Page 17 of Dr. Weston

Grateful for the change in topic, I grin. “Oh, I’d love to see him. Are Rita and the kids coming?”

“I don’t think so. They have camp or something.” Mom briefly grows silent before uttering, “I mean what I say, Poppy. Time has a habit of moving on without you. We lost your father before I was ready. But I was far older than you are now. I don’t want you to spend your days alone.”

I stand, blinking away tears as I gather our trash and place it in the receptacle outside of the gazebo. Grabbing the handles of my mother’s wheelchair, we return to her room in silence. I can’t say it’s comfortable because it’s not. Even at my age, her words weigh heavy. I know she’s only thinking of me. I’d love to find someone and give her more grandchildren. But I’m not going to settle for a relationship merely to avoid being alone. Unfortunately, things don’t always turn out like they’re supposed to.

Even if you were lucky enough to live in a house with a white picket fence for a while.

Once I return to Mom’s room, I find Agnes in her chair, scrolling on her cell phone, and I shake my head, curious about who she might be messaging. Leaning over Mom’s shoulder, I speak directly in her ear, hoping I can avoid shouting. “Do you want to stay in the chair or take a nap?”

“I’d love a nap.”

Tucking her in, I park the wheelchair out of the way before returning to kiss her on the head. “I’ll try to get back soon.”

“I understand, dear. Your job is demanding.”

“Well, I’d find yourself a hot doc. Working there on the weekends should come with some perks,” Agnes says, her eyes never leaving her phone.

I snicker. “I couldn’t do that. Then I’d have to find a job somewhere else. I wouldn’t want to work with someone I dated. It complicates things.”

Agnes settles her phone in her lap before crossing her arms over her ample bosom. “Poppy, excuses are for people who don’t want it bad enough.I want you to answer something quickly without giving your doubts a chance to argue.”

Her request makes me a little anxious. But I decide to go all in. “Okay.”

“If you’d never met Dan and age wasn’t an issue, would you want to be married and have children?”

“Yes.” My hand flies to cover my mouth as if I could somehow prevent my inner thoughts from escaping. The speed with which that three-letter word left my mouth shocks me.

“That’s what I thought. Then make it happen, girl. If you meet someone at your job, then quit and live a life of leisure like me.” An uncharacteristic smile crosses her face, making me giggle. “Find someone gorgeous and have a kid before it’s too late. Would be a damn waste of good DNA not to,” she goads, running her finger through the air from my head to my toes. I know she means well, but at my age, that could be one more disappointment in the making.

“I think at thirty-eight, my odds aren’t very good.”

“Well, you might have to put a little more effort into it.” Agnes waggles her brows at me and wiggles her hips provocatively.

My hand flies back to my mouth. “Agnes.”

“What? You’ve reached your sexual peak. Enjoy the ride!”

Oh, my god.I glance over my shoulder to verify my mother isn’t hearing this. What am I thinking? She usually can’t hear anything unless we’re shouting.

“And you work in medicine. You know full well there are a lot more options available if you can’t have a baby the usual way. Or you could do it like me. Sans man.” She laughs.

My eyes widen at this. “Agnes, why did I think you didn’t have any kids? How many children do you have?”

“Last count, it was thirty-seven.”

Um, what?Okay, maybe I’ve been concerned about the wrong woman in this room having dementia.

Agnes breaks into laughter at my countenance. “I was a foster mother, dear. After surviving two divorces just to become a widow in my early fifties, I decided to be the love ’em and leave ’em type from then on. But that left a lot of time on my hands. So I took in littles who were in transition. Most didn’t stay very long. A lot of parents want newborns. But a few stuck around long enough that I got attached. I was just too old at that point to adopt them. But you could.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Why not? I’m only saying there are options. It’s time to start living. No more excuses.”

“I’m living.”

Aren’t I?

CHAPTERSEVEN

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