so, I’ll have no one left.
I’ve spoken with Katie every day this week. Her first obstetrician appointment is tomorrow, and she still hasn’t confronted Mike about Bryn, nor has she told him about the baby. Instead, she has started spying on him: checking his outgoing and incoming cell phone calls, reading his texts, showing up at his office unannounced, and making references to Bryn to gauge his reactions. All to no avail. I am strongly advising against this plan. “Just talk to him,” I tell her repeatedly. But she continues to put it off. She thinks that once everything is out in the open, her relationship with Mike will change irrevocably, and not for the better. Of course, I can’t claim to understand men at all. So, any advice I could offer isn’t worth much.
thirteen
After work on Thursday, I arrive at my parents’ house just before dinner, as requested. I stopped at home briefly to change out of my shorts and short-sleeved sweater and into a sleeveless dress. We’re all dressed up tonight since we’re crashing a black tie corporate event being held at the Marriot Hotel about a half an hour away. In honor of my presence at dinner, Mom serves some of my favorite dishes, telling me that I’m too thin and I don’t eat enough.
Between bites, I fill Mom in on the latest with Katie and Mike. She really is a good sounding board when it comes to talking about my friends. It’s only when my own personal life is the topic of conversation that I become uncomfortable. I also update them on the Napa buyout of BTS. I actually have a job interview scheduled for next week. It’s with a small local software company at their offices a few miles from where I work now. The job itself and the salary especially don’t sound very promising. But it will be good interview practice, and I can pop over on my lunch hour.
I notice that Dad, who was yawning when the topic of conversation was my friends, now hangs on my every word. With a mortgage to pay each month, he seems to worry about me more. He doesn’t talk much. He never has. And he hardly ever initiates a conversation, but these days he always seemed to ask, “Are you doing okay for money?” In turn, I always assure him that I am. I think he’s afraid that he’ll end up having to pay my mortgage in addition to his own. But I really am doing fine, and I even have a small, but growing savings account in case my job disappears.
The sun is slipping below the horizon when we finally pile into the car to head over to the hotel. From the darkness of the backseat, I watch headlights strobe by from the other lane. I always feel about thirteen-years-old when I sit in the backseat of my parents’ car.
Mom turns back to me from the passenger seat. “Laura said she wasn’t sure if you would be able to come with us tonight because you had a date.”
Laura is in serious trouble. “I didn’t have a date.”
“She said it was with the boy you got into a car accident with.”
I sigh. “It was supposed to be. Yes.”
“You didn’t cancel, did you?”
“No, he never called to arrange it.”
“Oh,” she says, her lips forming a tiny circle.
I see her thinking this over, and I’m not optimistic enough to believe she’ll drop it and turn back around. She is desperate for me to find someone. Here I am doing a favor for Laura, and she has broken the unspoken rule of never telling Mom about my private life. I want to absolutely strangle her. “Maybe something happened and he couldn’t call you,” she suggests after moment, raising her eyebrows at me.
“Maybe,” I said noncommittally.
“An emergency could have come up.”
“Anything is possible,” I smile grimly, desperate for a change in topic.
“You’re upset at him for not calling,” she states.
Despite my clipped monotone responses, she’s not taking the hint to drop the subject. I sigh again. “I’m not anything. I hardly know him. He said he would call and he didn’t. That’s all.”
“You could give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“Yes, I could.”
She narrows her eyes at my swift agreement, wondering if I’m being sarcastic with her. Of course, I am.
“Who is this?” Dad asks.
“No one,” I reply quickly.
He looks at Mom questioningly. She turns to him and puts on her long-suffering she’s your daughter expression.
We arrive at the hotel