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ABBY

“Hey! I’m here,” I called out as I let myself in the door of the one-story ranch house.

“In the kitchen, honey!” Mom shouted back.

The smell of cooked meat filled my nose. I looked around at the mismatched couch and loveseat, the HomeGoods pictures on the wall, the thrift-store rug under a glass-topped coffee table that we’d lugged from apartment to apartment since 1990.

There had been so many moves. So much furniture left behind. I’d learned to never get attached to any of it. Or get attached to anything or anyone. That best friend in first grade could vanish the next month. The only constant was Mom and the comfort she managed to create no matter where we lived.

I made my way into the kitchen and planted a kiss on my mother’s cheek as she flipped half a dozen hamburgers in the fry pan. There was just the two of us, but Mom was all about leftovers, and I knew I’d be going home with food in a plastic container that originally held Cool Whip or Chinese take-out two years ago.

“How are you feeling?” I asked as I pulled the pie out of a bag and slid it into the fridge.

“I feel fine. A little sore where they did the biopsy, but that’s it. It was just a routine mammogram. I didn’t even notice a lump or anything.” She made a frustrated noise. “I’m hoping that means they caught it early if it actually is cancer. You know I almost rescheduled my appointment until the spring. There’s nothing fun about having your breasts squashed in a machine, and no one in my family has a history of breast cancer.”

“I’m glad you didn’t wait.” Pulling out my phone I added a quick note to check with my doctor about my own routine exams. “How is everything else going?”

Mom turned down the fry pan heat and pulled the lid off a pan to check the rice. “Same old, same old. We’re getting ready for open enrollment at work, so I’ve been helping the benefits department with the fliers and pamphlets. It made me think of you and your marketing work. I watched that hockey game last night. They’re terrible, but it sure was entertaining. Not that I really know anything about hockey.”

“They’re pretty popular online and ticket sales doubled since the last home game.” I couldn’t help a note of pride that crept into my voice. “Merchandise is moving quickly, and we’re getting frequent and favorable coverage in the local press.”

“Yes, I saw. They seem to really like that young man with the glasses.” Mom opened the oven and checked the temperature gauge, then adjusted the dial. Her stove had been on its last legs for years and the settings were unreliable, but she refused to ask the landlord to replace it, saying that it worked just fine and there was no sense going to all that bother when a three-dollar oven thermometer would take care of the problem.

Wait. Glasses? None of the orcs on the team wore glasses.

“Which one are you talking about? Do you have it saved on your phone, or computer?” I asked.

“Here.” She pulled her phone out of one of the many pockets of the apron I swear she’d inherited from her grandmother. “Anna at the office sent me the link. I’ve told everyone how you’re managing the marketing of a professional hockey team in Baltimore, and that they are all orcs. None of them are hockey fans, but they now are watching all the games. I think mainly because the players are all good-looking and play without shirts on.”

She showed me her phone and there was Bwat, wearing a pair of glasses. Unless the orc had been wearing contacts every other time he’d been on the ice or pretty much anywhere, then he didn’t need those glasses. Unless…maybe that was why he was so terrible on the ice? Maybe he couldn’t see the other players or the puck or the net?

I shot off a quick text to Bwat, just in case.

“This orc Bwat is my favorite. He is so polite and he has such a kind smile. He always talks to the interviewers and his TikTok videos are hilarious.”

I stared at her. “You are watching TikTok videos?”

She shrugged. “Of course. I started out because I wanted to follow all of the social media accounts you manage and make sure I liked all of your posts, but then I realized there are amazing videos on makeup and skin care, and even on growing out your grey hair. Not that I’m ready to do that.” She patted her light brown locks where the few silver strands looked as if she’d had an expensive appointment for highlights within the last few weeks.

“I’ve been helping Bwat with his social media postings,” I admitted. “He’s really a natural. Authentic, and interesting, and funny.”

Mom nodded. “He seems like a very nice man. You should date him.”

I choked on air, and it took me a moment to regain my composure. “We’re just friends, Mom.”

She began to open a can of tomato sauce. “That’s an excellent basis for a relationship. And he seems to be looking for something long-term, marriage even. He’s said that in his Instagram posts.”

I was reeling. Nothing rocked a person’s world like an unexpected topic of conversation from one’s own mother. “Maybe. I mean, I’m not sure if I want that with him or with anyone.”

She put down the can opener and turned to face me, hands on her hips. “Abigail, you have wanted romance and love since you were crawling across the floor. If you can look me in the eye and tell me you really want to remain single the rest of your life, then I won’t say another word.”

I couldn’t say that. And she knew it. “Mom, it’s never worked out for me. I’ve dated great guys and I’ve felt nothing for them. And I’ve dated guys who made my pulse go into overdrive and after two months I was wondering which of my friends might be willing to help me hide a body. I don’t think love is something I’m capable of.”

“Bullshit.”

The uncharacteristic word made my eyes go wide.

“Abby, you don’t give men a chance. Some people don’t fall in love at a single glance, like in the books. Some of us need to get to know a person to fall in love with the whole being. Insta love sounds amazing, but for most people, that’s just insta lust. And insta lust rarely leads to something lasting. Find someone you like and respect, someone you want to be with and talk to, someone you can sit in silence with, someone who makes you feel safe, someone who will put you first. Then give the whole thing enough time to let love bloom in your heart. It takes tomatoes ninety days to produce a fruit. What makes you think your heart should fall in love in less time than that?”