It had been like this sometimes—since the divorce. That prickle between my shoulder blades. The sense that someone was paying attention. My therapist said it was hyper-vigilance—a normal response to betrayal and trauma. Eventually, it would fade.
I hoped she was right.
The next morning, I woke to a dozen texts in our group chat. Before I could catch up, I typed my own messages, propped up against pillows in my warm bed.
Lila
Okay, I did something. I went on the app and there was a message from a man Mia had already picked out for me. I’m going out with him tonight.
Esme
YAY!!!! I’m so proud of you.
Delphine
Do we know for certain he’s a real person?
Lila
We’re meeting at The Pelican, so I’m assuming so. I just hope he’s not a killer.
Seraphina
Meeting him in a public place is a good idea. Maybe tell that cute Hunter to keep an eye on you, just to make sure.
Gillian
Sorry. Late to weigh in because I was puking. AGAIN. This baby’s trying to kill me! Keep us posted, please! I’m super excited for you.
Before I could respond, a text from Mia came in.
Mia
Did he respond?
Lila
We have a date tonight at The Pelican.
Mia
OMG MOM!!!!! I KNEW IT. What are you wearing? I’ll help you choose.
Lila
It’s 7 a.m. Can we plan at a more reasonable hour?
Mia
I’m coming to your room.
Thirty seconds later, my bedroom door flew open and Mia launched herself onto my bed, already talking a mile a minute about outfit options and whether I should wear my hair up or down and did I need to get my nails done.
I let her chatter wash over me, feeling simultaneously nervous and grateful. My daughter was so excited. So hopeful. So convinced this was going to be something good. Maybe she was right. Or maybe the whole thing would be a disaster. Not to mention, I was about to start this new, demanding job on the reality show.
Either way, there was no backing out now.
“Mom, I’m so proud of you,” Mia said. “Stay in bed. I’ll make breakfast for you and bring it up.”
