Page 12 of One Last Chance

Joane flashes me a faint smile. “Y-yeah.” The moment she notices my cocked brow and my plain,tell meexpression, she relents. “I…I think Drew freaking groped me. It happened once before, but I figured it was by an accident, but—”

I groan and brace my teeth in disgust. “Yeah, he’s a fucking creep. Not that the HR cares, since he never escalates it further. Never did, anyway. I am sorry.”

“I needed someone experienced to help me with that stupid new program and—”

“You should’ve asked me. I’m pretty good with it,” I say in a comforting tone and touch her wrist as a sign of support. “If he tries again, tell him you’ll be happy to tell his wife all about how handsy he is. He thinks no one knows he’s married, but I saw him forget to take his ring off one morning.” Smirking proudly, I wink at Joane. “If I’m in a meeting and you need help, you can ask Jonathan. He’s pretty friendly and willing.”

He’s always looked at me with hidden disdain—I can tell he has his qualms about who orwhatI am—but he’s cordial enough, and will help Joane without being inappropriate.

“Th-thanks, Dayton. Really,” she says, glancing at me with a weirdly guilty expression. “I don’t know why you’re so nice to me.”

I frown. Carefully sipping my coffee, I saunter back toward my cubicle. “What’s the point of not being nice? This is work—we spend half our lives here. I’d rather it be pleasant. Costs nothing to be decent to people.” I glance back at her with a smile and lift my cup to her before turning around.

She’s a good person.At her age, I too was worried about everyone else and what they thought of me. Not like that goes away. I just got more used to it.

I hear steps behind me.“Wait! That date you told me about.” Joane lowers her voice to not bother our coworkers with the idle chatter. “So? How’d it go?”

Snorting, I turn on my heel and shrug. “Eh… I don’t think anything’s going to come out of it.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Joane pauses by my cubicle, pressing the papers against her chest. She has that pitying expression on her face—the same one I will get out of my moms when I meet them after work. Explaining my entire grim thought process to Joane would have cost me far too much mental strength, so I play along with the lie.

“Maybe next time,” I say with a faint smile and sit back down at my desk.

?

I finally park on the curb, after an hour of being stuck in the worst traffic imaginable. Now, I’m even more unsure if I’m ready for the emotional labor of dealing with my lovely mothers.Not like I have a choice in the matter.

Slowly, I get out of my car. The fence of our small family home, sitting in the calm, scenic suburbs outside of the city, has been repainted a different color since I last saw it.Again. I’m sure Ma rearranged half the rooms in the house as well.

I’m secretly looking forward to the chaos of it. It’s always something new each time I come back for our biweekly hangout.

Stepping up through the main door, I draw in the comforting, familiar scent of peonies and banana milk. “I’m here!” I shout while taking off my coat.

“We’re in the sunroom, sugar. Come in!” Mom’s voice flows through the hallway.

Smiling to myself, I walk ahead, and it doesn’t take long for the little approaching tippy-taps to reveal a small fluffy blur. “Hello there, Momo!” With an excited grimace, I spread out my arms and bend down to pick the dog up. It looks like he just got a fresh cut. Coupled with his cute rainbow bandanna, Momo looks like a living teddy bear.

While I hold him against my chest and let him lick my chin, I walk into the sunroom.

Most of the big, tropical plants are gone. Instead, the antique settee from the upstairs hallway has been placed on one end, and a side table from the living room next to it with a glorious bouquet of colorful flowers on it.

I raise my brows and quickly meet Mom’s gaze. She already has a telling smirk on and tries to not move from her position as she lies on the settee in the ‘paint me like one of your French girls’ fashion. To my left, Ma stands in front of her easel, halfway through painting her. The image gives a somewhat expressionistic impression. It is colorful and messy, not completely adhering to perspective or proportions, but it’s hers, so I like it. Painter’s palette in hand, she’s concentrating on measuring Mom from afar with her brush, only turning to me once I clear my throat.

“Hello, darling!” she rejoices. “Give me a second. I can feel the surge of inspiration passing through me, so I gotta finish this.”

I refuse to hold my chuckle of disbelief for a second longer. “What is this? What’s going on?” Putting Momo back down, I lock eyes with Mom. She’s still holding back a playful grimace, and I’m pretty sure I knowexactlywhat she’s thinking.

“What do you mean?” Ma mutters.

“This easel has been sitting in the attic even since you had your little art phase after I left for college,” I remind her with a gentletaunt to my tone. It was her way of dealing with the empty nest syndrome, but after like a month, she gave up like she always does and moved on to some other obsession. “She wanted you to get rid of all the clutter, didn’t she?” I say with an amused snort while glancing at Mom. Her face says all.

“Wh— Nonsense! I’ve just felt the urge to get back into it again is all!”

Folding my arms over my chest, I tilt my head and watch Ma avert her face, trying to hide the flush of her cheeks that’s telling me I’m right. Mom’s expression confirms that all this indeed is ma trying to convince her she in fact needs and uses all the crap in the attic. I’m pretty sure there’s still that flower-arranging station, a woodworking table, a bunch of yarn, and one or two old bird cages from that weird time of my childhood when she was really into breeding finches.

“How about we take a break, honey? Our child is here, and I can’t feel my leg,” Mom says while laughing, and slowly lifts herself off the settee. With a groan, she stretches, and Ma rolls her eyes with a loud sigh, admitting defeat.

“You’re both insufferable! No one in this house understands the sacrifices of art,” she grumbles. Thankfully, her tone is the opposite of her harsh words. As I stand there with a grin, she puts her supplies away and comes close with hands reaching for my face.

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