Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
That’s why she said yes to the ride into town. Then, she stepped into the uncomfortable conversation with Agatha to prop me up in front of one of my dad’s fans. And now, she’s not even throwing shade on Mister Cheese Douche, who I sincerely hope slices jalapeños one night then forgets to wash his hands before he jacks off.
No wonder she hasn’t met a decent guy. There’s hardly anyone worthy of her. The odds are not in her favor.
Because she deserves the best. She is the best. As I watch her from the other side of the booth, a part of me wishes I could be that guy for her.
Just the small, emotional part of me though. The intellectual part knows I can’t be that guy and is fine with that. With my dad uninterested in parenting after my mom’s death, I learned to raise myself by only relying on myself. Now, I make sure other people have the tools they need for connection, love, and intimacy so they don’t have to feel the way I did growing up. Love isn’t my thing, personally. I’ve tried it, have the scars to prove it, but I also have the wisdom I gained. I’m not good at big love, as evidenced by my failed marriage to Elizabeth. But I’m no good at tennis, either, and I’m fine with that too.
“The right guy is out there for you. I just know it,” her mom says.
“And for you too,” Juliet says gamely, shucking off her earlier surprise. She grabs her mom’s phone and waggles it. “Let’s do this.”
No wonder no one deserves her. It took only ten minutes for Juliet to turn her mood around.
When the ladybug pancakes arrive—chocolate chip, of course—we eat and select Harriet’s dates.
She seems tickled pink with the choices. “That’s three this week. Who knew online dating could be so fun?” She spears a piece of her pancake and eats it gleefully, like she didn’t just emerge from a merely okay marriage. Or maybe it’s just that she believes the future is brighter on the other side.
When she finishes chewing, she clicks her tongue, her brow scrunching as she turns to Juliet. “Now, sweetheart. I know you haven’t had the best of luck with online dating in the city. Why don’t you try it here in a small town where you might meet a nice man instead of one of those workaholic city guys?”
Wait.
What?
She wants Juliet to date a Darling Springs dude this week? While she’s living in Eleanor’s house with me? While we’re working on the cottage together? No. Just no. That can’t happen.
Because…fuck.
Because it fucking can’t. It can’t. That is all.
Juliet offers a thanks but no thanks smile. “I’m fine, Mom. I just need to regroup.”
But her mom tuts. “With a love doctor as your co-worker? Please. I bet together we can get you the best matches. Right, Monroe?”
I’m speechless. Because if I speak, I’ll spew fire.
Harriet races on down the track. “Let us help you like the two of you just helped me. Monroe and I can find you some matches here and pick the best ones for you.”
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” Juliet insists.
“But if this artist guy turned out to be a jerk, and you aren’t getting to that second date, maybe it’s time for a new strategy.”
Yes. Yes! It is. Thank fuck someone else said it.
Harriet’s eyes twinkle. “Just think. You can be my dating wingwoman. We can do it together!”
Juliet stares at her mother like she’s gone mad. But as Harriet presses, my mind is whirring with a new idea to solve Juliet’s date-picking problem.
10
DATING WITH MOM
Juliet
I stab Rachel’s name on my phone and slam it against my ear. It rings once. “Answer, please,” I mutter as I tromp toward Pick Me Up, the nearest coffee shop. I need caffeine, and I need sister time, and I need an answer ASAP.
I pass a tattoo shop dubbed Blue Roses, bustling with customers and displaying art with fine linework of vines, foxes, skulls, and blue roses. I’m wondering which came first—the art or the name—when Rachel answers.
“Hey! What’s going on?”
I cut to the chase. “We need to talk. Now.”
I’m still worked up. When breakfast ended, I told Monroe I needed to talk to a client and I’d get the bike later. I told my mom I’d call her tonight, and I marched downtown.
“Okay, talk,” Rachel says. “I’m at the store, though, so if a customer comes in I have to go.” I near the next block. A consignment shop called Second Time Around boasts vintage blouses in the window, but I refuse to look at the pretties right now.
“Your mom wants me to be her new dating bestie!”
Rachel scoff-laughs. “My mom?”
“Yes. Your mom.”
“She’s always my mom when you’re worked up.”
“Because she is,” I sputter, building up a new head of steam, dodging a pair of older men power walking. “This is such a thing your mom would do. And I’m left to deal with it because you went out and got yourself married. You met a perfect man in Carter, and Sawyer’s dating Katya, and I’m left to be Mom’s dating buddy. She was like, let’s do it together.” I pass a small-batch ice cream shop with delectable flavors like tequila and lime, and I’m pretty sure that’s a need. A tonight need. Maybe it will help me make sense of New Mom. “And she wears Converse now. She doesn’t wear mom shoes. Help me, Rachel!”