But the reality was if I’d stayed in Toronto, I’d have had to move anyway. Housing prices have skyrocketed in the past ten years, and even though Troy paid me a big settlement for my half of our house, I couldn’t afford ourold neighborhood. I’d have had to move to the suburbs, and the kids would have been uprooted regardless.
And Somerset’s not much farther than Toronto’s outer suburbs, but as an old university town, it still has its own personality. Housing’s much cheaper, and the money I got for half the Toronto house was enough to buy a house here. My new house isn’t huge, but it’s in a safe neighborhood with good schools, and I was thrilled to find it.
“I don’t think moving causes appendicitis,” I tell my mother as I set a mug of coffee in front of her. “I got it in high school, and we never moved.”
My mother’s expression changes. “I remember that. Luke drove you to the hospital.”
“Yeah. And I was fine, and Claire is too.”
“I heard Luke’s back in Somerset,” my mother says, studying me carefully. “He’s a surgeon at the hospital now.”
“Is he?” I say, trying to keep my tone casual. “Claire and I made cookies, would you like one? They’re lemon shortbread.” I took cookies to Helen Carlton yesterday to thank her for looking after Liam, but I kept a few leftovers.
My mother frowns, and I imagine her counting calories in her head. “I’ll have half a cookie.”
I cut a cookie in half, set the halves on two plates, and bring them to the table.
My mother takes a delicate bite. “This is good, Melissa,” she says. “I’m sure they have about a million calories, but they’re delicious.”
I swallow a bite of cookie and instinctively suck in my stomach. “Thanks.”
My mother finishes her cookie and smiles brightly. “So now that you and Luke are both back in town, maybe you’ll reconnect.”
“Won’t happen, Mom,” I say with a sigh. “I’m sure he moved on long ago.”
My mother shakes her head. “He’s not married, Melissa.”
“How do you know?” The question slips out of my mouth before I can stop it.
“Eileen Nicholson knows his mom.” Eileen’s one of my mother’s oldest friends.
“Well, even if he’s not married, our relationship ran its course ten years ago,” I say dismissively. “You can’t resurrect a dead horse.”
My mother raises her eyebrows, and I realize I didn’t get the metaphor quite right.
“You know what I mean,” I grumble, taking another bite of cookie.
“Eileen also mentioned that her nephew’s single,” my mother tries. “He’s an optometrist in town. A few years older than you.”
“I’m not looking to date anyone, Mom. I need to focus on the kids right now.”
“Dating won’t be easier if you wait, Melissa.”
My mother says this with confidence, but as far as I know, she’s never dated anyone but my dad.
“I forgot to ask about your trip, Mom. Tell me all about Italy.”
My mother brightens. “It was wonderful,” she enthuses. “Rome especially. We spent hours just walking around, soaking it in. The Italians are all so stylish.” She chuckles. “And so thin, despite all that pizza and pasta! I wish I knew their secret.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “You don’t need a secret, Mom. The Italians probably wish they knew yours.”
She beams at the compliment, but it’s the truth. My mother keeps herself reed slim, and she can still fit into thewedding gown she was married in thirty-five years ago. She tries it on every year on her anniversary, to remember the happiest day of her life.
And I think my mother’s wedding day truly was the happiest day of her life. My parents have been in love since high school, and they have an old-fashioned marriage. Mom looks after the cooking, cleaning, and laundry, while Dad works as a dentist. He also cuts the lawn and makes sure the oil is changed in the cars. It’s a feminist’s nightmare, but it works for both of them. It’s probably why she’s already nagging me about dating; if she were in my position, finding another man would be a top priority.
“There’s a great new Pilates instructor at my gym,” my mother suggests, nibbling at her cookie. “Maybe you could come with me tomorrow morning? I can get you a guest pass.”
“Oh.” I take a slow sip of coffee. My mother’s clearly trying to help me get in shape so I can tempt Eileen Nicholson’s single nephew. “That’s nice of you, Mom, but I have a job interview tomorrow.”
