CHAPTER ONE
Emma
Great,I'm going to be late again. I glance over at the clock on my car radio, feeling anxiety set in as I wait for my phone to ring. I don't understand how I can be expected to predict the exact moment I will arrive somewhere. Mom thinks that because I work for myself, I make my own hours, but that’s not the case. I have a job and deadlines to meet, but Mom clocks in and out of her beloved receptionist position at the town hall, so her lunch hour is the same every day. Even though mine doesn't always match up, I try my hardest to be punctual, but I can't foresee my daily schedule andtraffic.
I fly into the parking lot of Panera and see Mom standing in front of the entrance, her hip cocked to one side, an annoyed grimace covering her face, and her fingers frantically searching for buttons on herphone.
Not-so-shockingly, my phone rings five-seconds later, just as I put the Jeep into park. If she weren't busy calling me, she would see that I pulled into the parking lot a minuteago.
I decide to ignore the call as I walk toward her, watching her talking to herself. I'm assuming my voicemail is picking up right about now, and as soon I step foot onto the curb, five feet from where she's standing, she'll begin her, “Emma, where are you?” message. “You're two minutes late, and I'm worried something may have happened. Please call me as soon as you getthis.”
“I'm right here, Mom,” I tell her, smiling in hopes of erasing the angry look on herface.
“Oh,” she says. “I was looking for you. You know lunch is atone.”
“I was working with a client, Mom, and I'm only two minutes late,” I remind her. I give her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before taking the few steps over to thedoor.
“I'm sorry, I'm just having a bad day,” shesays.
My heart sinks for a moment, going through the list of things that could be wrong for her to have the despondent expression I see tugging at her face. “Whathappened?”
“Nothing actually happened,” shebegins.
“Is Grams okay?” I ask. Ever since Grandpa passed away ten years ago, we have been taking turns checking up on her since she refuses to be “taken” from her house and “placed” in an assisted-living environment, or a morgue as she callsit.
“Yes, she is fine but just angry today, Iguess.”
“Why?”
Mom places her hand over her eyes and shakes her head. “I don't know, Emma. She's getting those palpitations in her chest again, and she's sure she's going to die today.” Mom tends to be overdramatic at times, but Grams doesn't typically throw around the topic of death, so I can see why she isconcerned.
“I'll go check on her after lunch, and I'll let you know when I find out she’s okay. That will put your mind atease.”
Acting as if I didn't say a word, Mom opens the door to Panera and walks inside. I totally understand that she can't handle the idea of Grams not being around, and I feel the same, but she's making herself sick with worry everyday.
Mom silently takes her place at the back of the line, squinting her eyes at the menu before pulling her glasses out of her purse. “You always order the grilled chicken sandwich. Are you getting something new today?” I askher.
“No, I'm just looking to see if they've added anything new to themenu.”
“I don't think they have since last week,” I tell her, trying to save her the time of scrutinizing each column. She removes her glasses, then slips them back into her bag and looks around at the few people waiting in line to order. “Emma,” she whispers, “do you see him over there?” She's pointing toward the front of the line at a man working the register. Therefore, he must be single and available…unlike me, who is in a relationship. She'd like to pretend otherwise,however.
“No,” I tell her. “Don't.”
“He's cute, though,” she says with a grin. I'm glad she's feeling better now, but it is at myexpense.
“Please, stop it, Mom,” I mutter without hiding myaggravation.
“I want grandchildren,” she responds in a singsongvoice.
“I'm only thirty-one,” I argue. “I have plenty oftime.”
“I don’t want you to wait as long as I did, Emma. I feel like an old hen around you and I don’t like it. Plus, whether you like it or not, your clock is ticking, and you’re with the wrong man,” she feels the need to addin.
“Do you really think I should get involved with a cashier at a fast food restaurant? I’m a career woman with some long-term goals, and memorizing the value meal numbers isn't one ofthem.”
This is how lunch goes whenever I meet her during the week. I love Mom to death, and I enjoy spending the time with her, but we don't see eye-to-eye on my love life, my career, my lifestyle, or diet. As a matter of fact, sometimes I kind of feel like I'm on a different planet than she's on. “Mom, don't worry about me so much, okay? I'll figure thingsout.”
“I'm always going to worry about you, Emma. You're my daughter. You're not happy, and it'sobvious.”
