Page 16 of The Pucker and the Princess
Let’s be honest, I want Mom to hear it. That’s why I called.
“I’m okay,” I answer, trying to strike the balance of honesty without being overdramatic. “A little homesick, though.”
Mom makes a sympathetic noise. “I’m not surprised. I think that’s pretty normal. And other than that time you went to California with Gabby, this is the longest you’ve been away from home.”
Nodding, I continue circling the car, letting the smooth metal under my fingertips soothe me. I’m glad I didn’t let Dad talk me out of bringing her. He insisted I wouldn’t have time with thenew job, but we always make time for the things important to us.He’sthe one who banged that drum my whole life. I’m not sure why he wouldn’t get it now.
The real answer, of course, is that he doesn’t think this is what should be important to me. But I’ve been working on disentangling what I want from what my dad thinks I should want for years now. I’ve mostly succeeded.
Mostly.
“Yeah,” I whisper, then clear my throat. “I know. And I expected it, too. But knowing it’ll happen intellectually is different than actually experiencing it.”
“That’s true.” We lapse into silence for a moment, then Mom lets out a giant yawn, making me feel bad all over again.
“We can talk tomorrow, Mom. You’re tired. You should go back to bed.”
“No, no.” I can imagine her waving away my comment with her brows pulled together, her hand swatting back and forth like my words are an annoying swarm of gnats, and the image makes me smile.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, sweetheart. And as much as I loved having you here for as long as I did and wish my children didn’tallneed to be halfway across the country or more to follow their own paths, we both know this was the right choice.”
Sighing, I slide to the ground and sit with my back propped against my project car. “I know.”
“Have you made any friends?”
Shrugging, I think through all the people I’ve met since moving here. “Not really. My coworkers are nice, but I’m the boss. And two of my direct reports were vying for my position too, so while they’re plenty competent and respectful, they’re not friendly at all.”
“And outside of work?”
Dozer flashes through my mind, and I shake my head, as much to dislodge his image as to answer my mom, not that she can see me. “I’ve met a couple of my neighbors, but other than giving a guy a jump and helping him put in a new battery, it’s mostly just saying hello in the halls.”
“You helped him change his battery?”
Shrugging, I try to dismiss that line of questioning the same way she blew off my suggestion that she go back to bed. “Oh, yeah. I was heading out to work on my car earlier, and he needed a jump. So of course I gave him one. The guy was hopeless, though. Didn’t even know how to use jumper cables.”
“I know to you it’s like meeting someone who can’t read, but lots of people have to look up how to use jumper cables, Marissa. Heck, I’d want to double check myself before using them. It can cause a lot of damage if you do it wrong.”
“Oh, I know. Still …” I shake my head, grinning as I remember how lost he looked when I handed him the jumper cables. “Anyway. He needed a new battery. So this evening we picked one up, and I taught him how to change it.”
“You … of course you did.” Mom snickers. “That seems promising, though. Is he single?”
Another sigh escapes me, this one more frustrated than wistful, though. “I don’t know, Mom. We didn’t discuss our relationship history. I jumped his car and changed his battery. It wasn’t exactly a rom-com worthy meet-cute.”
Mom hums, though it doesn’t sound like she agrees with me. “You know, Lance helped Abby with her car when he was convincing her to give him a chance.”
“Okay, A—good for him. Clearly it worked, and I’m happy he and Abby are happy. And B—I’m not trying to convince anyone to give me a chance. I don’t need a chance. I’m not trying to date my neighbor the hockey player.”
“Hockey player?”
I drop my face into my free hand. I shouldn’t have said that. “Yeah. Hockey player. He lives in my building, and he plays hockey. That’s the sum total of everything I know about the man.”
“What about his name? Do you know his name?” The censure in her tone is unmistakeable.
“Yes, Mother. I know his name. It’s Dozer.” This is why I wasn’t going to bring him up. Even though I did actually want to talk about him. I just … all my feelings are confused.DoI want to spend more time with him? Yes. But also no. Do I want to talk about this with someone? Absolutely. Do I want to talk about him with my mom? Kind of. But as her oldest child and the only one who isn’t in a relationship, talking to her is a bit of a minefield.
“Dozer? What kind of name isDozer?”
