Early June, seven years ago #2
“You’re going to stay with the Masons the entire summer, then, and get a job in the fall?” she asked, not looking at me, her eyes flicking at the passing townscape. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
I shrugged, immediately on the defensive.
“You heard Bonnie and Angela. It’s hardly worth applying now, to start a job in mid- to late July at the earliest, only to be away for three weeks in August. I’ll make sure I get something in September, and move out then.
Even if it’s only an interim job to pay the rent until I get something permanent. I’ll be fine.”
Mom huffed, and finally made eye contact.
“Well, you’d also be fine if you came and stayed with me, and started applying for jobs right now, and spent the summer going on interviews instead of living it up on the beaches of Oregon.
” The bitter edge to her voice had returned.
“I mean, you might miss out on a job that starts in early September, if you wait to start applying. Sure, Bonnie wants to spend the summer with you, but she’s already got her next phase locked down.
She’s already fine. People like us have to work harder, and make sacrifices in life, you know?
Not everybody has it all figured out like the Masons. ”
Beside us, the sweet couple who had smiled at me shifted uncomfortably in their seats, the woman pretending to read her ceremony program rather than unwittingly eavesdrop on our conversation. The man cleared his throat nervously.
I sighed. “I get it, Mom. But Ange is right — there’s hardly any recruitment in July and August. Everybody is on vacation.
And those graduate programs that start in early September — they’re already filled, and I’m not going for something like that anyways.
I’ll find an entry-level job at a marketing agency, or something.
September will be fine for that. I promise. ”
Mom furrowed her brow, evidently unconvinced. “If you say so. I’ve said my piece.”
I leaned forward, trying to engage her in a smile.
“And I appreciate the offer of staying with you in Indy, I really do, Mom. But as I told you before, it’s not good for me there.
I can’t see my friends in Chicago, and even if I did spend the summer applying for jobs from your place, it’s a nightmare to get the train four hours each way to go for interviews in Chicago — I’d have to stay overnight with Bonnie anyways.
It just makes sense for me to stay nearer Chicago.
” I reach over and put my hand on her tanned arm, above the bangles.
“I do love you, Mom, but my life is here now. I’ll come visit for a few days before Oregon, okay?
You can show me your new rose-gold product line. ”
Mom nodded, somewhat placated, then squinted a little.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything else keeping you in Chicago?
You’ve been real quiet about your love life recently.
Have you met a boy?” She gave me a twisted grin, and I laughed, relieved at the break in tension.
Even if it meant touching on a topic that was another sore spot for me.
“No, Mom, I’m not seeing anybody. It’s not that.”
Mom pursed her lips. “That brother of Bonnie’s is pretty cute, though, isn’t he? I saw him looking at you over lunch — don’t think I didn’t notice.”
My stomach did a little flutter, which I ignored. “Ben? No, no. He’s got a long-term girlfriend. He’s not remotely available. And even if he was, you know, he’s Bonnie’s brother. I’m sure that would be weird. So, you know. Not an option. Definitely not.”
Mom’s thin left eyebrow had gradually risen to its highest possible point throughout my protestations.
“If you say so,” she repeated, this time with a tiny smile.
“And no other prospects on the horizon? I haven’t heard you speak of anybody since you broke up with Chris.
You’re such a beautiful and smart girl, I can’t understand why you’re not beating them off with a stick.
I’m sure you meet nice boys all the time. ”
Wow. I couldn’t remember Mom ever calling me “beautiful and smart.” Not in the same breath, that’s for sure.
“Thanks, Mom. But . . . no. There’s nobody.”
My mind flitted back to my final singing gig with the Notables a week ago — a fundraising gala in which I’d briefly met a really cute guy, Evan, the founder of some skyrocketing tech company.
We’d spoken for only a few minutes, but there had definitely been some chemistry.
Then he’d suddenly rushed off — narrowly missing a server with a tray full of champagne, I recall — to take an urgent phone call.
I didn’t see him again for the rest of the evening.
The next day, I’d pondered trying to connect with him on LinkedIn, since I knew his name and company, and we’d arguably met at a work event.
But in our brief exchange, Evan had told me his company was on a hiring freeze, so there was no chance of a marketing job.
Plus he was based in San Francisco, so he wasn’t a good romantic prospect. I’d decided to let it go.
Mom was watching the passing townscape again, which was getting increasingly vertical as we approached the city.
“You haven’t had much luck with men, have you?
” This was said quietly, almost more to herself than to me, and for a second I wondered if she actually meant her own love life.
But she turned her face to me, as if expecting me to respond.
I pulled in a long breath. I wasn’t going to get into all that with her right now — not on a public train, with two polite strangers next to us trying desperately not to listen to our conversation.
Instead, I looked out of the window myself. The high-rise towers of Chicago were now in view, and I felt my heartbeat slowing. This was where I belonged.
“Like mother, like daughter, I guess,” I replied.
We sat in silence for the rest of the journey.