Page 8 of The Swiping Game
4
DEAN
There arepros and cons of living in Downtown Nashville. One of the pros is that you’re in the center of the nightlife. You can hear the sounds of music below and even feel the energy of the people flooding Broadway.
On days like today, when I just want to put my feet up, crack open a beer, and get lost in the pages of the book I’m reading, living downtown is a big con. Because even with the patio doors shut to the outside world, I can still hear the people below.
And my phone ringing.
“For fuck’s sake, can’t I have one night off?” I say to no one as I fish my phone out of my pocket to find that it’s my younger sister.
“Oh, this ought to be good.” I head to the kitchen to pull a beer out of the refrigerator.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I let out a chuckle as I slide open my patio door and take a seat on my balcony. It’s a warm night, and if I can’t have my silence, I might as well pretend to be with the crowds. “It’s Friday night, and we haven’t talked in months. Which means you either have news to break to me or you’re calling to let me know it’s my turn to deal with Mom.”
On the outside, you would never know that Hazel and I are related. With having different fathers, we don’t share the same last name. My dark features are from my father, while her blonde hair and green eyes are from our mother. Other than that, we’re as alike as siblings can be, especially when it comes to our work ethic.
As in, we never stop. We both picked careers that would make sure we never had a second to ourselves. I majored in sports management before I went to law school, eventually landing a job with Elite Global, a talent agency in Nashville that has divisions in sports as well as entertainment. You can’t be a talent agency in Nashville and not have a wing devoted to musicians.
As for Hazel, she decided at a young age she wanted to be her own boss. And when I say young age, I mean before she could drive. I’m not talking about lemonade stands or a paper route. The girl was operating a fully functional babysitting syndicate for our neighborhood by the time she was twelve. Now she’s the developer and owner of the most popular dating app in America, Left for Love.
“Why can’t a girl just call her brother because she misses him?”
“Because that’s not how we operate. So which one is it?”
She lets out a sigh, and if I were a betting man, which I am, I’d guess she’s holding a glass of way too expensive merlot as she falls onto her leather couch. “Mom called tonight.”
“Better you than me.”
“That’s why I’m calling. To warn you. Expect your call Sunday afternoon.”
I should have known that my turn would be coming, and I’m at least glad for the heads-up. “What’s the topic of conversation this month?”
“You have three guesses, and the first two don’t count.”
“Ah, the never-gets-old conversation of when we’re settling down and giving her grandkids.”
“Bingo.”
I don’t even know why my mother still tries to have this conversation with us. You would think after the hundredth time she would know what the answer is—neither of us are necessarily looking for a life partner and two-point-five kids with a house in the suburbs. My schedule is too unpredictable to even think about seriously dating someone, let alone trying to have a family. And even though Hazel runs a company that has “Find your match with one swipe” as their motto, the woman couldn’t be bothered to even try and date.
She has a world to conquer. You can’t do that when you’re tied down. Her words, not mine.
But our mom won’t hear any of our, what she calls, excuses. The woman is of the belief you have to be in a relationship to be happy. Which is why not even a year after my dad died of cancer, she remarried Hazel’s dad. The woman has never been single. She’s never had a job. I get that she believes her way of life is the key to happiness, but as much as we try and explain that in our own way, we’re also happy, she won’t hear of it.
Her heart means well. But now we have monthly phone calls where we tell her that nothing has changed and that no, we aren’t bringing anyone to meet her at the next family dinner.
“Is that the only reason you called? I mean, while I appreciate the heads-up, you know I can handle Mom.”
“Actually, I wanted to tell you that I’m going to be in town next week. I wanted to see if you’d be around and we could meet up for dinner.”
“To what does Nashville owe the honor?” I say as I stand up to walk inside to my kitchen to grab another beer. “Getting tired of that constant sun in Los Angeles?”
“Something like that,” she says, her voice more hesitant than normal. “We’re actually thinking of moving headquarters to Nashville. I’ve narrowed it down to a few spaces, so we’re coming out to make the final decision.”
“Wow.” That news is enough to stop the presses. My sister loves Los Angeles. She couldn’t move out there fast enough after she graduated from high school. She went to UCLA, graduated top of her class, and was working at a startup before she even walked across the stage. She always said that everything happened in California, and that’s where she needed to be. “Why the move?”
