Page 52 of Luca

But he’s not the only one.

“Has he been hurt before too?”

I take a sip from my mug and contemplate just how much I should share with her. “Yes. But I don’t think it was a girlfriend or wife. But then again, he tells me very little. And only when he feels like it’s necessary. The rest of the time, this feels very superficial. Like we’re casual friends who happen to have kids the same age. Yet he’s only being fun and flirty, and I’m the one trying to make it more.”

“Well, I, for one, think you should look at the positives here. The sheer fact that you’re interested in more with him is a huge breakthrough. There was a time I wasn’t certain you’d ever let a man into your life again.” She’s right. “And you’re starting to take another hard look at your health. To consider returning to therapy is a big deal, honey. And if you start to feel whole again, it’ll be a good example for Myla. Then hopefully she’ll go back.”

My mother looks away for a moment, and I turn to face her, wondering what she’s thinking. “And we can hear that sweet, innocent voice again.”

I swallow hard. I often forget how far the tentacles of trauma stretch. This conversation has become a little too heavy. “So, Roger said you had a date. How did that go?”

“Oh, mylanta. I’ve been on some doozies. But this one literally took the cake. Or should I say, oatmeal?” She laughs.

I stand from my chair on the hunt for something sweet while Mom shares her story. Opening the pantry door, I see the Dum Dum lollipops I found on the picnic table when I was cleaning up after our backyard movie night. I still have no idea where those came from.

“So, this gentleman and I have been chatting on Bumble for a while.”

“Mom. Bumble? Really?”

“Oh, hush it. Would you rather I go hang out in a bar?”

I roll my eyes and unwrap the strawberry kiwi lollipop and pop it into my mouth. “Go on.”

“Well, he’d been asking if he could take me out to dinner for a while now. I thought, what the heck?” She shrugs her shoulders and takes another sip of coffee. “So, I agreed to meet him at the restaurant. But once I got to the hostess station, he introduced himself and pulled me outside and said there’d been a change of plans.”

“Wow. He couldn’t have called you to cancel before you drove all the way there?”

“He said he didn’t want to cancel. That it took me so long to agree to dinner, he didn’t want to chance my saying no.”

“I’m confused. Did you have dinner with him?”

“Define dinner.”

I stop dead in my tracks, plopping back down onto the stool.

“He said he’d been saving this buy one, get one free coupon for a special occasion.”

“No.” I smack my palm to my forehead.

“But just as he was leaving home, he realized it had expired. So, he asked if he could make me dinner.”

Trying to picture this conversation going down, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing and let her continue.

“This poor man. I didn’t want it to seem like I was too hoity-toity to have dinner with someone who needed a coupon. He was a nice enough fella. And he certainly didn’t look like the type to hurt a fly, so I agreed.”

“Was it all a ploy to get you to come home with him?”

“No. I don’t think so. He doesn’t strike me as a man that could come up with something like that.”

Those are often the very ones you have to worry about. Why am I getting nervous for the punch line? “Was his house nice?”

“It was fine. It was a small, well-kept home. I’m glad we met. After dinner, I told him I’d enjoyed our evening and wouldn’t mind having a new friend to meet for coffee once in a while.”

“Ouch. Wait. So, what did you mean by, define dinner?”

My mother develops a peculiar expression and shakes her head like she is replaying the scene in her mind. “I sat down at the table, and he said it would be just a minute. I thought, did he plan this all along and had dinner waiting? A few minutes later, he came out of the kitchen with two bowls, put them down, and said, ‘I hope you like oatmeal.’ Then proceeded to eat as if this wasn’t the weirdest date on the planet.”

“Oh my god, Mom. You can really pick ’em.”

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