“I thought so. And my money’s on the coach.”
“Mom!”
“What? It doesn’t take a doctorate in psychology to see the way you two play ping pong with your eyeballs.”
“What even is that?”
“He looks. You look. He looks. You look. You both look.”
I slap my hands to my cheeks and collapse onto her bed. “Is it obvious?”
Henry Cavill licks my cheeks.
I chuckle—because at what point in my adult life did I ever anticipate saying that sentence, even in my own head.
“It’s not completely obvious,” Mom says. “Most people don’t notice. Some might. It’s not a crime to like a man, sweetheart. It’s actually what makes the world go round. Well, that and female friendships.”
“We’re keeping things quiet for Mia’s sake.”
“And that’s wisdom. She’s been through a lot. And she just went through another round of do-si-do with that boomerangyo-yo Danny pulled, taking her away for four days and then disappearing like Houdini again.”
“You can see the logic in keeping things secret?”
I shouldn’t be surprised. As bold and outspoken as Mom can be, her oblivion is often an act. She sees everything.
“I see the logic,” she says. “And more than that, I see the wisdom. So, in answer to your question? I’m going to be on the couch watching some show at the same time as my neighbor. He called it a watch party and suggested we call one another. I’m not so sure about that.”
“You should,” I tell her.
“We’ll see. I don’t want to come across as easy.”
“Yeah. Especially since there’s nothing romantic in your future.”
“Exactly,” she says with a wink.
“I want to be just like you when I grow up,” I say, sitting up and running my hands down Henry Cavill’s back.
“I hope you’re just like you when you grow up.”
I stand and give Mom a hug. She pulls me in and holds me, smoothing my hair like she did when I was little. I close my eyes and rest my head on her shoulder.
“Being a grown-up is hard,” I say.
“It’s the worst,” she says with a chuckle. “And sometimes, the best.”
Mia and I spend the afternoon together doing crafts and then cooking dinner. By the time she’s tucked in bed, I’m exhausted but exhilarated. I quickly freshen my makeup and switch into a nicer shirt. Then I walk through the front of the house where Mom’s watching an episode of some ranch-based TV series she would never choose.
“Okay, then,” she says.
I do a spin.
“That’s how you make a man glad he waited.”
I laugh softly. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Go enjoy yourself. I’ll be right here, watching this show. At least the actors are nice-looking. And it’s got horses. I like horses.”
Her phone rings. She looks at the number, lightly scowls, and answers.
