Chapter Two
“Have you found a boyfriend yet?”
I roll my eyes – my mother is relentless about me finding a boyfriend. “How is your book club, Mom?”
I'm rushing around the house, looking for my uniform – and not having a lot of luck. By day, I'm an administrative assistant for a small company. Which is just a fancier way of saying that I'm a secretary. I don't mind the menial office work, actually. I only wish it paid better. I make enough to keep the lights on, pay the rent, and put food on the table – but not much more than that.
Which is why I pick up shifts down at a sports bar called The Bullpen. Yeah, the uniform isn't the most dignified around – short black shorts, a tight black and white striped shirt, black ballcap, and black knee-high socks – I call it sexy referee chic. It's a feminist's nightmare, but the guys seem to like it well enough – I never fail to leave work with less than a hundred bucks in tips.
Which is why I don't mind the sexy referee chic and putting an extra little swish in my walk – with my hips and hourglass figure, I think I make it look damn good.
“Our book this month is terrible,” she says. “That damn Bridget Scalia picked one she knew I'd hate. That awful, vindictive bitch.”
“Well, you did kind of steal her man, Mom,” I say, laughing.
Though barely fifty-five, my mother currently resides in a nice senior community back in New York – and when I say nice, I mean nice. It's like its own little city inside that community. It's got its own stores, post office, entertainment complex, bowling alley – it even has its own movie theater. Hell, if I were old enough, I'd move in there too. You have to be fifty-five though, so I've got a few years yet.
But, if I thought I had drama in my life, it's nothing compared to what happens within the walls at the Whispering Grove Senior Community. It's amazing to me that people of their ages could be so – petty and vicious. But then, they've had a lifetime to perfect the art.
But my mother – I never expected her to get caught up in that. And I really never expected that my mother, of all people, would have stolen somebody's man.
“I did not steal her man,” my mother snapped. “Harold simply preferred my company to hers. And I don't blame him. That woman is not only a shrew, she's as dumb as a box of hammers. I can only imagine what trying to hold a conversation would have been like for Harold. He's a former English professor, you know.”
I laugh. “I know,” I say. “You told me. Several times, actually. But I'm glad you found somebody to spend some time with, Mom. Even if you did steal him from somebody else.”
“I did not –”
“I'm teasing you,” I laugh. “Settle down, Mom. It's just jokes.”
She huffs. “Not very funny ones.”
“Well, we can't all be professional comedians.”
“Speaking of men –”
Great. It always comes back to this. My mother is like a pit bull – once she gets her teeth into that bone, she doesn't let go. It's a conversation we have every time we talk and frankly, a conversation I'm more than a little tired of.
“Can we talk about this later, Mom?” I ask. “I'm running late for work.”
“I just worry about you and Justin, honey,” she says. “Out there all alone –”
“I've got friends. Good friends. We're not alone,” I say. “And Melinda is out here. She watches Justin for me all the time. So, we've got family too.”
“It's not the same,” she says. “You need companionship, honey. Adult male companionship. We all do.”
“Is that why you stole Harold from Bridget,” I say and laugh, desperately trying to divert the conversation.
“I didn't steal him,” she says. “But we're talking about you now, honey.”
“And I have to get to work.”
“You need a man in your life –”
I sigh, frustrated beyond belief. “I have a man in my life, Mom.”
“You do?” her voice immediately perks up. “What's his name?”
I rack my brain, desperately trying to come up with a name for my fictitious boyfriend. “Caleb,” I say. “My boyfriend's name is Caleb.”
“Boyfriend?” she says. “Why is this the first I'm hearing of him?”
“Because – I – I didn't want to mention it until I knew we were a serious thing.”
“Oh?” she asks. “And how serious is this thing?”
I glance at my watch and feel my anxiety shooting through the roof. I'm going to be late if I don't get her off the phone and get out the door soon – I've still got to drop Justin off at Melinda's before I go to work.
“Serious enough,” I say. “Look, Mom –”
“Are we talking marriage serious, honey?”
I sigh and feel like screaming. I can feel the seconds ticking away – and every second I continue to stand there, the later I'm going to be. My boss is completely anal-retentive and has a serious thing about punctuality – and I really need to keep this job.
“Yeah, Mom,” I say, trying to figure out the quickest way to get her off the phone. “He's already proposed and everything.”
The screech that followed would have burst my ear drums if I hadn't held the phone away from my head.
“Details,” my mother nearly screamed when she could finally breathe again. “I need details, honey.”
“I'd love to give you all the details, but I really need to get to work,” I say. “I'm going to be late.”
“Later then.”
“Sure thing.”
“Swear it?”
“Mom, seriously,” I say, exasperated. “I have to go.”
“Oh, fine,” she sighs. “But I expect a full story when we talk next. I want all the details, Veronica. I can't believe you've kept this secret from me this long.”
“Fine,” I say. “I'll tell you everything. Later. I have to go.”
“Love you, peanut,” she says, using the nickname she'd given me back when I was a kid.
“Love you too, Mom,” I say, smiling despite myself.
I click off the call and sigh loudly. What in the hell had I just done? It's bad enough that I'd made up a fictitious boyfriend – but making up a fictitious fiancé is ten times worse. A hundred times. I want to scream and pull my hair out. My mother has me so wrapped up in knots about this whole needing a boyfriend thing that I'd just made my life a thousand times harder than it needs to be.
But, I don't have time to dwell on it. I need to drop Justin off and get to work so a crowd of drunk, horny men can ogle my ass all night.
It's not glamorous, but it pays the bills.