A Groom of One's Own (Appies, #3)

by Emma St. Clair

“Don’t forget—I’m hosting book club this week,” she says. “How could I possibly forget?” Mom laughs. “It’s not that bad.” I grumble, but in truth, I’m grateful Mom has her book club. Even if I never, ever want to be home when all the ladies are over. I’m pretty sure the last time I accidentally walked in, Janice took a picture of my butt. Janice is pushing eighty. I felt like a prize steer at some kind of livestock show. I half-expected to receive some kind of ribbon or get auctioned off at the end of the night. Even so, book club is one more reminder of what’s at stake. Mom’s roots in North Carolina are even deeper than mine. Mostly thanks to her book club friends, but also the abundance of practitioners and homeopathic experts here in Asheville. None of whom ever tried telling her that fibromyalgia is a fabricated illness the way her doctors in Canada did. Not to knock Canada—I’m sure many doctors here would suggest the same thing. Overall, the medical community seems unsure what to do with chronic illnesses. More than any other place we’ve lived, we’ve found the best care here and the best routine. An acupuncturist, a massage therapist, and a chiropractor as well as a great rheumatologist. Mom’s health and her spirits have never been better. Mom won’t want to go back to Canada. She shouldn’t go back. Unlike me, she has dual citizenship. If my dad hadn’t been such a controlling, manipulative jerk, my sister, Annie, and I might have gotten dual citizenship too, avoiding t...