute. “I won’t make a big deal of your mother being here.”

As much as Mama Deanna gets on my case, I’m not about to have Dom put his mother out. And in a way, I am envious. At least his mother is here. I have no clue where my mother is. The last I heard from her, she was in a Bible compound somewhere in Alabama or Mississippi. My mother is a religious fanatic—and I don’t mean that she’s someone who loves God and takes religion seriously. No, she’s one of those Bible-thumping, over-the-top, always-judging-people-for-their-shortcomings kind of religious nuts. I get the feeling at times that she’s not allowed to make calls out of the compound without permission.

At least that’s what I tell myself to explain why I hear from her once a year if I’m lucky.

Out of the car, I follow Dom to where he left the two grocery bags. “Remember I told you that I was thinking about going away with Claudia and Annelise?” I say.

“Yeah.” Dom picks up both totes.

“Well, we’re planning something for the end of the month. Jared—the cop I told you about—and his brother, Chad, will both be going. Here—let me take a bag.”

“I’ve got it. You get the door, and I’m fine.”

Dom is chivalrous that way, so I don’t argue. I simply open the door and hold it for him as he enters the house.

Mama Deanna is once again sitting in the armchair and continuing to knit what I assume is something for the baby. The television is tuned now to some afternoon game show. Mama Deanna is talking to the television, telling the woman on-screen to pick box number two.

“Hey, Ma,” Dom says as he heads into the kitchen with the groceries. His mother raises a hand in greeting, but continues to give advice to the contestant on-screen, as if the woman can possibly hear her.

I follow Dom into the kitchen, worried that my clothes look disheveled compared to earlier. “I think we’ll try Mexico,” I say. “But I’ll tell you about it later. I’m going up to shower.”

“Okay.”

I ease up on my toes and give Dom a quick peck on the lips, and then I hurry upstairs, hoping Mama Deanna hasn’t figured out that Dom and I were having sex in the backseat of the car like teenagers.

Not that we’re not entitled. It’s our house after all, and we’re adults.

But I know that while Mama Deanna is here, she’s going to sit in that armchair in the living room as if it’s her own personal throne.

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