“But use a condom.”
“Mother.”
“It’s perfectly natural. Healthy, even.”
Karma had found me much sooner than I had anticipated.
“I’m not worried about the sex.”
Okay, I was a little worried about the sex because I hadn’t actually had sex since Mitch’s cruel accusations, but I had a therapist for that.
“Then what are you worried about, mija?” asked Connie.
My insides melted at her term of endearment. I’d learned that mija literally meant “my daughter,” and yet it rolled off her tongue with ease.
“I know he said he’d wait, but what if he’s found someone else but just hasn’t mentioned it at our Wine Down Wednesdays?”
“Then he’s found someone else, and you’ll find someone else, too,” Mom said.
“But how do I know I’m interested in him for him and not just looking for another relationship?”
“The fact you’re still talking about him all these months later is a pretty good indicator,” Mom said before gesturing to all the baked goods. “As is all of this.”
“Now, Heidi,” Connie said. She laid a hand gently on Mom’s forearm, and I had to marvel at their contrasts. She had long brown hair and the lithe body of the yoga instructor she was. Mom was more compact, with salt-and-pepper hair. Connie almost always wore a serene smile. Mom wavered between amused and irritated. I was especially glad for Connie as she added, “Be patient.”
“I’ve told her a million times to just go knock on his door and see what happens. It’s maddening.”
“Mi amor, she’s nervous. Surely you understand that.”
Suddenly, I was trembling. Hot tears streaked down my cheeks, and I hated the feeling. “I just don’t want to make another mistake. And rebound relationships are always mistakes. It couldn’t be this easy, and if I waste time here, then I’m going to be older and—”
“Ma’am. Being older is not a crime. It’s a gift,” Mom said.
That same fear of being wrong seized me. I’d stuck my foot in my mouth yet again.
“You know what she means,” Connie said, her voice a balm that eased both the tension in my mother’s shoulders and the knots of anxiety in my stomach.
Mom sighed, then turned to look at me. “Viv, I don’t have the answers you want. Look how many tries it took for me to find my person.”
“But what if he’s moved on? What if he doesn’t feel the same way about me?”
“And now your anxiety spiral is repeating. Besides,” Mom said with a snort, “a hundred bucks says he’d be over here in less than a minute if you texted him right now.”
“You make a lot of hundred-dollar bets for someone who never carries cash,” I said.
“If you’re always right, you never have to pay out.”
“All I know is that I cannot take any more of your stress baking,” Connie said. “It has been too many cookies, and my aura is ...”
“Sugary?” Mom said.
“Not good,” Connie said. “But the sugar? It has me on a roller coaster. Still, I cannot resist your dulces.”
“Oh.” I looked over at the chocolate oatmeal cookies that were cooling on a rack.
“No, no, no,” Connie said. “Do not stop for me. I should not have said anything.”
“Or,” my mother said, holding up one finger, “you now have an excellent excuse to go see Parker. You made too many cookies. Maybe Cassidy would like some.”
