Page 40 of Just Ten Seconds

“Why is she reaching out to you?”

“Because she knows if she called you, you’d send her right to voice mail. Like you sometimes do with me, except I have the privilege of seeing you every day to stalk you.” Her mouth curves into a Cheshire cat grin.

I place a hand on my hip. “I talk to my mother.”

“No, you don’t. She’s brash and abrupt and kind of condescending. Like how she asked me if you were still wasting your time working in—and I quote—‘that hole in the wall Upstate’?” She uses air quotes when repeating my mother’s dismissal. “Does she even realize I’m half owner of that hole in the wall?”

That’s my mom. She doesn’t mean to be rude per se. She’s just very direct.

My jaw drops with a sarcastic huff. “Sorry about that.”

She shrugs in nonchalance. “It’s okay. I know your mom. She’s a tough cookie.”

That she is. When you look up the term single mother in the Urban Dictionary, I’m pretty sure a picture of Donna Williams comes up. Some people consider her cold. I’ve always found her resilient. Left by her husband to care for a three-year-old with no more than a GED and a mortgage. She worked her tail off to make sure we didn’t lose our home. Those days hardened her. I don’t remember my mom ever being sunny, but if she had been, it was covered by a dark cloud the day my father walked out the door and left her to protect us from the rain without an umbrella.

And while I don’t talk to her as much as I should, I do still try to do so every once in a while because, despite our indifference to certain subject matters, like my inability to move on from my marriage, she’s my mom.

“I’ll call her,” I say as I grab a planter of mums and put it under my arm. “You told her I’m doing amazing, right?”

“Fuck yeah. I told her you’re the highest-paid stripper at the Black Pony and dating a pimp from Port Jervis.”

“Jackie!”

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh. As great as that would have been to tell her, I didn’t. I just said I’d tell you she called.” She laughs out loud and then points to the mums under my arm. “Dressing up the front porch?”

I lift the planter in the air and smile at the vibrant orange hue. “Yeah. I’ll bring them back to Rita. I think she’ll like them. I might even get two!”

I grab a second planter and hoist it under my arm.

“You’re a good tenant.”

“I enjoy talking to her. She’s spunky, and gives great advice. Plus, she has no one left in town. I wish she had a friend. Even on my loneliest days, I know I can drop by your house and sit on your couch. She doesn’t have that.”

Jackie has a twinkle in her eye. “What we have is pretty special, huh?”

I lift my eyes to the sky. “I didn’t mean to be sentimental, but now you’re going to make me cry.”

She pinches me in the side. “Admit it. We’re soul mates.”

“You’re insane.”

“Proud of it!” Her eyes glance over the array of mums and seasonal decorations. “Why don’t you pick up something for yourself while you’re here?”

“There’s nothing I need,” I state.

She lets out a sigh as she looks in her bag and takes out a long sheet of paper. “Okay. I have to get the pies for the café.”

“I already picked them out for you. All you have to do is pay. You’re welcome.”

“Man, you’re the best.”

“Being punctual and completing menial tasks is pretty much my forte,” I say.

Jackie makes a tsk sound.

I save her the speech. “That wasn’t a woe is me comment. It was sarcasm,” I say, which is a half-truth.

I don’t have confidence in myself in pretty much anything that doesn’t have to do with serving food. No one would if they were the reason hundreds of people lost their livelihoods and a great man lost his life. Dry humor is how I cope when I’m around Jackie. Because she studies my every move. If I lose it, she will too.