Page 37 of Keeping It Professional

“Next week’s Mom’s birthday. We have a whole weekend planned.”

“And the week after that, I have a volunteer thing. Teaching kids CPR. Damn it, uh…”

I felt my chance slipping away — thwarted, of all things, by our busy lives. “How about this week, one night after work?”

We set up our date for Thursday night, and when I hung up, the whole day seemed brighter. The pale winter sun felt warm as spring. My kitchen smelled inviting, all fresh and clean. I couldn’t even be mad at the stain on my floor: it gave the room character. A lived-in feel.

I floated downstairs and walked the six blocks to Mom’s, and found her waiting out on the porch. She saw me coming and arched a brow.

“Well, somebody’s happy. Who stuffed a bluebird in you?”

I laughed. “No bluebird. It’s just a nice day.”

She looked up at the low sky, all winter-white. The sun was a faint smear through the dense clouds. “What’d you do, get promoted?”

“What, six weeks in?”

“I don’t know. You might have. You’re good at that job.” Mom headed inside, rubbing her hands to warm them. She nodded at the sheets spread out over the floor. “We can do downstairs today, then upstairs next week. My room and your old room. Is it a boy?”

I peeled my coat off. “Is what a boy?”

“What’s got you so cheerful.”

I tried not to smile, but it was too late. Mom had seen it already, and her whole face lit up.

“I knew it! You’ve met someone. I love this for you. Is it that fiery partner? I’ll bet it is.”

I hated how quick she’d been, sussing me out, but at the same time, I loved how easy she’d made it. I didn’t have to admit she’d been right about Miles. She’d seen it somehow, long before I had, the spark that had fueled our early tension. I could see it now, how I’d wanted to impress him. How he’d had his walls up, and I’d wanted in. And now I was in, and it felt great.

“He asked me today,” I said. “We’re going for dinner.”

“Ooh, where’s he taking you? Are you excited?”

“Excited and nervous. He hasn’t said yet.”

Mom levered open the first can of paint. She stirred it, then decanted it into a paint tray. “So, are you nervous he’ll pick somewhere cheap? Or are you just nervous for your first date?”

“The latter,” I said. I reached for a roller. It still had the plastic on, so I tore it away. “I mean, if it works out, it could be amazing. He’s such a good guy once you crack that hard shell. But if wedon’twork, he’s still my partner.”

“And you’re both adults.” Mom dipped her roller. “Think of it this way: you work sixty-hour weeks. You get off work, and what do you do?”

I sighed. “Yeah. Point taken.”

“You go home, you shower, and you fall into bed. Your days off, you clean, or you have to shop. Work is your dating pool. Well, that or Wegmans.”

I laughed at the thought of meeting my soulmate at Wegmans, between the fruit and the gluten-free bread. My last shopping day, I’d gone in my PJs, with my wool coat thrown on top. I’d barely stopped to text Mom to see if she needed anything, let alone scope out the local talent.

“Another thing,” Mom said, rolling on paint. “Your father and I got on because we were both teachers. When I came home in a bad mood, he understood why. It could be the same thing for you and Miles. He won’t resent you for working late, or if you get stressed. When you have a bad day, he’ll know how you feel. He’ll know how to support you, and that goes both ways. If you two work out, you’ll be there for each other.”

Mileshadbeen there for me when Mom’s car got booted. He’d waited with me and made sure I was safe. And he’d done that before he’d much liked me, back when I’d still been the thorn in his side. Then he’d been there again when our ambulance crashed, rushing to make sure I was okay. I’d opened my eyes to him checking me over. Speaking softly to me, to ease my fear.

“Careful,” said Mom. “You’ll get paint on your leg.”

She was right — my roller was dripping. I wiped off the handle and wrapped it in cloth. Maybe one day, if things went right, it would be me and Miles painting our place. Picking out curtains. Towels for the bath. I smiled, trying to picture how his current place looked. Was he a neat freak, like on the job? Or did he go home and release his inner trash panda? I fell somewhere between messy and neat, a huge pile of laundry, but my kitchen was clean.

“I guess I’m nervous because we’re at the beginning. There’s so much about him I still don’t know.”

“That’s the fun part,” said Mom. “When it’s all a surprise.”

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