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Reese interrupted, holding up her hand. Her mother might be an adorable little bundle but she was also a force that must be stopped. "I don't know what's going on with Kenneth, okay?"
    Joanna's eyebrows shot up with alarm; she popped upright on the couch again. "Well, what do you mean? Did you two have a fight? Oh, no, what happened? What did you do?"
    "Me? I didn't do anything," Reese replied. "Look, I just... it's hard to explain. I don't really feel like getting into it right now."
    "But—"
    "Anyway, it's not like Kenneth and I are having an official relationship."
    "Well, not yet, but I thought—"
    "You thought I could get my 'hooks' into a nice, quiet intellectual, I know." Joanna didn't bother denying the charge. "Face it, Mom, the only reason you like Kenneth so much is because he reminds you of Remmi Collindyne's husband. You even said so."
    "That's not true!"
    "Uh-huh."
    "Yes, he has a similar demeanor as Remmi's husband—who's a wonderful provider, by the way—but I like Kenneth for who he is."
    "You met him once."
    Joanna held up her hands. "Honey, if it doesn't work out with Kenneth, so be it. That's fine. But I don't want you to ruin an opportunity, that's all. You need a man who's sweet and smart, and one who'll put up with all your quirks."
    "Mom, please—what quirks?" Suddenly Joanna got all wide-eyed and shrug-crazy. And Reese decided she didn't really want the answer anyway. Besides, it was futile to reason with her on the subject of men, because no matter what Joanna said, she was obsessed with Reese "hooking" Kenneth Peel, and she was obsessed with emulating the Goldwood Women's Club president, Remmi Collindyne, and her self-proclaimed picture-perfect life.
    Reese said, "Fine, I'll keep my eye out. Now let's drop it."
    "But you've got to be open-minded, honey." Mom's version of dropping it. "You're not gonna have a solid relationship unless you give people a chance." People meaning Kenneth. Very subtle, my mother.
    "And, I mean, you've got to take some chances, sweetheart," Joanna was saying. "You know, you've gotta be in it, to win it."
    She's applying Lotto slogans to my love life—this is getting depressing. "Let's change the subject, okay?" Reese asked, stopping just short of begging.
    "Okay, okay," Joanna said, holding up her hands even higher. "Fine, whatever you want. I'm only trying to help you."
    Reese locked her jaw and fixed her eyes on the TV screen—or more specifically, on Rodney and Claire, who were now smashing wedding cake all over each other's faces, getting icing clogged up each other's noses, and laughing like it was hilarious.
    "They're cute," Joanna remarked. "I predict that they'll make it, because he's so devoted to her. And if he's an architect, there's no way she'll let him go."
    "Mmm-hmm."
    "By the way, you brought your laptop home, right?"
    "Yeah, why?"
    Joanna shrugged. "Just so that way you'll be able to work on your dissertation while you're home. The sooner you finish, the sooner I'll be able to call you 'doctor.'" She followed up with a trying-too-hard smile that was intended as nagging compensation. Reese feebly smiled back (okay, smirked).
    Then she thought about her nonexistent doctoral thesis, and felt the familiar coiling of stress in her abdomen. God, she had less than zero interest in working on it. Even worse, she had no discipline, which meant it was never going to happen. Plus, she was more determined than ever to start her novel.
    And even if all she ever had to show for it was determination, that was still more than she had to show for her dissertation.
    But of course she couldn't explain any of this to her mother. Joanna would never understand. She'd only wonder why Reese was wasting her time with a fantasy when she was already spread way too thin with classes, Kimble, and shifts at Roland & Fisk.
    "Do you want some tea?" Joanna asked, motioning with her World's Greatest Mere mug. "I have leaves from Cannes that are supposed to cleanse the system of