Page 18 of Delay of Game
Admitting defeat, I forced myself up the stairs, my knees groaning at the effort. In seconds, I’d find the dance outfit crammed underneath a squishy whale or used as bedding for a doll. Better to help her find it than turn up to dance class late.
“Don’t forget Gracie is coming by tonight,” Mom trilled from her room.
“I’m not calling her that,” I said.
“She asked us to call her Gracie.” She had her door open as she held a blouse in each hand. “Let her know I bisque fired her pieces. After she’s talked to Mila, take her back to my studio and show her how to glaze them.”
“Nope. Absolutely not.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe. “That’s your project. You can deal with it.”
Mom sighed, dropping her hands and letting the blouses flutter against the floor. “You know your way around that studio just as well as I do. Besides, it’d be good for you to spend some time with someone new.”
“There are a dozen rookies wandering the stadium. I’m talking to plenty of new people.”
“You’re just like your father, you know.” She waved the blouses at me. “Which one do you like better?”
“I don’t know. Red?” I asked.
“It’s a little low cut.” Mom frowned.
“Blue then. What the hell do you care, anyway? Don’t you have book club or something?”
Mila stomped out of her room, glaring at me standing in the hallway.
“No, that’s Wednesday,” Mom drawled. “I have a date tonight.”
“Daddy!” Mila shrieked. “We’re going to be late.”
“Wait, what?” I stopped mid-stride with a start, swinging back. “A date?”
“A date,” Mom replied breezily, hanging the red blouse back up in her closet and standing in front of the mirror with the blue one.
“Where are you going?” I asked carefully, ignoring Mila’s angry stomps and edging towards Mom’s room.
“Out. For a drink, then dinner.”
“What’s his name?”
She hung the blouse on the mirror and turned to face me, hand on her hip. “Don. He’s in my hiking group.”
Despite taking care of Mila during the football season, Mom had a cavalcade of friends and clubs: bridge, bingo, hiking, pickleball. She juggled her social calendar like a full-time job, meticulously filling the time she used to spend working with an array of activities and friends. I couldn’t keep up.
“Where exactly are you going?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She raked her hand through her hair. “Sip Society and then Little Italy for dinner. Did you want to meet him first?”
“Is that an option?” I asked.
“No,” she said sternly, before breaking into a smile. “Unless you want to meet him? He’s very nice. Handsome.”
“I hope you have fun.” The words curdled in my mouth, but I forced them out, anyway. Dad had passed nearly a decade ago. And with Mila heading off to school, I understood on a basic level why she’d want to date again. I didn’t agree with it, but I could be supportive. “Are you driving, or is he picking you up?”
“I’m meeting him at the bar.”
“Good.” I nodded. “I don’t want you in a car with him until I’ve met him.”
She smiled, deep set laugh lines forming around her lips and her eyes sparkling. “You worry too much. I don’t think anyone is out there kidnapping old ladies for sport.”
“You’re not old,” I said, clearing my throat. “And I’m happy for you. It’s about time.”
