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“Oh. Okay. Well I never know where you are, so I just wanted to make sure you could hear me.” She's still shouting, but without as much energy now.
I wait for her to continue, but when she doesn’t, I speak. “Well, it’s nice to hear from you. Isn’t it a little early for you?” It’s only 9:30 a.m. here so that means it’s 6:30 a.m. where she is. Even when I was a kid, my mother was not an early riser. I can’t remember a single day when she was up when I left for school in the morning.
“Yes, it is, but I couldn’t sleep. I’ve been thinking I should come see you.” She says this with a burst of excitement, and I can tell she's smiling. I'm shocked. She has never been here to visit me before and has been resistant to the idea any time I’ve brought it up.
“Okay. That would be great,” I say carefully not wanting to give voice to my surprise.
“Yes, I think so. It’s so overdue. I feel bad I haven’t been to see where you live,” she responds excitedly.
“Well, I’m happy to have you. When do you think you’ll want to come? The weather is really nice in September,” I hedge.
“September,” she practically wails. “That is so far away. No, I was thinking I’d come for your grand opening thing you told me about last time we talked.”
I did tell her about our new DC location, and that I was planning an event for it. But I'm surprised she remembers. I say so.
“That woman who works for you, Krista or Kristine or whatever, she sent me an invitation,” she says absently, as if it’s not important, and she's eager to get on with the details.
“Her name is Cristal,” I say, again trying to hide my annoyance. But now I'm annoyed with Cristal. Why the hell did she send my mother an invitation?
“Well, whatever. She sent it to me, and I want to come. I’ll need you to make my travel arrangements. I only travel business class or higher, of course; and I need to sit by the window,” she says, without a hint of embarrassment or grace. How quickly she reverts back to her role of kept socialite.
I swallow my sigh and only say, “Of course, I’ll have Cristal make the arrangements and send you your ticket once she has it.”
We pull up outside Milly’s house, and now I just want this conversation to end. I’ve been gone all week and I just want to get inside, see my woman, and relax.
“Thank you.” She’s suddenly speaking in a normal tone.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re coming.” I'm not sure whether or not I mean this, but I hope she can’t tell.
“Dean, I . . .” she says and then trails off. I can tell she wants to say something and I try to soften my tone.
“Mom, go ahead,” I say gently.
“Just don’t forget I need that window seat and business class or higher, please. I need the extra room or my ankles swell.” I almost laugh at myself.
“Sure, I won’t forget. I’ve made a note.” I haven’t, but I won’t forget.
“Okay, I’ve got to go.” She hangs up before I can speak again.
I keep waiting for her to be someone she's not. Or for her to see me as more than a means to an end.
I sigh, exit the car, and walk up the steps to the woman who has in the span of just a few weeks become not only the woman I'm sleeping with, but someone I can’t stop thinking about. I cannot get her out of my mind. I want to tell her about my conversation with my mom.
I have a feeling she’ll be able to help me think through some of the resentment I feel toward my mother. But that will have to wait until tomorrow.
Today, I’ve planned a day out at Baltimore’s Inner Harbor with her and Anthony.
I’m supposed to spend the night at her house for the first time as her boyfriend. She has been really deliberate about integrating me into their lives. She's a good mom who is putting her son first.
She has yet to ask me for a single material thing and from what I can tell, she doesn’t seem the least bit interested in my wealth.
I walk up her porch and ring the doorbell. I feel my excitement building as I see her move toward the door through the beveled glass panes on either side of it. It feels like coming home.
29
I’m having the most delicious dream. Oh, how I don’t want to wake up. I’m floating on a cloud that’s firm, warm, and . . . moving.
My eyes fly open. I'm not on a cloud. In fact, I’m in my bed. I’m enveloped in Dean’s long, strong arms and am cradled against his chest.
