Chapter 3
“Hi, Mom. Happy Thanksgiving.” Mike Miller tossed his mechanical pencil onto the architectural drawings spread across the table in front of him and leaned back in his chair.
The drafting table was cluttered with tracing paper, scale rulers, and neatly stacked plan sets.
Beyond the glass wall of his office, the afternoon light faded, the city outside reduced to a scatter of lights against a gray sky. “Do you mind if I put you on speaker?”
He waited for her reply, then tapped the screen of his phone and set it face up beside the drawings.
“You must be alone,” his mother said, her voice filling the quiet space, “if you can talk on speakerphone. I thought you were going somewhere today.”
“I believe I said I had plans,” Mike replied.
His mother sighed. “That’s true. That is what you said.” Nancy Miller paused. “I assumed that meant you were going to a friend’s for Thanksgiving. I’m guessing you’re at your office, hard at work. That’s what you had planned, isn’t it?”
Mike glanced around the room, taking in the clean lines, the concrete floors, and the framed awards on the wall he rarely noticed anymore. “Guilty as charged,” he said, chuckling.
“How can you want to spend Thanksgiving in your office?” she asked. “That makes me so sad. And you love a traditional Thanksgiving meal.”
“I’m still going to have one,” Mike said. “I ordered Thanksgiving in a box from a local restaurant. The online reviews from last year said it was fabulous. I’ll heat it up when I get home.”
“Are you so busy that you can’t spend one day away from the office?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” Mike said. “You know I’m designing an addition to a home in one of the swankiest zip codes in Los Angeles.
The client requested a few modifications, and I want to get them to the planning department as soon as possible.
” He straightened a stack of drawings as he spoke, aligning the edges until they were perfectly square. Order always helped him think.
“I hate imagining you alone in your office,” his mother said.
“I love my work, and I’m comfortable here,” Mike replied. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Honestly, I’ll be working every day between now and when I come home for Christmas. I’ll finish everything so I don’t have to bring work with me.”
“Good,” his mother said firmly. “The last thing I want is for you to be distracted with work when you’re finally home. Your sister and your nephews are beyond excited. It’s been five years since you’ve been home for a holiday. We’ve got plans, and we’re not reserving any time for you to work.”
Mike smiled, swiveling in his chair and gazing out at the city.
Somewhere out there, families were gathering at tables, passing dishes, and raising glasses.
“Good to know,” he said. “Then I’ll work around the clock if necessary.
I promise you this, Mom—you’ll have my undivided attention when I arrive. ”
“I hope you’re not serious when you say you’ll be working every moment until then,” she said. “How are you ever going to meet someone if you’re holed up in your office twenty-four seven? You can’t expect the woman of your dreams to just walk through the door.”
“I’m not,” Mike said, a sliver of defensiveness creeping into his tone. “I’m having coffee tomorrow morning with a woman I matched with online.”
“Well!” his mother said brightly. “That’s certainly something to be thankful for. I didn’t know you were out there in the online dating world.”
“Well, I am,” he said.
“How long have you been on the apps?”
“I’m on just one app. And only for a couple of months.”
“And?”
“Nothing promising to report,” Mike said. “So far.” His gaze drifted to the small model on the credenza of a minimalist structure of wood and glass, perfectly proportioned and beautifully designed. He’d built it late one night, proud of its balance.
“Well,” his mother said with optimism, “maybe tomorrow will be different. Will you call me after?”
Mike inhaled slowly and bit his lower lip.
He hadn’t told his mother he was dating again because he didn’t want to report back after every encounter.
The past several months had produced matches that ranged from incompatible to disastrous, each one leaving him more discouraged than the last. He was good at designing spaces for other people’s lives, and less good at building a life of his own.
“If I’ve got anything positive to report,” he said carefully, “you’ll be the first to know.” He cleared his throat. “I was going to call you tonight. I figured you’d be tied up in the kitchen about now.”
“It’s the lull before the storm,” his mother said. “As a matter of fact, I’d better get back to it. I need to start the mashed potatoes.”
Mike smiled, picturing the familiar warmth and chaos of his childhood home. “Give my love to everyone,” he said. “Tell them I can’t wait to see them at Christmas.”
“Will do,” she replied. “Enjoy your dinner, and stay open to the possibility that the love of your life will be at that coffee shop tomorrow.”
The line went dead.
Mike sat for a moment longer, the quiet settling in again. Outside, the sky darkened. Inside, the office lights hummed steadily, illuminating plans for homes filled with people and laughter. He reached for his pencil and bent over the set of architectural drawings spread out in front of him.