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“Nah, I’ve never been as smart as you.”
“Mom, you’re the smartest woman I know. And no matter what, you’ll always be my momma.”
“Even when you’re a big shot in New York?” I ask.
“Even then. Mom, someday I’m going to have it all, and then I’m going to give it to you,” she assures me.
I laugh at that and pat her arm, feeling pride and aching at the same time. Reese isn’t a little girl anymore. She’s a woman.
“I love you, kid.”
“I love you, Mom.” We pull away. “Did you have fun tonight?”
“I did,” I say.
“He seems like a really good guy. I like him.”
“Yeah, so do I. More than I should,” I admit.
“Is that such a bad thing? Maybe it’s time you let yourself like someone.”
“What if things don’t work out. Even if he were to still want something after the competition, long distance relationships are hard. I don’t know how to do one with zero distance, much less one with hundreds of miles in between.” I don’t tell her he thinks we’ll both be in Key West.
“Would you want to make it work with him? Because if you did, then you could.”
I frown as I mull that over. “You are so smart, kid,” I say, nudging her.
Headlights call our attention as the brightness fills the house. “Are we expecting someone?” Reese asks.
“No. Maybe Dean forgot something. Oh, wait, that’s Liz’s car.” I open the door before she can knock. “Hey, Lizard, did you forget some…”
“He’s a thief, Cat,” my sister says, storming past me.
“What? Who?” I ask, following her.
“You can’t date him anymore. He’s a thief, and I’m not talking about a piece of gum here.”
Reese and I look at each other. “Are you talking about Dean?” my kid asks.
“You mean, Sullivan Dean McAdams. He took on the last name Cooper when he was twenty.”
“How do you know?” I ask, utterly confused.
“After you told me you wanted to dig up dirt on him, I made a call,” Liz says.
Raising my hands, I deny it. “I never said I wanted to dig dirt up.”
“You sort of did, Mom.”
“Well, I got more than dirt for you. I got mud.” Liz pulls a packet out of her bag and hands it to me.
The first page has a mugshot. It’s Dean alright. “Sullivan Dean McAdams, Orange County, Florida.”
“What did he steal?” Reese asks, taking the pack. “Oh my god, Mom!”
“What was it?” I ask, my breath caught in my throat.
“He was charged with grand theft as a juvenile. Five thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry,” she informs me.
