Page 9 of Unmatched

I just . . . want to be seen. Desired. That’s all.

I press No, then hit the green button. The screen loads, and now it’s official.

I’m Unmatched.

CHAPTER SIX

Thanks to ridiculously light lunch traffic, excellent parking karma, and some favorable planetary alignment, I find myself around the corner from Foothills Coffee a full eight minutes before I’m supposed to meet Caprice. Just enough time to check one more thing off today’s to-do list. I grip the steering wheel, glance once more at the clock on the dash, and hit the “call” button on my phone, working my mouth into an enthusiastic smile.

“Happy birthday, Mom!”

“Oh! Thank you, sweetheart!” my mother says, muffling the receiver to speak to someone in the background. “It’s my daughter. No, the other one, with the dog business.”

I roll my eyes and shut off the engine. My mom loves to tell her friends about her two successful daughters. Both of us are entrepreneurs with our own businesses. Though I suspect she finds my sister Celia's position as CEO of a mindset and life coaching company a bit flashier. After all, it doesn’t regularly involve dog hair and poop.

“I don’t want to pull you away if you’re celebrating,” I say quickly. “Did my package arrive?”

“It did, thank you. You know I love my films. That was such a sweet gesture.”

Her tone seems sincere, so I exhale. My mother is inherently difficult to buy for, but I thought I did okay this year with a “100 Classic Movies” scratch-off poster, a couple of theater passes, and a big popcorn selection. Her favorite films are from an era when all the men were heroes and all the women were there to be kissed. Maybe because our dad hadn’t stuck around to do either. But when we watched those films growing up, she always made sure Celia and I were paying attention.

“And,” she says, her voice suddenly injected with excitement, “It looks like I’ll be getting another special delivery today!”

Clearly I’m supposed to get the significance of this statement, but despite racking my brain, I draw a total blank. “Did you end up ordering that new couch?”

She laughs. “No, silly! Your sister is in labor! I get to be a grandma for my birthday!”

Oh.

Yet another thing my older sister has done better than me. Not only does she have a perfect job and live in a perfect house, she also married the perfect man (a doctor, in case that’s not obvious), and the two of them immediately set about giving Mom the one thing that was apparently missing from her life.

“Is it time already? I thought she wasn’t due till May.”

“End of April. But baby decided to come a little early!” Her voice sounds like she’s sitting on a cotton candy cloud.

“Well, keep me posted on...what they have.” Celia and Adam decided not to find out the sex of their baby, which, after being the first to produce an heir apparent, is the second most annoying thing ever. It just made sending a gift for the shower that much harder.

I make a mental note to text my sister later. Something congratulatory. Though I guess I can count on my mom to let me know when it’s official. I glance again at the clock on my dashboard, collecting my purse and sunglasses off the front seat. If Mom’s in a hurry to get back to gabbing about her impending grandchild with friends, I might still get to Caprice on time.

“You’ll be first to know after me.” She chuckles, and I prepare to say our goodbyes, but then she pivots the conversation so fast I hardly know what’s happening. “So, when will you be coming to visit?”

“Oh...uh...” I throw open the car door somewhat hastily, climbing out into the shadow of an apartment building on South Broadway. When my mother isn’t fawning over my sister or gossiping with her church friends, she’s plotting ways to get me on a plane to Ohio to see them. “I’m not sure. You know, I’m so?—”

“Busy,” she finishes.

A horn blares at me, and I glue myself to the side of my car in the rush of traffic. “Well, yes.”

That, and going home seems to shine a spotlight on every tiny thing I’ve managed to get wrong since puberty.

“Excuse me, I’ll be back in just a moment,” Mom says away from the receiver again, and now I wish I had gotten her voicemail. She comes back in my ear with a barely hushed tone. “I know I shouldn’t make comparisons, but if your sister can run her business and have a life, so can you. You haven’t been here since her wedding.”

“That was only last year, Mom. It’s just really hard to make time to?—”

“And when are you and that husband of yours going to start making me some grandbabies too?”

I nearly fall into traffic. “Mom.”

She snorts. “You two have been married seven years. What’s the holdup?”

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