Page 320 of Dark Love

“With work and everything, you don’t have much time. And we love to help you.”

More like you want to check to make sure I’m okay. “If you come down, I’ll take you and Dad to my favorite little restaurant. It’s this little hole in the wall place in an alley.”

“You eat in an alley! That doesn’t sound safe or sanitary.” Mom’s nose is probably wrinkled.

“You know I wouldn’t have moved here if Dad hadn’t said it was safe.”

“Safe is subjective. You’d be safer living with us. A woman living alone in a big city like Urbium is never truly safe.”

I thought the same thing until I did research on this little neighborhood. There hasn’t been so much as a single pick-pocketing incident, let alone a break-in here in two generations. It’s like criminals are afraid of this neighborhood. I probably wouldn’t even need to lock my doors at night, but there’s no sense in testing the limits. “Mom.”

“I know. I know. You’re an adult. You need your space to spread your wings and explore the world. I just wish you could explore here. Speaking of exploring; how is that new job of yours?”

“Hard. It’s really hard, but I think I love it.”

She sighs. “I’m really proud of you. Are you making friends at work? Some of the point of getting this job was to make some friends.”

“I have friends.” Sort of.

“People you talk to on the computer don’t count. You don’t go out to the movies with them or out to dinner. You need to make some real friends. People that you actually see outside a computer screen.”

“We meet in person.” We see each other once a year in person, but we meet up virtually often.

“Dahlia Prudence.”

“I’m trying to make friends. I really am. I went out to get drinks with some of the girls from work last Friday night after shift.”

“Drinks.” Mom’s teacup clinks onto the counter. She never calls me without a cup of tea in hand.

Maybe I should make one. Just to test out the cookies with… except I don’t have milk.

“That sounds promising. Did you meet any nice men while you were out getting drinks?”

Vex doesn’t really count as a ‘nice’ man. “No, Mom.”

“Well, next time you go, suggest going to a nicer bar. Something closer to the business district.”

“Mom.” I peel the wax paper off my softened butter and plop it in the bowl.

“What, you need a man with a good job. Men become very insecure if a woman makes more money than they do. You need a stable, well-off man.”

“Mom.”

“Don’t you even give me that women’s empowerment garbage. You have a job. You have your own money. Your own life. You need a man that’s just as secure in his life as you are in yours.”

“Mom, I don’t need a man.”

“Of course, you don’t ‘need’ one, but don’t you want one, eventually?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not a no.”

“Mom.” I crack the egg with a little more force than normal, and it crumbles in my hand and the cup.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll let it go for now. Tell me all about this work of yours. You know a good way to make friends is to bring some treats to work. Have you brought them some brownies yet?”

Oh, she’s expecting me to pull out the big guns this early. “No brownies yet. But I am making cookies.”

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