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“So,” I start, trying to retrieve the words I’ve been practicing in my head all night.
“So?” Mom asks, drying the last plate and sliding it in the cabinet.
“Remember the woman I mentioned? Payton?”
“I do remember. I also remember you adamantly denying speaking the name out loud.”
“Well, the thing is,” I stammer like a teenager, “I kinda like her.”
“I figured as much.” Her smile is bright when she tosses the towel on the counter and turns her full attention to me.
“Getting to this point where she’s agreed to go have dinner with me has been…difficult.”
“Difficult how?” she asks, sitting down on the barstool beside me.
“Well, besides the fact that I don’t date clients, which she is, she’s been very unyielding to the idea of dating.”
“But that’s changed?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “We’ve been…friendly.” I swear to God, my face blushes four shades of fuchsia in a three second time span.
Mom’s quiet for a few minutes, which only makes my level of anxiety kick up a few hundred notches. She was the master of the Mom look when I was younger and could make me crack in less time than a CIA interrogator. I start to feel a little hot under the collar, yet the woman across from me is calm, cool, and completely collected.
Shit.
“You know, Dean, if you want to date, I’m more than happy to help with Bri. You just have to ask. And another option would be to find a high school girl that you trust to watch her for a few hours. Single parents have been doing it for quite some time. Just because you’re a single parent doesn’t mean you can’t have a life outside of your child.”
“You didn’t,” I find myself saying before I can reel the words back in.
“Au, contraire, my son. I actually dated quite a bit.”
“You did?”
Mom laughs. Laughs. Right. In. My. Face.
“Not a lot, but enough. When you spent the night at David’s house or when you had scholastic bowl practice after school, I had coffee or dinner with men.”
I swear she grew three heads in that moment. My mom dated? How in the hell did I not know that?
“I just never found anyone worthy of introducing you to. So, go out with Payton, and I’ll help when I can. When you’re ready to introduce her to your daughter, I’ll know that she’s someone special.” Mom reaches over and grabs my hand. “And I really hope you find that someone. You’re a wonderful man with a huge heart.”
“You have to say that. You’re my mom.”
“No, I have to say eat your vegetables because I’m your mom. Everything else I say is the truth.”
* * *
Lying in bed, my phone in my hand, I think about texting her. She mentioned having dinner with one of her sisters tonight, but I can’t imagine her staying out too late. But I also don’t want to suffocate her with my neediness to talk. And I do. I feel the need, the desire, to talk to her. Sure, I wouldn’t mind a little more right now, but we’ve always been good at the normal conversation stuff.
Touching the screen until it’s lit up, I type a few words.
Me: Hope you had a good night with your sister.
A few moments later, I see the bubbles appear on the screen, letting me know she’s writing back. I smile instantly.
Payton: Two sisters, actually. It was Chicago dogs by the Bay. A good night.
Me: Glad to hear it.
