Once Amy finished the dishes and tidied the kitchen, she glanced at the time on the stove: 8:13 p.m. Britt had texted her earlier, telling her she was going shopping for wedding dresses with Savannah, so Amy wasn’t too worried. In fact, she was glad her daughter had agreed to be her friend’s maid of honor.
But as she walked to the living room and sat in the recliner, she wondered if she should text her. Were specialty dress shops open this late? Maybe they had gotten a bite to eat, although she wasn’t sure if Britt would agree to that.
Amy had been so focused on school this year that it had escaped her notice that Britt was spending more and more time at home than she had in the past—and that wasn’t counting the hours she spent on her online job. Now that Amy was off work and had more time to think back, and to pay attention to the present, she could see Britt was really struggling with her anxiety again. Their Saturday shopping spree had been fun, but Britt was tense the entire time, even though she valiantly tried not to show it. She’d hesitated going into Grimaldi’s too, but gave in.
Amy’s heart ached. Over the years, Britt had been in and out oftherapy and had taken and abandoned several prescriptions. She didn’t blame her daughter for not taking them. If they weren’t working, she shouldn’t. Her teen years were the worst, but as an adult she still wrestled with anxiety disorder. However, Amy had thought this last counselor had been tremendously helpful, and when Britt stopped seeing him two years ago, she seemed less nervous and more willing to be in social situations.
Amy was proud of how her daughter built up her business to be such a success, but at what cost? The counselor had pointed out that Britt’s occupation choice could impede her growth.“The best thing for social anxiety is to be social,”he’d said. And she was—a little bit. Amy frowned. Or maybe she’d thought Britt was more social because she did a few volunteer activities at church.Actually, justone.
Picking up her phone again, she glanced at the time. Eight thirty. She frowned. She was being ridiculous. Britt was close to thirty years old.But I’ll always be her mother.Some days she longed for the time when her biggest concern about her daughter was whether she wanted apple or orange juice, and how to keep her curly hair tamed for her yearly school picture. No one warned her that the problems and worries got bigger as children got older.
She started to set the phone down when a notification popped up.Britt?
But it was a message from Max.
Stemming her disappointment, she clicked on it.
Max: Hi.
Amy: Hi.
She waited for him to respond. And waited... and waited. Well, this was weird. Had he accidentally texted her? After another five minutes:
Max: Sorry. Had to take a call.
Amy: A lawyer’s work is never done.
Max: True. But this time it was the pizza delivery guy. He’s lost.
Amy: Hopefully it won’t be too cold by the time it gets there.
Max: If it is, I’ll just warm it up. Anyway, I’m not sure how this nondating thing works, but I’ve got two tickets to a movie at the Mango Movieplex. My admin couldn’t use them, so she passed them on to me.
Amy: What’s playing?
Max: New movies I’ve never heard of. One Alfred Hitchcock: Vertigo
She paused. She liked old suspense movies, and she hadn’t seen that one.
Max: Want to go Monday night? That’s the only night Vertigo is playing.
Another hesitation. This was getting close to dating territory. Or not. Friends went to movies too.
Amy: Sure. As long as I pay for my ticket.
Max: No can do, they’re free.
Amy: Then I buy the popcorn.
Max: And I’ll get the Milk Duds.
Amy: Junior Mints for me.
Max: Great. I can pick you up beforehand.
Amy: I’ll just meet you there.
Max:...
