“How is your mom?”I ask.
“She’s good.”I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t.
“I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.Did something happen to your mom?Something happen to you?What aren’t you telling me.Maya?”
“Zach, drop it.I’d rather leave my past in the past.”She glances at her watch like she can’t wait to get away.“Dinner was lovely.Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”I’m about to say something about the company being amazing, but decide not to.“Maybe we could do it again sometime?”I offer.I’d very much like to see her again.
She hesitates, and looks at me like she doesn’t want to.“Maybe.”
I start to get the bill, and she immediately pipes up, insisting she pay her share.Ordinarily, I wouldn’t accept this.Though, my dates have rarely offered to split the bill.With Maya I have no choice but to give in.We’ll do it her way, though the bill is going to be ridiculously high, especially for someone on her salary.
I regret coming here.
Outside I offer to drive her home.
“No,” she says, her tone hard like she’s expecting me to insist.“I’ll take a cab.”
I hail a cab for her, and, when it arrives, help her in without touching her.“Say ‘hi’ to your mom.”
She looks at me strangely, then nods.
I don’t know what I did wrong, but whatever is haunting her didn’t start tonight and I’m determined to find out, because I can’t just let her walk away again.I need to see her again, and be there for her, because something tells me that everything isn’t alright in her world, no matter how strongly she tries to deny it.
Chapter 10
MAYA
Fleur and I are sitting at one of those tiny round café tables that spill out onto the sidewalk, the kind that barely fits two people and a couple of coffee cups.
The summer air is thick and sticky, and I’m in shock again, as Fleur recounts her terrible date with the emotionally unavailable but spiritually perfect guy.
“That sounds awful, hon.I don’t think you should have gone.He’s so much older than you.”
Fleur breaks off a piece of her cinnamon bun.“I like to give people a chance.”
“You’re too kind and too forgiving.”
“Age shouldn’t matter.Look at George Clooney and Amal.”
“Was this guy a George Clooney?”
“More like a balding George Washington,” Fleur moans.
“The president?”
“Is there any other?”
I have no idea what he looks like so I quickly check him out online and make a face.“You poor thing.I take it there were no sparks?”
“If sparks mean him lecturing me about his podcast for forty minutes—”
“He has a podcast?”
“Anyone can have a podcast.Even you, and even me.There were fireworks.Not.”
“So it’s a no?”
