“But for Cassidy, I should’ve made regular chocolate chip, don’t you think?” I said as I turned to the pantry.
“Vivian Loraine, if you get that flour canister out, so help me I will dump its contents over your head.”
I removed my hand from the canister.
“You are Vivian Quackenbush, headmistress of the Mom Scouts. You no longer dither.”
“If only it were that simple.”
“You ran your ex-husband out of this house through a carefully orchestrated campaign of terror. You can handle dating.”
“But what if I only know how to tear things down?”
“You are Vivian Quackenbush, headmistress of the Mom Scouts. You—”
I held up a hand to stop her. “I no longer dither. I got it. And I’ll box up these cookies and take them to Abi and Rachel, then look for a healthier way to handle my nerves while I figure this all out.”
“Or ...” Mom’s smile was positively Grinchian.
“Or what?”
“You can chat with Parker in just a few minutes. I texted him about our surplus of cookies.”
“Mom, I can’t believe you!”
“You don’t have to discuss anything weighty if you don’t want to. You can just hand him the cookies. Say hello. See if you still feel like jumping his bones.”
The doorbell rang, and my pulse could’ve kept time with the reggaeton that Connie liked to blast while cleaning the house.
Mom held out a hand. “A hundred dollars, please.”
“I never took that bet.” I frantically fanned myself as I walked to the door, because the hot flash had come back around.
Sure enough, there stood Parker on the other side. He looked slightly out of breath, and that made my heart skip a beat. Could he possibly still be interested in me?
“I hear there are cookies.”
“Come on in,” I said. “I’ll put some in a container for you.”
As we reached the kitchen, Connie and Mom were slipping out the back door. Fortunately, it was a pleasant fall day, but I couldn’t decide if granting us privacy was thoughtful or cruel.
The kitchen felt awfully small.
Come on, Vivian, use your words.
Coward that I was, I reached above the microwave for the plastic containers I usually used for Christmas treats. It wasn’t Christmas, but I did need a container. Only, I also needed a chair. The containers startedto fall. Suddenly, Parker was behind me, reaching for—and catching—the containers.
You are Vivian Quackenbush, headmistress of the Mom Scouts. You have survived a divorce, lived through a viral video, talked a Target manager into giving you a job, traveled to California all by yourself, and learned to take ownership of your mistakes. You can do this.
And if you find yourself in another relationship that is bad for you, then you can and you will walk away. You no longer dither.
“Thank you.” I turned around. Parker took a step back, respectful as always, but his spicy aftershave lingered. Those whiskey-brown eyes studied me. His expression gave nothing away, but that little muscle in his jaw flexed, which reminded me of the first day I met him.
“Do you think ...?” My words left me.
Why was this so hard? Couldn’t he say something? Smile, at least?
No, he couldn’t and he wouldn’t because he had promised me that he would wait. He had told me to take the time I needed.
