“I’m single,” Mom declares.
“The divorce was just finalized.” I don’t know why this matters so much. She is single.
“Your father left our marriage a while ago. The divorce was red tape and formalities. But I’ve been single since he decided to sample the wares outside our home.”
I nod. Then I step in and wrap Mom in a hug. I can’t bring myself to hate my dad, but I’m on her team through this season. No woman her age should have to deal with dismantling her home and uprooting.
Mom hugs me briefly. “It’s fine. I’ve had time to get through the grief. I love your father. Still do. A part of me always will. But he messed up. And that’s that. I’m not going to spend my life sulking around like he’s in the driver’s seat maneuvering the steering wheel to my future. I’m funny and fun and smart. And I’m not bad looking for a woman my age. I deserve happiness.”
“You do,” I agree.
But dating? I don’t know. I guess that’s inevitable. I’m just not ready. Not that I get a vote. I obviously don’t. I had pictured my mom staying single and hanging out with friends and us for the rest of her life.
Mom, Mia and I share dinner around the table and then I put Mia to bed, reading a chapter in our book and kissing her on the head.
“I’m glad you came to practice, Mommy.”
“Me too. I’m going to try to come as much as I can now that we’re settled into the house.”
“And to games?”
“Of course. I’ll be at all your games.”
“Do you like Coach G?” she asks, fondness dripping from her words.
I’m quiet, smoothing her hair away from her face. “I’m glad you have a good coach.”
“He’s the best coach ever,” she says with a soft, sleepy smile.
I simply nod. “Sweet dreams, Spike.”
“Sweet dreams, Mommy.” She yawns and curls up under the covers.
I stand, flick on her night-light and close the door until it’s softly resting against the jamb.
As soon as I step into the hall, I make a beeline for my bedroom to call Avery.
“Okay! Spill it all!” Avery practically squeals when she picks up the call.
I lean back on my bed, fluffing a pillow behind me so I can sit up in the dim light of my bedside lamp.
“First of all, did you know Mom’s going on a date?” I ask.
“No. But tell me about the hot coach. Incredible, right? What man looks like that?”
“You and Mom. If we were listening to two men discuss a female like this we’d be horrified.”
“Yeah. Yeah,” Avery says, half-heartedly. “I’m not fully objectifying him. He’s just insanely gorgeous.”
I chuckle. “And … my co-worker.”
“Whaaaattt?” My sister shouts so loudly, I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “You work with the hot coach? He’s a firefighter? All that,andhe fights fires?”
“Yep. All that and he fights fires.”
“Okay. So you do admit his chiseled, broad-shouldered, broody presence is above average on the hotness scale.”
“I’d be blind not to.”
