Page 5 of Mark my Words

I spun around as I reached the door to the café, and he was right behind me, as I expected. “What was that about following me?”

Sam simply smiled and walked right past me. He stopped to pick up a drink carrier from the quick pick-up shelf and winked as he paused in the doorway on his way back out. “Have fun waiting in line.”

Ugh. Jackass. Annoying, frustrating, infuriating, egotistical, handsome, jackass...

SAM

BOSTON

“Dammit,” I muttered, pressing the button on the console of my treadmill to slow it down to a three. I reached forward to where my phone was propped in the water bottle holder. Pressing the green button on my phone to accept the call, I tried to sound cheerful as I heard it connect in my AirPods. “Hey, Mom.”

“Don’t Hey, Mom me,“ she scolded, and I knew I was in for an earful. My sisters must have relayed that I wasn’t coming home for the twins’ birthday in a few weeks. I don’t know why it still bothered me that she got upset when I missed family functions, but I didn’t have the flexibility in my schedule to fly back home for every little thing.

“I know, you’re mad...”

“I’m not mad, Sam. I’m disappointed.” Even worse. Lay on the mom guilt. She didn’t understand why it was so vital for me to ‘sacrifice’ family time for my career. She’d met my dad in college—which was within a half-hour of both their hometowns. She settled into the role of homemaker and mother quickly, having my sisters in rapid succession within the first six years they were married. “I know Claire told you it was alright to see them when you come home next, but the boys are disappointed.”

So that was the angle she was taking, using my nephews as ammunition. I’d already mailed their gift, knowing it would drive my mother insane all summer for two six-year-olds to have super soaker water guns. They lived down the street from Nana and Pops, so I was sure they’d be the unwitting victims of my nephews’ inevitable water fights.

I didn’t intentionally plan it like that, but it worked out in my favor that my brother-in-law, Brad, had mentioned that they wanted Nerf or water guns and not the lame shit my sister put on their Amazon wish list for their birthday. No six-year-old wanted a handwriting practice book or a series of educational apps for their iPads. Especially not Felix and Alex.

“The boys have a Facetime scheduled with me for the day after their party, and their cards and gifts were in the mail days ago.”

“Sam,” she sighed. Here we go.

Rolling my eyes as I reached for my water bottle, I remembered why I’d dodged her calls. Another one of my friends from high school had sent out a wedding invitation, and my youngest sister—who was five years older than me—had recently told her that she was done having kids.

“Brett’s invitation came today. You are coming back for the wedding, right? If you two stayed in touch, he would have chosen you for his best man.”

After high school, I’d gone off to college on an athletic scholarship. It happened to be across the country in North Carolina while several friends had gone to the local community college in Michigan instead of a major university. They still all kept in contact with each other. Some of them even started popping out kids a few years ago. I hadn’t talked to some of them in years. As a scholarship athlete, I’d had to stay focused on training and my grades to stay eligible, and sometimes trips home had to be delayed or cut short.

That was when my mother had perfected the ‘when are you ever coming home?’ guilt trips. It only worsened when I graduated from Duke and landed a job in Boston. It’d killed her that I wasn’t moving back home, or at least closer to home.

“Mom, yes, I’ll try to come back for the wedding. But Brett and I haven’t really hung out since high school.” We’d been best friends in middle school, and she wouldn’t let some things go. It was a long time since our twelve-year-old selves had ruled the neighborhood.

“It’d just be nice to see my son once in a while,” she sighed like she hadn’t seen me recently for Easter. “I know your job is important, but I feel like maybe you’re sacrificing your chance at a future for this career you have planned out.”

Rumor had it that one of the major genre editors was retiring. One of the mid-level editors would probably fill his position, but I wasn’t shooting that high yet. I was hoping for an interview for one of the full-time copy editor positions. I’d been a copy-editing intern for Adrian for two years—since I finished undergrad—but I was ready to move up. I was also not going to argue with having another supervisor. Two years with Adrian was a long time.

“I’m twenty-four, Mom.” Just because most of my sisters were engaged or married by twenty-four didn’t mean I needed to be.

“Well, I know that men don’t have the inconvenience of biological clocks ticking, but what if it’s too late once you finally settle down with someone? A woman’s eggs—“

“Mom, stop!” I half whined as I cut her off. I understood she only had girls before I came along, but I did not need the biological clock argument. She already had ten grandkids; I was sure she could wait for a few more. “I have a decade before that is even relevant. Stop worrying about me settling down to have kids. I’d need to have a girlfriend first.”

“So, you won’t be bringing a plus one to the wedding?”

“Oh my God, just stop.” I didn’t know how my sisters put up with her meddling. They all lived within an hour of home, which made Mom happy, but I couldn’t even escape her being halfway across the country. “Was there anything else you needed?” Checking the time on my watch, I knew I needed to get showered and back upstairs. I needed to find Kristine to go through more pages, and I was not looking forward to being put in her crosshairs again.

“No,” she sighed dramatically. “I guess I can let you get back to work. Not that it’s going to keep you warm at night.”

“Love you, Mom,” I rushed out, not waiting for her to respond before disconnecting quickly. She didn’t need any more opportunities to pick at my life choices.

Deciding that my run would have to wait until later, I pressed the stop button, hopping off quickly to grab some cleaning wipes. I knew they had a cleaning crew that came through here regularly, but I wasn’t leaving my residual sweat behind for the next person.

As I headed toward the locker room of the corporate gym, I smiled at the girl at the desk who’d started working there a few weeks ago. She was young, probably still in school since she spent her afternoons with a notebook open in front of her, but not young enough to be illegal. My mom was right that my job wasn’t keeping my bed warm at night—not that I would tell her that—but I wasn’t a fan of the intraoffice dating scene. I’d dated a fellow intern at one of my summer internships during college, and it had gotten awkward when she’d taken our relationship as being more than what it was at face value. Now I tried to be upfront about my intentions with potential dates.

The lacrosse intramural club I participated in often had social outings, but I’d been trying not to end up in strangers’ beds at the end of the night. Maybe I was maturing with age, but one-night stands weren’t my thing anymore. I’d had plenty of those with the lacrosse-stitutes on campus at Duke.

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