There’s a pause on her line. “It’s time you saw the blessing in what happened. You are now a single woman again. You need to get out there and start dating.”
Taking the cupcake pan to the sink, I drop it into the warm soapy water before going back to pick up my phone.
“You act like that’s so easy.”
“It is,” she argues. “When your father died, God rest his soul, I thought it was all over for me. But then I met Robert, and I found love again.”
I snort with laughter. “Are you serious? You were twenty-three with a three-year-old. We are not the same.”
“How come?”
A mother’s love is endless, and it can also be blind. “I’m thirty-eight, with two kids, one being a teenage boy, which has its own problems. I’m also out of shape. The women my age nowadays are still turning it up and going to clubs. And the men my age are trying to be sugar daddies to twenty-year-olds.”
There is silence on her end of the phone. The silence goes on for so long; I think for a moment she’s hung up.
Look, I’m not putting myself down or anything, but I’m a realist. I’m usually in bed by nine, unless there is something good on TV. Other than a glass of wine with the girls in the book club, I’m not turning anything up. I’m a homebody, I’ll admit it.
“You are a stunning woman. Just the other day, Randall Watson asked me how you were doing.”
I scoff. “Deacon Randall? Ma, he’s sixty years old.”
“He is only fifty-eight. And he has a good pension.”
Shaking my head, I chuckle. “I’m not dating the deacon at your church.” I head out of the kitchen into the living room. The basket of clothes I took out of the dryer a few minutes ago is still waiting to be folded. I flop down on the sofa.
“I didn’t say you had to datehim. I was just pointing out that men still find you attractive. And they should. You’re beautiful.”
“Mama.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath. “I don’t want to date. I want to fix up my house, raise my boys, and bake cakes.”
I’ve always loved baking, ever since I was a little girl helping my grandma—or Nanny as I called her— in her kitchen. My nanny was the neighborhood baker. During holiday seasons, people would pay her good money to make cakes and pies for their family gatherings. She always told me that one day she would open her own little bakery. She passed away before her dream could ever come to fruition.
I made a promise that I would do it for her. It had always been my dream to run my very own bakery one day, but life had other plans. Now I take orders from friends and family online. I’ve been doing well. I’m not making millions or anything, but I have a few loyal customers.
“Honey, I am proof that you can do both. I raised you, went to work, and had time to go on plenty of dates. Now, just let me set something up. I’ll tell Randall to call you and...”
I nearly choke on my saliva. “What? Mama....I can’t..... hear you, mama? The phone is.... breaking up.” I pretend my words are going in and out.
“Ella? Can you hear me now?” Mama calls out before I successfully "drop the call".
I love my mom, and she means well, but she is not listening to me. I understand everyone thinks I should be ready to just jump back into dating. Although my divorce has only been final for six months, Andrew and I lived separately a year before that. I still wasn’t ready.
“You know that’s not going to work forever, right?” AJ says, leaning against the doorframe from the hallway to the living room. “One day she’s going to catch on.”
Placing my phone on the coffee table in front of me, I go back to the basket of clothes.
“Yeah, well, until then, I’m going to use it.”
He laughs, coming into the living room and plopping down on the couch beside me.
“Do we have to go to Dad’s this weekend?”
The hardest part about the divorce was seeing how it affected the boys. They were heartbroken. AJ started acting out in school, and Cameron stopped talking to us. I don’t blame them for their reactions.
The first six months after the announcement at dinner were tough. Andrew and I argued a lot. I pleaded with him to seek counseling with me and to make our marriage work. It wasn’t until AJ finally blew up and told me I wasn’t pleading; I was in fact begging Andrew to stay with me.
After that dreadful conversation, I stopped fighting for the marriage. Andrew and I worked together to make the divorce as peaceful as we could. Andrew moved into a small apartment while I looked for another place to stay. Eventually, the boys finally got back to normal.
There was never any doubt where the boys would end up. I was always going to have sole custody of them, and Andrew would get them every other weekend, summer break, and Thanksgiving. This was his weekend.
