“Your mother says you’re dating someone,” Dawson’s dad said over the phone.
Dawson paused. It was about 8:00 p.m., and he was on his way home from the office after another long day. After the kiss the night before with Clara, he’d definitely consider them dating. But confirming that to his parents would be an entirely different story. And he didn’t know if the newness of what was developing between him and Clara would be up to the task of his parents’ scrutiny.
“Her name is Clara Benson,” Dawson said. “And like I told Mom, we’re friends.”
“Uh huh,” his dad said. “So you have plans with this friend on Saturday night?”
“I might,” Dawson said, knowing that his dad would get to the point eventually. His dad was the kind of guy who could spot an accounting error with a single glance, and predict the next big stock market success. But when it came to managing family dynamics, that was Mom’s field of expertise.
Dawson found it laughable that his mom had put his dad up to the task of getting him to commit to coming to a barbeque at his parents’ home—surely Paula Smith would be there. Instinct told him it wouldn’t do to offer to bring Clara with him. No, his mom wanted him at the barbeque, available and single.
“If you’re available, we’d love to see you there,” his dad continued. “It might be better if you don’t bring your lady friend.”
And . . . there it was.
“Tell you what,” Dawson said. “I’m going to invite Clara, and if she can come, I’ll bring her. If she can’t, I’ll come alone.”
The other line went silent. Dawson could just imagine that his dad was trying to figure out how to impart this news to Mom. Dawson really didn’t want to air out Paula Smith’s dirty laundry, but it might be the only way to get his mom off his back about her. This was all getting ridiculous. His divorce had been traumatic enough, and now he felt like he was a twenty-year-old bachelor with his parents trying to set him up with a “nice girl.”
“Thanks for the call, Dad,” Dawson continued. “I just got home, and I’m beat.”
“All right,” his dad said. “Take care, and see you Saturday.”
His tone sounded a bit distant, and Dawson could only imagine the report his dad would give to Mom.
Dawson climbed out of his truck and went into his condo. After flipping on the lights and setting his computer bag on the kitchen table, he opened the refrigerator. Not much selection. Grocery shopping might actually help, but even when he did shop, half the food went to waste. It looked like he’d be eating another freezer meal. He should have stopped to grab takeout on the way. But tomorrow, Clara would be cooking for him. She refused to tell him what she’d fix, but that thought would keep him content to eat something manufactured tonight.
He pulled out a box of some sort of chicken and pasta and set it in the microwave. While it cooked, he went into his bedroom and changed into some gym shorts and a T-shirt. He was tempted to lie down in bed and go to sleep right now, but his growling stomach would wake him in a few hours. Besides, he had an early morning court appearance he needed to double-check some things on.
So he walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a glass, then filled it with ice water. He leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting for the microwave to finish. He sent Clara a text: Heating up a microwave dinner, wishing you were here cooking for me.
He smiled when she texted back seconds later. Chauvinist.
So he wrote: Amended to: wishing you were here.
She sent back a smiling emoji.
They’d texted back and forth a few times today, but he hadn’t brought up the unexpected kiss. He didn’t want her telling him it was a mistake, and the fact that she was texting him was encouraging. It also made it hard not to just drive to her work or find her apartment and knock on the door. He couldn’t ever remember being this anxious to see someone, especially when he’d just seen her less than twenty-four hours ago.
The microwave dinged, and he rose to open the door and pulled out the bubbling dish. While he let it cool, he texted, I can bring over ice cream if you haven’t had your dessert yet.
She wrote: Nice try. I’m still recovering from that seafood dinner. See you tomorrow.
Dawson sighed. Fine. Did we decide on a time? Or a menu? Do you want me to get some groceries?
A few minutes passed, then: I’ll get the food, and I’ll see you around 6:00. What’s your address?
Dawson sent over his address.
She replied: Thx. Be hungry.
He thought about sending something flirtatious, but he’d much rather call her or see her in person. His phone rang, sending a jolt through him. “Hi, Mom.”
“Dad told me you’re bringing that Clara woman to the barbeque.” Her tone was brisk.
“I don’t know yet,” he said. “I’m going to invite her, but if she can’t come, I’ll come alone.” Dawson knew his mom already knew all of this.
His mom exhaled. “If you haven’t invited Clara yet, then why don’t you just come alone? It would be fun to catch up on old times with Paula and her family. They’re really looking forward to seeing you again.”
“I understand, I really do,” Dawson said. “Paula has a great family, and it will be nice to see them. But I hope you haven’t given Paula or her parents any ideas about me being interested in reconnecting with Paula. Our relationship is in the very distant past, and when we broke up, it was for good.”
“She’s been through a lot of hard times, Dawson,” his mom said, as if she hadn’t heard a word he said. “I think it will be great for both of you to get to know each other again. You have a divorce in common, and you’re both more mature and seasoned now.”
Dawson gripped the edge of the counter, letting it take the brunt of his frustration. “We didn’t break up because of immaturity.”
“You guys had such fun together,” his mom said. “Paula’s mom and I were just reminiscing the other day about . . . ”
Dawson tuned her out; he had to. He was so close to telling his mom that Paula had been with pretty much every guy in high school that would have her. He’d been naïve enough to think she really liked him, and that their relationship would be exclusive. She’d been the first woman he’d ever been intimate with, and so maybe that’s why the betrayal had hurt so much. It might also be why he never confronted Romy about how late she came home at night. He didn’t ever want to admit to himself that Romy was like Paula.
When it sounded like his mom was winding down a little, he said, “Okay, Mom, I should run. Long day, and I haven’t eaten yet.”
“You know you can stop over on your way home from work to eat,” she said. “I can always warm up something for you.”
Another frozen dinner, but different kitchen. Dawson didn’t point that out. His mom ordered meals from a gourmet delivery service, so it was higher quality than the standard grocery fare. It was remarkable how hearing his mother’s voice often made him feel like he was fifteen again.
When he hung up with her, he ate, then spent the next couple of hours going over the case details for the next morning. He hoped it would be a day of reckoning for his client, Mr. Peterson. The man had lost nearly everything in a house fire, only to find out that his insurance policy he’d been paying on for over forty years had expired three days before the fire. Dawson hoped to get Mr. Peterson not only the insurance money he was due, but a little extra.
By 11:00 p.m. Dawson was feeling completely exhausted, but confident about the court hearing in the morning. He’d researched every possible loophole and had a solid argument and evidence for each. He picked up his cell and wondered if it was too late to text Clara. Probably. Of course, she had said she had sleeping issues as well. But still . . . he felt like he had to walk a bit of a tightrope where she was concerned.
Her kissing him had made it clear that she did like him, as more than a friend, but he didn’t want to . . . what had she accused him of? Being overwhelming. So he instead set his alarm for 5:30 a.m. so he could get a run in before he had to get ready in the morning. After setting his phone on the nightstand, he was surprised that a text buzzed in.
Maybe it was Clara, and his pulse drummed as he picked up the phone.
Hey Dawson, I hope it’s not too late to text. Or if you’re asleep, you have your phone turned off so that this doesn’t wake you up. LOL.
Dawson scanned to the very end of the lengthy text and saw Paula’s name. It was like someone had knocked the breath out of him. He scrolled back up to start reading again. Hopefully she was going to tell him she was annoyed with their moms too, and that she refused to be set up.
Your mom gave me your number and thought I should reach out to you since you’re going through a hard time. I told your mom that I totally get what you’re going through! My divorce was final about a year ago, and some things are still hard, you know. Like the loneliness. Not that I didn’t make the right decision by kicking Greg out, but I’m sure you understand the mixed emotions. They’re crazy! Anyway, you’ve got my number now. Let’s talk sometime. Maybe grab a coffee or something. It would be fun to catch up. –Paulie
He’d called her Paulie, as had a bunch of kids in high school. With the reminder of the nickname, more memories came flooding back. He sat down on his bed with a sigh. One part of him wanted to ignore the text and delete it. The other part of him knew his mom knew Paula had his number, so if he ignored the text he’d hear about it. And waiting until morning to reply would only mean he would stress about it all night long.
So he typed a reply.
Welcome back to Pine Valley. Yeah, divorce sucks, although I’m now dating a great woman. So I guess there’s life after divorce, huh? I’ve got a crazy work schedule, which I’m sure my mom informed you about, since she tells everyone. But I’ll most likely see you at the barbeque Saturday. Have a good night.
He hit SEND and turned off his phone, hoping he’d been nice but obvious that he wasn’t interested in “catching up.”