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“Wait. Wait. I didn’t tell you what he said when I showed him a picture of you.”
“Mom,” I whined, “which picture did you show him?” Not like there were a lot of good ones floating around out there. Normally I wouldn’t care if someone saw me eating ice cream with my fingers or covered in mud from running an obstacle course, but for some reason I didn’t want this virtual stranger to see those things. Maybe because I thought he might be normal, not a felon or a polygamist.
“Honey, you’re so beautiful. I wish you would see that.”
How could I when all my life I always heard, your sisters are so gorgeous. Nearly every guy I ever knew asked me how old they were, and could he get their numbers. Even today I had guys befriend me to get to the M and M twins—Macey and Marlowe Carrington, genetic perfection. They got the best of Mom and Dad. Mom’s stunning ice blue eyes, Dad’s height and raven hair. I got Mom’s squishy middle and my biological dad’s hairy legs. I should buy stock in razors and Nair.
I sighed. “Which picture?”
“You know, our family picture we had taken in the spring.”
“Mom, that’s an unfair representation of me. I Spanxed every inch of my body and Marlowe did my hair and makeup.” She might have mentioned a few times I would be so pretty if I tried. I worked in a steel factory with crude, beer-guzzling men who I mostly loved, in 140-degree conditions at times. Even if there was anyone to try for, makeup would melt off my face.
“Oh, honey, you’re being silly; they don’t make Spanx for everything. I’ve looked.”
We both loved our cookies. But unlike me, my mom truly was beautiful, and she’d married the most handsome man in the county. He owned most of it, too.
It didn’t matter, I’m sure Dr. King only had eyes for my sisters. I wasn’t jealous. I loved Marlowe and Macey despite how opposite we were. “Did he get the girls’ numbers from you?”
“Why would he? They’re a little young for him.”
“Mom, they’re twenty-four and he has to be my age or close to it.”
“Six years is a lot of years.”
I didn’t argue with her.
“But I did give him your number after he said you looked exactly like he remembered you.”
Now I know he’s a liar. Not only was I not carrying around an extra ten pounds, okay fifteen, back then, but I had massive football helmet head the last time he saw me. It didn’t matter, because if he looked anything like he did back in high school, he probably had a girlfriend, or plenty waiting to occupy that title. Not that any of that would deter my mom. Even if he had one, she would push me on him like a used car salesman. Either way, rest assured, Sawyer King was not calling me.
“Love you, Mom.”
“I only want you to be happy.”
“I’m happy.” Truly, I was. I had a great life. Loving family—okay, Marlowe and Macey were a bit self-absorbed and acerbic at times, but I knew they would eventually grow out of that phase. I hoped. I had a terrific job and a dozen girls who adored me. I got to be a soccer mom without having to drive a minivan; that was a major win. And I had friends. Lots and lots of friends. Who needed a boyfriend?
“I love you, Emma. You made me believe in love at first sight. Someday, I hope you get the chance to know what that feels like.”
Me too.
~*~
Text from Unknown Number: Is this Emma?
Me: It depends on who’s asking. If this is the IRS, no, but I paid my taxes even though you could really give a single girl a break. I mean, sheesh, I’m sorry I don’t have any dependents to deduct. Now if this is Baskin Robbins, yes, I’m Emma and I love you. I’ll take a double scoop of chocolate ice cream with peanut butter sauce.
Unknown Number: I don’t want your money and I don’t have any ice cream, but now that you mention it, I could go for some.
Me: This is very disappointing, stranger. At least tell me you’re not a serial killer.
Unknown Number: I’m a doctor.
Me: All that means is you’re smart enough to get away with it.
Unknown Number: I am pretty smart.
Me: Now you’re starting to creep me out. I hope you have the wrong number or are texting from a penitentiary. Do they let prisoners have cell phones?
Unknown Number: I don’t think so.
Me: Do you know this from personal experience or because you know someone on the inside?
Unknown Number: Neither. Do you normally have conversations with strangers like this?
Me: Not typically, but I’m bored.
My team’s soccer game had been rained out and all the shows I liked were in summer reruns.
