like I wasn't meeting up with a woman. Was this a date? I hadn't figured that out yet.
Mom nodded, pursing her lips in the way that told me she was thinking. In the way I knew that she'd now say exactly what was on her mind. I hoped she wouldn't. Things had been even more tense between us since our failed family dinner. That was almost a week ago and we'd had several phone conversations since, but her tone had been tight and my spine had been rigid.
“Don’t you miss going out during the week?”
I lifted my hand to the bridge of my nose and pinched. "Mom …"
"I'm just asking," she said, forcing an air of innocence into her tone. "I mean, limiting yourself to only going out on the weekends has to be rough."
"It's called being an adult, Mom."
"But wouldn’t you like to have options? Remember when you were in college? You were out every other night, and you had friends, and—"
"I was a kid!" I scoffed incredulously.
"Yeah, and? Why should anything change?"
"Because I have a job," I laughed, shaking my head. "I have responsibilities."
"Well, if we find Jake a—"
"Mom," I closed my eyes and shook my head, "not now, okay?”
"I’m saying, if, Blake. If we find Jake a nice place, then maybe you could get out a little more.” She nudged an elbow against me and said, "And hey, you’re my only hope for grandchildren.”
I laughed at her attempt at a normal mother-son conversation. The sound was damn near hostile to my ears. "Yeah, okay."
"I'm just saying, maybe you could meet a girl."
"You have no idea if I've met a girl or not already," I dared to mention, and why? Why had I done that? I wondered what Dr. Travetti would say about that come Monday.
Mom looked instantly startled and hopeful. "Have you?"
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and shrugged. "I've seen this woman a couple of times," I answered honestly, not divulging the context in which I'd seen her.
"Wow," she mentioned, clearly taken aback. Her voice demonstrated shock and I struggled to find the happiness I thought I'd also hear. "Why haven't you said anything?" Ah, she was hurt.
"It's not serious, Mom."
"It's serious enough that you thought to mention it."
"I mentioned it because you won't get off my case," I said brusquely. "And because I wanted you to know that I'm quite capable of meeting people, even with Jake around."
She pinched her eyes shut and shook her head exhaustedly. "Okay, Blake," she sighed, dismissing me. And then, she walked away.
***
"You came!"
Audrey bounded toward me. It was a cold night and whatever top she wore was kept secret beneath her bright white coat. I wondered, though. What color was her shirt? And did it reveal the butterfly I’d carved into her chest? Could I make out the outline of her bra? Was she even wearing one?
I wondered what she'd say if she knew what vile things swarmed my brain. I wondered what she'd do.
"Of course I did," I answered, unsure of what to do. Should I hug her? Should I kiss her cheek?
Without giving me a moment to decide, Audrey wrapped her arm around mine and led me toward the steps down to the underground club. The contrast of our coats, black leather and soft white, was stark and alarming. We were the Yin and Yang, balance, and for the first time since meeting her, I wondered if maybe that could be a good thing.
After heading inside, she made a beeline to the reader list.
"Okay, you put your name down first," Audrey instructed, offering the pen to me.
"Why can't you go first?" I asked, eyeing the ballpoint skeptically.
"Because I want to make sure that we're both reading," she reasoned with an encouraging smile. She insistently tried to pass the pen into my empty hands. "Come on, Blake. Don't leave me hanging."
She was grinning at me, unbothered by my persistent scowl as I stared at the implement in her hand. Finally, I took it with a begrudging sigh and quickly scribbled my name on the first empty line.
"You can write mine down, too," Audrey said, her smile unrelenting, and so I put the tip of the pen to the line beneath mine. She watched as I scrawled her name in my trademark sloppy cursive. Chicken scratch, my mom always called it. She’d always thought I should practice neater handwriting, but Audrey's lips closed, hiding her teeth, and her smile shrunk to something smaller and more contemplative. "I