Page 69 of I Love a Good Challenge

“Yes, he is very determined,” Lily affirms. There’s no need to insert an addendum, but she does. “From what I know of him, of course.” Changing the subject quickly, she inclines toward my uncle. “How about you, Uncle John? Or should I not call you that?”

He grunts in agreement, as is typical for him, but a smile plays at the edge of his mouth, which is noticeably contrary to his usually gruff nature. Of course Uncle John would like her immediately.

“This one here,” he starts, pointing to me with a look that makes me dread what he is going to say, “well, he used to want to go feed the ducks on the little pond behind my house. He wanted to feed them bread and all that before we knew it wasn’t healthy for them.”

I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles whitening, but I realize it will be of no use to interject. In fact, any reaction from me will probably only add to Lily’s interest.

“Anyway, Graham went to feed them and saw one he really liked. He went to go after it—only it wasn’t a duck. It was a swan.”

“Wait,” Lily says with such energy it’s like someone just told her she has a chance to win the lottery. “Oh, please, please, please tell me it’s a Jess from Gilmore Girls situation, and the mama swan attacked him.”

My uncle laughs. He laughs. “I don’t know who Jess is or whatever you just said, but the thing attacked him and got him good. I’m pretty sure he still has a scar somewhere behind—”

Desperately, I interrupt. “I got attacked by a swan. End of story. And just like Jess, I stand by my claim that the swan was at fault for false representation!”

“This is too good!” Lily practically squeals, her hand slapping the table with gumption.

My face flaming, I will it to calm down as I also catalog the delightful sound of Lily’s continuous giggle. To get her to laugh, apparently, all I have to do is keep feeding her stories that cast me in a less-than-stellar light. Noted.

“So, Graham,” my mother emphasizes the word, thankfully not using my nickname again. “Have you found a house yet?”

And this is the moment where my water is suddenly the only thing I can focus on.

“What does she mean . . .?” Lily trails off.

“He’s looking for a new house so Wendy can take the apartment he’s got,” my uncle unhelpfully informs her.

“Oh, yes—I—of course,” Lily responds, although she had no idea this was my plan.

Two weeks ago, at a questionable hour of the morning, amidst the blurry haze of yet-to-be-had caffeine, I made a deal with my mother for her to move into my apartment in Birch Borough while I find another place to live. Moving to another town may have been mentioned. Unsure of what the future held for Lily and me, my apartment in Birch Borough suddenly felt like too much. I knew my mother would appreciate it, and it’s a good place for her to be in this phase of her life.

Oblivious to our discomfort, my mother continues, “And the work? Did you set up the LLC for your new legal firm?”

Lily inhales sharply. My heart sinks. I should’ve prepared my mother for this evening, but I was so consumed with spending the day with Lily, so tentatively hopeful about what has been unfolding between us, that I didn’t want to scare her away. It may be too late.

“New legal firm?” Lily breathes out.

My mother’s expression of confusion is enough to nearly break me. It’s not her fault I’ve had trouble finding the words.

“Uhh—yes,” I begin in reply to her, “I did.”

“Legal firm?” Lily says again.

“Pro bono work in the intellectual property law field. I want to help other artists in the area—or rather, everywhere, truly.”

“But you’re moving?”

“Yes.”

At this, Lily grabs the edge of my suit jacket and pulls me up. “Will you excuse us?”

“Why, of course, dear . . .” my mother begins, but it’s too late. Lily is already dragging me away toward a secluded corner of the patio. We need to get better at not abandoning tables and finding places to discuss important matters. First, the diner, and now this.

“What is happening?” Lily asks, her eyes wide and brow furrowed.

My hand is running through my hair before I can help it. Now, I recognize that it looks like I’ve been withholding information from her when, truthfully, I was only trying to protect myself. It’s still not a good look.

“Why didn’t you tell me?

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