That's (Not Exactly) Amore (8 page)

“What?” He frowns. Great. The frown is back. “What’d I do?”

“Nothing, you just scared me to death, that’s all.”

“Sorry.” He looks past me to Tabby and Dancy. “Can I get you anything?”

“No. We’re good.” Tabby stares at me. “How about you, Laini? Need anything?”

“No. Thanks anyway, Joe. I’m good.” I hop up. “As a matter of fact, I have to do some studying.”

I say good-bye to my pals, feeling good about my offer to sit with the twins. It’ll be fun. I like them.

I can’t help wondering if maybe I’ll have some just like them one day. Kids of my own. The sound of my ticking biological clock drowns out all of the obnoxious sounds coming from the street as I head back to my apartment.

7

A
n evening with a couple of energetic seven-year-olds is two things: fun and exhausting. But one good thing about Tabby and David being married now is that they don’t stay out late. A nice dinner and they’re home by nine thirty. By ten, I’m hopping off the subway (even though David tried to give me cab money). I like the subway. I know it’s weird. But it reminds me of Dad taking me to work with him during the summer when I was a kid. It was what we did together.

Shops are closing up, but people still clog the sidewalks. Of course there are a couple of clubs and restaurants open. I peek inside Pierre’s, a little French restaurant, as I walk past. Next to the window, a man is on his knee, offering a ring to a stunned woman. I stop and stare. “Say yes,” I whisper.

As though she really needs my prodding, she hesitates before reaching forward. Tears spring to my eyes and start to roll. I reach up to wipe them from my cheeks and that’s when they notice me—the Peeping Tom. The woman says something to the would-be groom. He turns and scowls.

“I’m sorry,” I say, even though there’s no way they can hear me.

I move on. And my heart nearly stops. Coming toward me, utterly handsome in his uniform, is Mark Hall. He smiles as though he’s genuinely glad to see me. “Laini! How are you?”

Lousy, I want to say. Lousy because you never called me, you jerk. Instead, I swallow my pride and smile. “Good. Just headed home.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

“Oh. It’s okay. Really, don’t worry about it.”

He falls into step beside me. “I wanted to call. Truly. But they put me on midnight shift for a few days to cover for a guy that broke his arm, and it lasted longer than I expected.”

“You couldn’t have called after you got home?” Oh, I could just kick myself for bringing that up. Why do I have to say what’s on my mind all the time?

A completely apologetic expression stretches across his handsome face. “The schedule threw me for a loop. Working all night. Sleeping when I could and still doing everyday stuff like laundry. I felt half dead. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I pat his arm because it seems like the thing to do. “I forgive you.”

His hand shoots up and covers mine. “I want to see you again.” The intensity in his eyes convinces me.

“All right.”

“How about Saturday night?” He grimaces. “No. You go to your mom’s on weekends. I don’t mind coming to Long Island for a date . . . if you don’t mind.”

Is he kidding?

“I don’t mind. But I have to warn you—my mom is pretty against me dating a cop. She’s got fear-of-death issues since my dad passed away.”

He nods gravely. “I understand. Not everyone can be married to a man in law enforcement. It’s a dangerous job. She’s right to be concerned for her daughter.”

Great. Mom’s going to love that. “Call me tomorrow,” I say, sliding my hand out of his. “I’ll give you the address and we can decide on a time.”

I watch his mouth as it spreads into a smile. Wow. He’s really cute. Even cuter than I remembered.

“Do you want me to walk you home?”

I shake my head. “I’m sure you have a beat to walk or something.”

Amusement covers his face. But not the kind that makes me feel mocked. It’s more like delight. “I do have somewhere to be. If you’re sure you’ll be okay.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s barely ten.”

Reaching forward, he squeezes my shoulder. “Okay, I’ll see you Saturday night, then. That’s the day after tomorrow.”

As if he really had to tell me.

When I walk in the door, I’m shocked to find all evidence that someone has just moved in swept away. There are no boxes, no packing bubbles or crates . . . nothing. Just a clean room. I would think I’d imagined the whole thing if not for the sound of someone singing in the shower. Off key, I might add. Which makes me feel better. I sing great.

I slip on a pair of lounge pants and a loose sweatshirt and head to the kitchen. I run water into the teakettle and set it on the stove. My mind is buzzing from the events of the day. I snatch up the phone and start to dial Tabby to thank her for inadvertently getting me a date, but then I realize newlyweds do not want to be interrupted on Valentine’s Day after the kids are in bed. So I set the phone back in its cradle and slowly back away.

Nancy shows up wearing a white terrycloth robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. She smiles. “Did you have a date tonight?”

I shake my head and use the excuse I’d planned (God bless the former babysitter and her strep throat).

Her eyes widen. “Really? I thought Joe was taking you out to dinner.”

“Joe?” I laugh. “Why would he?”

A shrug lifts her very slender shoulders. “Just a hunch. Guess I was wrong.”

“Slightly. Joe and I have never been like that.”

“I see.”

“So what did you do tonight?” I practically dare her to make me jealous. “Go out on a date?”

“No way. I’ve sworn off all guys for as long as I can stand it.”

“For as long as you can stand it?”

I never noticed before, but her nose wrinkles when she grins. “Well, I’m not exactly a nun. Right now I’m getting over a pretty bad breakup. But eventually I’ll need a man with big arms to sweep me off my feet.”

As if to demonstrate, she drops into a chair at the table and props her feet up on the chair across from her.

You have to admire her spirit. And those toenails. Pedicured.
Figures.
“Who did your toenails?”

She wiggles her toes. “Me. I have a kit. Want me to do yours?”

“Really?”

“Sure. What are roomies for?” She stands. “Besides, after that cinnamon roll, I owe you.”

Just wait until she gets a taste of my cheesecake.

Saturday morning when I get out of the cab, Mom greets me with a smile on her face. No, not that sad thanks-for-noticing-me smile. I mean, a genuine I’m-truly-not-depressed smile.

The blinds are pulled back and actual sunlight is bursting through the windows. If I had the guts I’d make a vampire crack, but better to leave well enough alone.

Only, another weird thing . . . There are bouquets all over the room. Gardenias on the table. Roses (roses?!) on the coffee table. And daisies, which happen to be my mom’s favorite flower but are not in season in February.

“What’s up with the flowers?”

Mom blushes. Is this an alien invasion? Mom doesn’t blush. Or open blinds, or smile without a darn good reason. What is going on?

“Mom?”

She gives a nonchalant little wave. “Oh, those are knockoffs from the florist down the street.”

“Aaron’s Flowers?”

The blush deepens as she nods.

“They have flower knockoffs?” I frown. “You mean like Prada?” Tabby and Dancy wear the real Prada. I can’t even afford the knockoffs.

But that’s beside the point. The actual point is that my mother is buying flowers and turning my Addams family home of depression and darkness into a sunshiny Care Bears house. It can’t be menopause. She went through that years ago.

“Ma?”

She turns to me with wide-eyed innocence. “Yes, darling?”

“Come on. Give it up. What’s going on?”

The phone rings. She smiles with fake apology. “Excuse me, I need to get this.”

“All right. But this isn’t over. Be prepared to explain.”

She waves me away.

I stare after her for a minute. She snatches up the phone and her face brightens even more—if that’s possible.

Something doesn’t add up here. Trudging up the steps to my room, I try to put two and two together. Flowers, smiles, light, phone calls. It almost sounds like . . . No, it can’t be that.

No way.
This woman can’t even throw away the holey robe my dad got her twelve years ago. There is not a tiny chance that she’s dating someone. Or is there? My mind goes back to the man a couple of weeks ago who couldn’t keep his eyes off her. How weird is this? A little flirtation with the florist down the block and all of a sudden Mom’s not depressed anymore. I mean, I’m glad and all, but still . . . it is a little weird.

In my bedroom, I pull out the outfit I plan to wear tonight. A long skirt—it’s a few years old, but I like it—and a short denim jacket that I happen to think complements the whole thing. No matter what Dancy or Tabby think. They can be slaves to the fashion industry all they want. I’d rather make my own decisions.

Mom taps on my door a second later and walks right in without waiting for me to invite her. But then, she never has, so I wouldn’t expect anything different.

“All settled in?” she asks, then notices the skirt. “Is that what you’re wearing to church in the morning?”

“Date tonight.”

Her eyebrows (which, by the way, are plucked for the first time in as many years as I can remember) shoot up. “You have a date?”

I nod, enjoying this feeling of control as she decides whether or not to go ahead and ask the questions or wait for me to offer the information. Normally, I’d take pity on her and just open up. But first I have some questions of my own.

“So, Ma,” I say, sitting next to her on the bed. “What’s with all the lights and flowers?”

She sucks in her lower lip and begins to nibble a little.

“Okay, seriously,” I say. “Something is going on. Do you have a boyfriend?”

Her eyes go big, and I know I’ve hit on something. “Do you? Ma!”

“No. Not a boyfriend as in we’re going steady or anything.”

Aw, she said going steady. That’s so cute. Okay, wait. Stop patronizing Mom and get some information.

“Who is he, Ma?”

Her face reddens considerably. “Aaron Bland—and don’t make any cracks about him being bland. Because he’s not. He’s very interesting. And nice. He goes to church with me. And he knows everything about flowers.”

“Even the knockoffs of the brand names?” I snort at my own joke, but judging from her scowl, she’s either not amused or she doesn’t get it. My money is on the former.

“Anyway, you’ll get a chance to meet him tomorrow at the church picnic.”

“What do you mean, church picnic?”

“There’s a picnic after service tomorrow,” she says in a tone that clearly conveys that I should already know this information. And if I don’t, well, that’s not her fault.

Who is this woman?

“I really don’t want to go to a picnic with a bunch of people I don’t know, Ma.”

She gives me a look, springs up from the bed, and stops at the door. “If I can do it, you can do it. Besides, we’ve been going there for a while. Maybe it’s time to get involved.”

And she just leaves! Just like that, before I can remind her that I’m thirty years old, I’ve been living on my own for years, and I do not have to go to her church picnic if I choose not to. I mean, really!

By six o’clock I’m showered, dressed, and sitting at the kitchen table watching the clock.

“For goodness’ sake, Elaine. Stop fidgeting.”

My mother calls me Elaine from time to time. I don’t like it, but what am I going to do? I can’t even get out of going to a church picnic once she’s made up her mind I’m going.

“I know. I’m just nervous. I haven’t been on a real date in a long time.” Other than the coffee date that turned into lunch. But this is a real, nighttime date. In a league all its own.

“I’m not sure I like the thought of you dating a police officer.”

She says this as though it’s the first time it’s come up. In fact, we’ve had more than one discussion today regarding the wisdom—or the lack thereof—of dating a man in such a dangerous profession.

“It’s a date, Ma. Not a wedding.” My lips twist into a grin. “Unless he asks for a quick elopement.”

A deep frown clues me in to the fact that Mom doesn’t find my quip amusing. “Is it too much to ask that I not be mocked for caring whether or not your husband dies in his prime?”

Her lower lip trembles. And just like that the mother I know has returned to the premises. I’d better do something quick or the blinds will close, the flowers will fade, and the sun will disappear behind a cloud.

“Ma, believe me, I appreciate your concern.” Even if I don’t exactly sound sincere. “But it’s way too premature to worry about what might happen
if
I marry a police officer and
if
he is harmed or killed in the line of duty. You can’t play it safe to the point that you walk away from something good on the off chance you might get hurt.”

The doorbell rings before she can respond. I frown. It’s only six fifteen. Surely Mark’s not the type to be this early.

Mom apparently notes my confusion. “That will be Aaron.” She kisses me on the head as she walks past the table. “Good night.”

“Wait a minute. You have a date too?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes, quite frankly. This is the woman who has cried herself to sleep for twelve years. How can she go from prolonged grief to “Hello, Good-Looking” just like that?

I stand and start to follow. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

She stops and holds up her hand. “No. If you want to meet him, you may do so at church in the morning. I don’t want to put a damper on my evening with Aaron by having him worry about whether he made a good impression or not.”

I’m not crazy about sending my mom into the night with a man I’ve never met. But she’s pretty resolute.

“All right,” I say, “I won’t meet him, then.” But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to take note of his appearance in case I have to identify him in a lineup.

When I hear the door close behind my mother I speed into the living room and peek behind the curtain, pulling it aside and watching her walk down the sidewalk with a man as tall as Lurch. My heart shoots into my throat and I have to think. I can’t let her go off alone with this man.
Think, think,
Laini. I glance about.
Think.
In a flash I snatch up a flower from one of the vases and fling open the door. “Ma!”