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She flipped on the lights and glanced around her home, feeling that same bit of satisfaction she did every single night. Open concept, the bungalow had been built to her specifications and paid for with her money. There was something to be said for being independent.
Bella came running from the bedroom, her three legs not slowing her down at all. Regan doffed her boots and shrugged out of her coat before scratching the little gray-and-white terrier behind the ears. She turned on the television and headed for her bedroom to grab the pink-and-white pajama bottoms she’d left on the floor and the large Michigan U sweatshirt that most likely lay beside it. The damn thing nearly came to her knees, but it was comfy and familiar, and to Regan, that was all that mattered.
After topping up Bella’s food and water, she wandered over to her cupboards. She didn’t need to look inside them to know they were mostly bare, but she did manage to find a box of Lucky Charms with just enough of the sugary goodness to fill a small bowl. After picking out the green marshmallows, she poured all that was left in her milk carton and leaned against the counter. She gazed out the window into the dark. It was snowing again, but only lightly, and as she watched, large feathery flakes floated to the ground. She’d had a full day at work, and this was the first Friday she’d had off in a month.
She eyed the answering machine that blinked at her from the tiny desk tucked away in the corner of her kitchen. No doubt there were several messages from her girlfriends or her sister-in-law, Violet, wanting her to join the real world before she became a spinster. Her forehead furrowed. Was spinster still a thing? Wasn’t it acceptable in this day and age for a successful woman to live on her own without the companionship of a man?
Regan finished the Lucky Charms and tipped her head back so she could get the last bit of milk as well. Once done, she rinsed her bowl in the sink and let the silence of her home wash over her. Usually after the chaos of the hospital or her practice, she relished the quiet. But tonight…ah tonight, she thought with a sigh as she let loose the knot of hair at her nape, tonight she was restless.
Just then her cell phone rang, and she grabbed it from the counter without thinking.
“Regan. It’s your mom.”
Crap. Regan winced and swore under her breath.
“What was that?” Her mother’s tone was sharp.
“Nothing,” she managed to stammer. Dammit, she was so not in the mood. She loved her mother, of course she loved her mother, but she had to take a moment and collect her thoughts. Katherine Thorne was a force of nature. She loved fiercely and was a no-holds-barred kind of person. She was a smart, tenacious, sometimes overbearing (sometimes devious) in-your-face woman, so Regan needed to be on her toes.
She rubbed her temples, eyes once more on the blinking answering machine. “Why are you calling my cell?”
“Because I knew if I called the house phone, you would let it go to the answering machine.”
True. So, damn true.
“Mom. Really.”
“Regan, at least have the decency to admit I’m right.”
She smiled at that. “Okay. You’re right.”
“I know I’m right. Which is why I called your cell.”
Regan rolled her eyes, glad her mother couldn’t see through the phone. “So what’s up?”
“Are you meeting Violet and the girls in town tonight?”
“Um…” She searched for an excuse—any excuse that would do—but she had nothing. “No?” she answered, stretching the one-syllable word into at least two.
There was a pause. “Regan. When is the last time you went out and had some fun?”
“Mom.” She gazed across the large open space to her television. “Do we really have to do this now? It’s been a long day.”
“We’ll do whatever I damn well want us to do. I’m your mother, and I’m worried about you.”
Oh. God. The speech was coming. How many times had they been down this road? How many times had she listened to her mother go off on the sad state of her personal life? Lips pursed, she shook her head and briefly considered tossing her cell. But A) that was childish. And B) her mother would probably drive over. So C) she might as well get into it.
“Why?” she asked abruptly, eyes once more on the snowflakes outside her window.
“Why am I worried about you? Do you want me to recite the list? Because I can.”
“No, Mom. I don’t want you to recite the list.” The list hadn’t changed in about five years, and she could pretty much recite it word for word.
“You spend too much time alone and you should be going out with your friends tonight. I know there’s a function in town and all the girls are going.”
The function was a prequel to the high school reunion next weekend, and Regan had no desire whatsoever to revisit that past. At least not tonight.
“Well, maybe none of them worked sixty hours this week.” Petulance rang in her voice, and even Regan made a face at how pathetic she sounded.
