“Just a thing with a girl I’ve been dating.”
Silence. And then, “I can count on one hand how often you called me for advice about a girl.”
“Not true. We talked about it all the time.”
“In middle school. Maybe high school. But not in a long time.”
“Only because I haven’t had many serious girlfriends since.”
“So it’s serious?” My mother didn’t even bother hiding her surprise or hopefulness.
I told her everything. From the ski weekend up until this past week. Waiting for her response, I felt as stupid as I had admitting to Beck I’d basically lost it over an ex.
“I can see why that upset you,” she said.
“You can?”
“Of course. You went through the wringer with your father. I’m sorry about that.”
Was she kidding me? “Mom, you have nothing to be sorry for. Dad was a complete asshole. Sorry for my French. Why would you apologize for him?”
“I’m not apologizing for him, sweetheart. I’m just sorry it happened and tainted your view of marriage. I know about your pact with the boys.”
I’d been about to take a drink, but at that, my hand froze mid-air.
“Excuse me?”
“Beck told me once. You guys were here, visiting, and I think he had a bit too much to drink that night. I asked if you had any serious girlfriends and he told me about it. I doubt he even remembers. Poor kid was drunk as a skunk.”
I remembered that night, wanting to go back home sooner, knowing my mother would be waiting up for us. It was a year or so after college, and Cole had come too. The four of us together always spelled trouble.
“Mom,” I asked, suspicious. “Did you ask Beck that because he was drunk? Thinking to fish information out of him.”
“Of course I did,” she said unabashedly.
Laughing, I was about to tease her when Mom cut me off. “Point is, you’d never have taken such a pact if things worked out between your father and me. But like your friends, it just happens to be a bad example. There are plenty of good ones too. Look at your Aunt Cathy and Uncle Dave. Or Mason and Pia. Or your dad and his new wife.” Mom laughed at her own joke. She really was a piece of work.
“I know,” I said. “And Delaney really is something special. She’s cute and perky, but sexy and smart too. Always has a smile on her face.”
“Sounds like someone I know.”
Me.
We really were good together, Delaney and me.
“I’d love for you to meet her,” I said, answering my own unasked question about the state of our relationship.
“I’d love to meet her too.”
“Oh hey, Mom, speak of the devil. She’s calling now.”
“Go ahead. I’ll talk to you later. And tell the girl you love her. Bye, sweetie.”
As I switched over, it took a second for my mother’s words to sink in.
Tell the girl you love her.
I did. And here I was telling Delaney to live in the present, not the past, or future. Time for me to do the same.
