Page 43 of Perfect Praise

“About turning thirty.”

“Fine,” I say. “I think it’s going to be the same as twenty-nine.”

“Sure,” she says, “but I’m sure it’s scary starting over. Thinking you were with the man you were going to marry, and now you’re single.”

“Thank you,” I say, immediately regretting that I picked up the phone. “I always welcome the reminder.”

“Sweetie, don’t be sensitive,” she says. “We all get old.”

“I’m not old, Mom,” I insist. “And I don’t want to marry someone who doesn’t love me. That’s not too much to ask.”

She hums in response somewhere between agreement and condescension. “How’s your job going? Anything interesting or new?”

“Sadly, no. It’s men still swinging golf clubs. But I like it enough. After Camille’s maternity shoot, I was thinking I might start doing that in my free time.”

“Don’t do anything rash, Maren.”

“I wouldn’t,” I stress. “It’s just an idea. I still need a pesky little paycheck and health insurance and a 401k. I don’t know. Forget it. It’s just a dream.”

Her chuckle scrapes along my eardrums. “I’m only looking out for you. I wouldn’t want to see you make a huge mistake like quitting your job.”

“I know,” I sigh.

She sighs harder. “What?”

“Nothing, Mom. I’m not a child, and I can make my own decisions. I know I need money to live.”

“I’m trying to give you advice because I love you.”

And she does. In her own way. But that way, I’m starting to see, has shaped the person I’ve become. No wonder I’m a people pleaser. No wonder I have a praise kink.

“I know,” I say, softening. “I’m sorry. I’m tired, but I promise I won’t make any stupid decisions.”

My phone buzzes, and I pull the phone away from my ear to see Locke has texted me.

Hottie Icicle

My family wants to meet you if you’d like to come over fordinner.

I shoot off my reply, happy to have anything other to do than converse with my mother over my age and profession. I’d accept an invitation to sit on a transatlantic flight in the middle seat next to a screaming baby right about now.

“Oh, Mom,” I say hurriedly, “I have to go. I have plans with a friend.”

“A frien—”

“I love you,” I say, cutting her off and hanging up before she can play 20 Questions about my fake friend.

“Why would you putit that way?” Elise asks over my shoulder.

“Because it’s the truth,” I say, putting my phone down next to me on the couch and covering it with my hand. “And stop reading my texts. I’m a grown man.”

She pinches my cheeks in a way only she could get away with before hugging me from behind. “She is all alone over there, Locke. It’s the nice thing to do. And sure, you’ve never brought a girl home in your life and now one islivinghere, so excuse me if I want to meet her.”

My phone buzzes underneath my hand. Maybe it’s a little too quickly how fast I go to read it.

Maren

I would love to. Should I get ready and come now?

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