- Alex -
hen is tango week?” my mom asked, flipping a glossy pamphlet over in her hand.
I took the lid off my Starbucks and leaned back in my usual kitchen chair.
“Shouldn’t it be coming up?”
I shrugged. “Does it matter? Unless you have a special outfit for tango week…?”
“For your information, I was going to ask Eddie to accompany me on tango week.”
My face fell. “Who the hell is Eddie?”
“The man who just moved in down the street. I told you about him.”
“No you didn’t.”
“Sure I did,” she said, using a napkin to wipe some condensation off her Frappuccino. “The widower. With the nice truck.”
“I’m sure I would remember something like that.”
“Whatever.” She waved the air between us. “You haven’t heard anything I’ve said for the last week and a half.”
“Sorry, did you say something?”
She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”
I took a sip of coffee.
“I mean it. You’ve been too much in your own head.”
“Says the woman who’s stalking the singleton down the street.”
“He has a good chin,” she said. “Figured the least I could do was welcome him to the neighborhood.”
“I suppose if your heart handled the foxtrot last week, you’re healthy enough for a flirt.”
“Excuse me for trying to spare you the awkwardness of dancing cheek to cheek with me in front of a room full of smiling dentures.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Oh please.”
“What?” She put a hand on her hip, causing her bangles to tumble towards her thin wrist.
“You’ve never given a rat’s about embarrassing me before. Just admit that you’re demoting me to your second-string dance partner. I can handle the truth.”
Her thin brows lifted. “You want the truth?”
I nodded.
“I want you to invite Gemma to the next class.”
I choked on my coffee, scorching the inside of my nose.
Mom handed me a napkin.
I held it over my face while my eyes watered.
“It’ll be a double date.”
I composed myself and met her gaze. “Absolutely not.”
“Did something happen with you two?” she asked. “You haven’t mentioned her in ages.”
“Because you don’t need a play by play of my personal relationships.”
Her lips puckered into a judgmental pout. “Jimmy already warned me of that much.”
I clenched my jaw. He was fucking always doing this! Ever since we were in junior high he’d been telling my mom stuff just to get me in hot water.
Then again, it’s not like I told him Gemma and I weren’t really speaking. Well, speaking yes, but ever since she asked me to give her space, I’d been a sulky-ass drama queen, and I knew it. But what else could I do? It was impossible to be near her and not ache for her. Even the way she smelled had become a dreaded torture.
And I didn’t want her to see me hurting. For better or for worse, I preferred if she thought I was angry.
“What happened?” my mom asked.
“Nothing. Stay out of it.”
Her eyes softened.
I groaned. “Please don’t make that face.”
“I’ve never seen you like this.”
“Like what?”
“All touchy about a woman.”
I took another sip of my coffee.
“Do you want some of my cake pop?” she asked, reaching for the paper bag between us.
“No.”
“So you’ll ask her, then?” She turned her gaze to the ball of iced dough and spun the stick between her fingertips.
“It’s not a good time.”
“Please,” she said. “It will take some of the pressure off me and Eddie.”
Somehow, my face dropped even further.
“Plus, I want to go on a double date before I die,” she said. “It’s on my bucket list.”
“It is not.”
She laid a hand across her chest. “Are you really going to argue with an old woman about what’s on her bucket list?”
“Come on, Mom. You’re better than this.”
“Can’t you at least ask her?”
I raised a hand and rubbed my eyes.
“Or give me one good reason why you can’t?”
I dropped my hand. “On one condition.”
She took a bite of her cake pop and leaned forward.
“You have to tell me the truth.”
She narrowed her gaze. “About what?”
“About your real motivation for doing this?”
She sighed.
“I’m doing it for your karma.”
I leaned back. “What?!”
“You get lots of points for entertaining old people.”
“What points?! I don’t need any points?”
Her head fell to the side. “You’ll need points if you sell the business.”
“Jesus, is there any button you won’t push?”
“Just ask her,” she said, wrapping the bare stick from her cake pop in a napkin. “Do it for a dying woman.”
I shook my head. “This is an Oscar-worthy performance. It’s a real shame you were never discovered.”
“Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe Gemma can help me get a YouTube channel up and running.”
I forced a smile, but inside my heart was sinking. After all, I doubted I was very high on the list of people she was in a hurry to do favors for right now.
And, suddenly, a wave of regret hit me like a truck. What was I doing? How did I get to this place where all the things I wanted seemed further away than ever?
And more importantly, what the hell was I going to do about it?