The Corner of Bitter and Sweet Read Online Free Page B

people who were a tad uncomfortable watching their mothers flirt with guys who were in college when watching her TV show.
    Billy turned to me. “He was the one who came up with that awesome phrase ‘Follow your bliss,’” he explained. He turned back to Mom and smiled. “And that’s exactly what you did.”
    She sure did . . . she followed it right out of a career.
    She sighed. “You know, I can’t tell you how nice it is to feel so . . . understood .”
    This needed to stop. For many reasons. And I needed to get home to my Play-Doh and my Barbie head, and make a list. I pulled at her arm. “Mom, we need to go.”
    Billy looked surprised. “This is your daughter ?”
    “It is. This is Annabelle,” she said proudly, with some lash battage. Whenever she introduced me, it was as if she were introducing the baby Jesus. “I had her when I was quite young,” she made sure to add.
    Billy turned to me and smiled. “Well, I definitely see the resemblance.”
    Actually, there wasn’t much of one. Mom was blonde and blue-eyed and English- and Swedish-looking, while I, with my dark curls and brown eyes, resembled my father’s Italian side. But because I just wanted to get out of there, I smiled back before pulling on Mom’s arm again. “Mom. Seriously. We need to go. You know, to make the cookies.”
    “Okay, okay.” She turned to Billy. “Well, it was so nice to meet you.”
    Please don’t ask her for her number, I thought to myself.
    “Yeah. You, too,” he said. He patted around his jeans and took out his wallet and pulled out a receipt. “Let me give you my number—”
    Really? This was even worse. Anyone who knew how to Google knew that the passive-aggressive move of a guy giving you his number instead of asking for yours was the kiss of death. At some point down the line, usually right after you had totally fallen for him, he’d freak and do the pullback thing that at first you’d try to convince yourself would pass in a few days but would ultimately prove to be the beginning of a big blow-off. Which, if you were my mother, would then cause you to drink even more heavily and go that much longer without washing your hair.
    “Do either of you guys have a pen?” he asked us.
    Oh, he was good. From the outline of his smartphone in his jeans, it was evident he could’ve just texted or e-mailed her the info, but some reptilian guy wisdom made it so he knew the importance of ensuring that he avoided having her contact information in his possession.
    “Nope. Sorry,” I said at the exact same time Mom said, “But I bet Annabelle does. She’s very organized.” Without even asking, she took my bag and started rummaging in it. “Here you go,” she said, flashing him another full-wattage smile as she started to hand him one of my Pilots.
    “No—wait!” I said, snatching it away from him. I pulled out a regular old blue ballpoint one instead. “Use this one. That one doesn’t work.” I was not letting him touch the good pen. He’d ruin it, and I’d have to find a whole other brand for my lists.
    As he scribbled down his number and e-mail, I read the receipt upside down. Six hundred bucks at Soho House, which was a members-only club in Hollywood that constantly showed up on the gossip blogs. I had been there a few times for some Sweet Sixteen parties, and every time I had felt like some Midwestern Price Is Right contestant compared to the model-like waitresses with their Keratined hair. Radiohead’s “Creep” blared from Billy’s butt. He stopped writing and flashed an apologetic smile. “Sorry. If I don’t take this, it’ll just be more trouble later.” As he fished his iPhone out of his pocket, I saw Skye’s picture and name flash across it.
    “Hey,” he said as he answered. “I’m at Whole Foods. Let me call you back in a few, okay?”
    I couldn’t make out the words that rushed out of the phone, but I could hear the annoyance in them.
    “Yes, I’m in Whole Foods,” he