Page 6 of The Dating Pact

“There’s nothing to talk about.” I offered her a close-lipped smile.

My mother sent me a flat look.

My next smile was all teeth, and she laughed. “Try again.”

I added jazz hands.

She clapped. “Perfection. Exactly the energy you’re giving off right now.”

“I don’t know, Mom,” I said, giving in. “I’m daydreaming, I guess.”

She spun in her chair, assessing the party for a few moments before facing me again. “It’s been a while… You thinking about dating again?”

“Possibly.”

“It’s possibly scary,” she guessed, and I nodded.

There had been a time in my life when I’d thought I needed to hit every milestone in my career to be happy. If I attained the next raise or promotion or job, I’d be satisfied, but I hadn’t been. It took a life-altering diagnosis to finally push me to leave the nine-to-five corporate marketing world and jump into what I’d always been interested in, working for myself as a farm co-op owner. The fear of failing was real, and it had taken a long time for me to believe in myself and know that I could succeed. That was what held me back now.

The fear of putting myself out there again and failing, of having my heart broken. Again.

I truly didn’t know if my heart or body could withstand it.

“But maybe you could find something even better than what you’ve imagined,” Mom said, drawing my attention back to her. “Maybe there’s someone out there who’s been waiting for you to finally take the leap past maybe and say yes.”

I gave in to a real smile. “You missed your calling as a motivational speaker.”

“One of these days, I’ll write everything down for my memoir.” She slung her arm around me, hugging me to her, and I inhaled her familiar scent, finding comfort and love and strength.

“Thanks, Mom.”

She kissed my cheek, leaning away enough to smile at me, her hands on either side of my head. “You’ve always been my favorite. You know that?”

I rolled my eyes at her common refrain. Each of us girls was her favorite, depending on the day or even the hour. “You’re such a liar.”

She grinned. “That’s gonna be the title of my memoir.”

“Do I get a commission?”

“Of course.” She pulled me up with her when she stood. “Now, come on. Let’s go play a game.” I stepped into my heels and slipped my arm around my mother’s waist as she whispered, “How much alcohol’s in the punch? Because your sister looks like she might pass out in a few minutes.”

“Eh?” I waved my hand. “She’ll be fine.”

My mother laughed and towed me to the wall where I’d set up a few games, including the very popular Pin the Bow Tie on the Groom with Everett’s face on a poster of a groom in a tux sans bow tie. I’d included a few actual ties to wrap around players’ eyes as they took their turns, but with the side effects of the punch, the guests didn’t really even need to be blindfolded.

My mother had the same thought. “We should rework the rules. Take a shot of the punch, spin around ten times, and then try to do it.”

My cousin volunteered to be the first to adopt the new rules, and my mother happily offered to help. She handed her a cup with a bit of the punch and then counted as she spun Nina around and around. Snort-laughing, Nina stumbled toward Everett, pinning the bow tie outside of his head.

We all giggled delightedly, and, really, I didn’t need anything else in my life.

I was happy.

Sincerely.

So much so that I wasn’t even going to answer when my cell phone buzzed in the pocket of my sundress. But since it wasn’t my turn yet, I pulled it out, genuinely smiling at the text message.

Jude

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