Page 42 of The Write Stuff

“How is your mom really?” she asked as we passed a wig store that had her grinning. Man, I really loved her smile. How had I never noticed how cute it was before?

I shrugged. Answering that question truthfully was never easy. “She’s on her sixth husband, Wylie. She’s a deeply unhappy woman who will never admit that she’s unhappy.”

“I think she’s just looking for the right person,” she replied. “I see it with Lucy. She’s always searching, too. That restless energy is attractive to outsiders until they really have to settle into the fallout of that lifestyle. Then it’s not so attractive.”

What she said struck me as almost profound. “How is Lucy? Is she still kicking people for Kit Kats?”

Wylie chuckled. “Lucy is a very secure individual, but she’s still lost. She just doesn’t realize it. I’m not sure I can be what she needs me to be.”

“And what’s that?”

“A mother.” Wylie’s smile was rueful as she looked over at me. “We didn’t have the same mother. Mom was involved in my life, attentive, and she cared. By the time Lucy came along, she was tired. Plus, well, she was mad about having a second kid with a deadbeat. Lucy’s father at least paid child support, though.”

“I’ve never really understood why your mom waited so long between you and Lucy,” I admitted. “You ended up spending half your time babysitting Lucy because your mother had other things she wanted to do.”

“Mom loves Lucy,” she insisted. “She just had so much going on at a certain point when Lucy was growing up that Lucy didn’t get enough attention. That’s why Lucy flits from thing to thing now. She’s looking for somebody — anybody will do at this point — to give her that attention.”

“That can’t be you, Wylie,” I argued. “You have your own life to live.”

“I know that. I still feel bad for her.”

“Well, life isn’t perfect for anybody.” I hoped I sounded reasonable and not judgmental. “Lucy needs to learn how to stand on her own two feet. If you keep bailing her out, you’re actually doing a disservice to her when you’re trying to be kind.”

“I know that. I do,” she added, rushing to fill the silence when I made a face. “She’s still my sister.”

“It’s time for you to live your life how you want to live it,” I argued. “You shouldn’t always sacrifice yourself for others. You get to be happy, Wylie.”

“I don’t even know what that looks like for me.”

I felt the same way, so I merely shrugged. “Maybe Savannah will help us both figure it out.”

“Maybe.” She blew out a sigh when we reached her building. “This is me.” She pointed.

I nodded, as if I didn’t already know that. I didn’t want to say goodbye to her. We hadn’t even started talking about our issues. I wouldn’t trade this night for anything, though. It was the first time I’d had fun — real fun — in a long time.

“I’m going to be working at Savannah Coffee Roasters tomorrow, starting at around 10 o’clock,” I blurted before I realized I was going to say anything.

“What?” she asked, obviously confused.

“I was just telling you in case you were going to be out writing tomorrow or anything. We could write together.” I felt like an idiot saying it. What if she laughed at the suggestion?

She didn’t, though. She just smiled. “Good to know.” She leaned in and gave me a hug. There was nothing sexy about it. This hug was between friends and nothing more. “Thanks again.” She took a step back.

I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t decide what. Instead, I inclined my head toward the building. “I’ll wait here until I’m sure you’re safe inside.”

“I’m okay,” she insisted.

“Go, Wylie,” I whispered.

She said something in Klingon. Even though I knew it wasn’t meant to be mean, the whole language sounded guttural, so it didn’t sound nice.

Laughter bubbled up, and I couldn’t contain it. “Go, you geek.”

“Bye.” She waved and started across the road.

I watched her until she got inside the building. Then I watched the building for a solid five minutes. When I finally pulled out my phone to call an Uber, I was still smiling.

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