Page 58 of Tempt Me

I blinked. Last year, I’d gone with Daniel van der Poel. We often went to events as friends, but people were starting to link our names in a more serious way. Normally, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to showing up to the picnic with him, but I didn’t want to upset the delicate balance of whatever this thing with Jamila was, especially after the debacle of Billie Woods’s Christmas party.

“I…I don’t know. I’d forgotten.”

“Forgotten? That’s not like you. Take Daniel. I’ll call his mother.”

“No!” I winced as soon as I said it. These things needed nuance, and I’d been completely uncool.

“What? You two aren’t on the outs, are you?”

“No. We just…haven’t seen that much of each other lately.”

“Is he dating someone?”

“I don’t know.”

“He just broke up with Bella Waddingworth,” Charles said.

We both turned wide eyes to him.

“What? I hear things. Bob Waddingworth and I played golf last Saturday.”

“Then it’s a perfect time for you to go out with him,” Mother said. “You need to settle down. Daniel is a good choice.”

“Settle down? I’m only twenty-six!”

“I was only a year older than that when I had Jackson.”

“Ugh. That was a different time, Mother. I’m not ready to settle down with anyone.” Certainly not Daniel van der Poel, who cared more about his investment portfolio than about anyone I’d ever known him to date.

“A steady boyfriend would give you the focus you need.”

I let Mother’s words sit on the table like the plate of bacon, grease congealing on its cold surface.

After a beat, I said, “You let Jackson, Andrew, and Sam have careers before you pushed them to date anyone.”

“Natalie.” Mother’s eyes softened. “You might have more success as a helpmate than as a career person. Like me.”

Sure, I liked helping people. But that didn’t mean I’d given up on finding a career. But my mother had given up on me and that stung. “Bye, Mother. I’ve got to meet Jamila.”

“Think about what I said,” she called after me. “I’ll phone Daniel’s mother.”

“No, thanks,” I called from the hallway, picking up my bag.

After that magical kiss with Jamila, the thought of going anywhere with someone like Daniel repulsed me. Even if I could never bring Jamila to a political picnic, I’d rather become a hermit like my sister than put on my socialite act again.

We only stayedat Jamila’s long enough for her to pack a picnic basket into the back of the red convertible and strap Quill.i.am snugly across her body in a soft carrying pouch. When he snuggled between her breasts and closed his eyes, I envied him a little. Then we were on the road, Jamila driving.

On the hour-long drive south, we talked about her week at work. I wished I’d paid attention to my computer-programmer siblings’ code-speak so I could have understood the problem Jamila described. It had taken up her evenings all week, but they’d found a solution late Friday afternoon that had her giddily optimistic about the release date, a scant three weeks away. She tapped the steering wheel to the beat of a Lizzo song playing on the radio.

“We’re going to Santa Cruz?” I finally asked as we took the exit.

“Yep.” She grinned. At a stoplight, she pressed a button, and the roof retracted into a compartment in the back of the car.

I took a deep breath of salty air. “To the beach?”

“Yep.”

“You should’ve told me. I’d have brought a swimsuit.”

---