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“I don’t care if you go on your stupid date.” She turns her head to the side to glare at me. “Do what you want. You always do. You stopped caring about our family a long time ago, and that’s why Dad left.”
“Dawn is only a phone call away if you need anything tonight.” I get up from her bed, trying to hide the hurt in my voice. “Or call me, and I’ll be home right away.”
“I’ll be with Dad. I’ll be fine.” Deja scowls at me before turning on her side and facing the wall.
“Well, he should be here soon.” I walk out and close her door, wiping away the tear that dares to roll down my cheek.
Maybe this is a bad idea,I think as I walk into my room and find Dawn sifting through my closet. She tosses different options to the side, a look of concentration on her face as she searches for just the right outfit for my date.
“I don’t know what I’m thinking.” I lean in the doorway and run a hand down my face. “I rearranged wash days for this. And do you know what my grandmother would say if she found out I was going on a date with a white man?”
“You don’t talk to her old ass anyway.” Dawn tosses a green dress at me and crosses her arms. “Now, shut up, put on a good push-up bra, and shimmy into this.”
One eyebrow raises as I run my fingers over the silky material. “I don’t know. I think this date might be a bad idea. Deja isn’t happy about it.”
“Deja isn’t happy about a lot of things,” Dawn says. “What she needs is a mom who loves herself and isn’t afraid of being loved. How else are you going to set a good example for her?”
“How do you always know the right thing to say?” I ask as she heads for the stairs.
“I just do. Have a good time on your date tonight, and I’ll see you later.”
After Dawn leaves, I get ready. I have just parked outside the restaurant when the cold feet set in. This is a horrible idea, and I have no business going out. I’m a mother. Mothers don’t go on dates with men who are most likely not going to be able to deal with the baggage they come with. Plus, I’m part of a complete package, which also includes my daughter. And my girl will always come first until she’s old enough to have a life of her own as a strong, independent woman. Maybe, just maybe, I’m putting the cart before the horse. I need to get my shit together before I consider venturing back into the world of dating.
I fish my phone out of my bag and open the messages app. My heart is racing as my thumbs tap across the screen. Trying to ignore the pain in the back of my throat, I type the message.
Tracey:I think I had some bad food for lunch, and I’m not feeling very well. I think we’re going to have to cancel tonight. I’m sorry.
Liam:Okay.
The world seems to stop around me. I thought he would try to reschedule for a different day. Over the last few days, we’ve spent more time messaging than not, but he doesn’t seem to care I’ve cancelled our date.
Screw it. I dial Dawn’s number. If he doesn’t care enough to reschedule, I may as well go out and have some fun.
Dawn picks up on the third ring, and after a little begging to meet me at a bar down the street, she agrees to be my wingwoman for the night. Why I need a wingwoman, I’m not quite sure, but it has been years since we partied together. Being wives and mothers has certainly put a damper on our social lives over the years. Our careers in education—Dawn as an elementary school teacher and me in social work—leave little room for us to have a girls’ nights out once in a while.
Once the call ends, I walk inside the bar and immediately feel out of place. There are black leather walls studded with chrome. Wood accents and plush red stools make the bar look about twenty years too young for me.
Back in my college days, this would have been a bar I would frequent. But, now I’m in my mid-forties and feeling entirely out of place. Though I want to run home, I force myself to stay. I need to push myself outside my limits. I have gotten too comfortable living inside my little box.
When was the last time I’d done anything other than what was expected of me? When was the last time I let loose and had some fun?
If I’m honest with myself, I can’t remember. It was probably well before Deja was born. Those years are likely the last time I’d been truly free, truly myself.
Still, I straighten my spine and hold my head high as I order a drink at the bar before heading to a booth in the corner. I melt into the soft seats, listening to the live band and sipping at my drink. I keep my eyes on the door, waiting for Dawn. After finishing the first glass, my phone buzzes.
Dawn:Poop explosion. Embedded in Hope’s hair. I’ll be there as soon as I can.
I sigh and order another drink. Dawn will be here as soon as she can, but until then, I can lose myself in the music and the drinks. My phone buzzes again.
Dawn:I’m sorry. She’s throwing up now. I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it. Rain check?
Tracey:Rain check. Good luck with that. Glad mine is grown up.
I smile and order another drink, finishing it quickly before heading to the bar. A man to my right sends me a flirtatious smile but looks away, clearly not interested in making the first move. There’s a small flood of relief that runs through me at that. I don’t know what to do if a man openly shows interest in me these days. With a grin, I raise my hand and look at the bartender. She smiles and makes her way over to me.
“I’d like to pay my tab please,” I say, removing my debit card from a small pocket in my dress.
“Hope you had a good night.” The bartender smiles as she punches something in one of the registers.
