“This will be fine. Thanks Luke.”
“Goodnight, Sloane.”
She heads back to my bedroom, and I pick up my phone again.
There’s still no reply from Melissa.
TWENTY-TWO
MELISSA
“Melissa? Would that be okay?” my mother asks.
“Hmm?” We’re at the playground with Liam, who’s squealing with glee as I push him on the swing.
“Is it okay if Eileen gives her nephew your phone number?”
“What?” Without thinking, I push Liam a little harder, and he giggles. “Mom, why?—”
“Eileen’s nephew would like to meet you,” Mom explains. “The optometrist, remember? She showed him a picture of you, and he was very interested.”
“Where did she get a picture of me?”
“I sent her one,” my mother says.
“Mom!” I exclaim. “I don’t need you to set me up with anyone.”
My mother clucks her tongue. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Melissa. People meet through friends all the time. It’s much safer than using one of those dating sites.”
“Mom, I’m not looking to date anyone right now.”
Except Austin Davenport, of course. I’ve thought of texting him to cancel our dinner plans tomorrow, becauseI’m terrified at the prospect of going on a date. It’s technically only our first date (the hockey game doesn’t count) so I doubt he’ll expect me to go home with him after, but still.
And I’ve debated whether I should tell him about my history with Luke, but I’ve managed to convince myself it’s not relevant. Luke’s moved on—Sloane’s clear proof of that—so he won’t care if Austin dates his high school ex.
“It doesn’t have to be a date, Melissa,” my mother insists, and I realize she’s still talking about the optometrist. “Just meet him for coffee or something.” She grins. “He told Eileen you were really pretty.”
“What photo did you send Eileen?”
“Oh, I don’t remember,” my mother says quickly. A little too quickly.
“A recent one?”
“I think it’s from a couple summers ago,” she admits.
Knowing my mom, she sent Eileen a photo of me from when I was at my fittest; tight and toned, with perfectly highlighted hair.
“So you’re hoping to pull a bait and switch on the optometrist nephew,” I say flatly.
“What?” my mother says with an awkward laugh. “Of course not.”
“But I don’t look the same as I did a couple summers ago,” I persist. “So if I meet this man for coffee, he’ll be disappointed that I don’t match my picture.”
“Melissa, it’s just a couple years,” she says dismissively. “You’ve barely changed.”
But I know I have. It was brought home to me last night, when I went through my closet for something to wear to dinner with Austin. Despite my efforts to diet, I still can’t zip up my favorite jeans.
And despite what she says, my mother clearly isn’tconfident that my current looks could attract a man. If she was, she would have given Eileen a recent photo.
