Page 82 of Offensive Plays
Chapter 24
Libby
I’m pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom mirror.
Maybe I had a little too much to drink and not nearly enough food in my system to soak it up. But what I saw, I can’t get out of my mind.
Michael Ferguson flirting with another girl.
He was all smiley and chatty and smooth. I could only watch the interaction for so long before I had to leave.
We’re allowed to have feelings for other people. It’s not like we didn’t discuss the possibility beforehand. I just never considered how I would feel if it were to happen.
And she’s pretty. And modest and just the kind of girl he should be with, too. I feel it in my bones.
The bathroom door swings open and my tsunami of thoughts comes to a halt.
“Oh,” the woman dressed in red says staring at me. “Hello, Libby.”
I gulp.
“Mrs. Ferguson,” I nod in her direction. Hoping she doesn’t see how inebriated I feel.
She walks over to the mirror and places her silver clutch onto the counter, digging out a red lipstick. I watch as she leans in and touches up the color. Giving it a good smack, before turning to look at me.
“I saw you in the paper recently. Looks like you and Michael went on a little date?”
And here we go. Not even two seconds after seeing me she has to bring up her son.
“Mrs. Ferguson, Michael and I are just friends. That was for—“
“Charity, yes.” She cuts me off. “So I’ve read.”
She turns back to the mirror and fusses with the loose strands of hair near her face.
“You know, Liberty. I haven’t seen you in a long time. It’s a shame to see what’s become of your uncle. Prison,” she tsks. “Such a shame.”
I hate talking about my uncle. The man made mine and my brother’s life a living hell when he decided he’d wanted to take something that was ours at all cost.
“Well, he’s where he deserves to be,” I say crossing my arms.
“Yes, I suppose he is. My deepest condolences for everything you’ve had to endure.”
I narrow my eyes at her and say dryly, “Thank you.”
“Of course, dear. Just because I don’t find you suitable for my sons doesn’t mean I don’t want what’s best for you,” she says turning to me and tilting her head.
There it is again. Suitable. I’m not suitable.
She looks under the stalls to make sure we’re alone. “You do remember, our little deal, yes?”
How could I forget? I’m bound by an NDA I was forced to sign when I was eighteen and scared.
“Of course. And I’ve held up my end.”
“Good,” she smiles and it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I hope one day you’ll know what it’s like to be a mother, Libby. The lengths we go to protect the people we love.”
I can’t believe the audacity of this woman. But honestly, if this is what it means to be a mother. Then I never want to be one. Ever.