Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
I 'm walking down First Avenue on my lunch break when I see an incoming call from my mom.
"Hey, Mom."
"Hey, hon! Too busy to call your mother? How are you, what's new?"
"Same old same. Just working on a big project. Coaching. Murphy, the usual."
"Any dates? You know I worry about you being alone."
"I know, Mom, and I'm fine. You do realize you spent most of my life drilling into me that I don't need a man and shouldn't depend on one, ever? And now that I'm not, you're worried that I don't have a man? What am I supposed to do with that?"
"Oh, I don't know, you never listen to me about anything else, so who knew you'd listen with that? Is it too much for a mom to want grandbabies?"
"No, but you have another child who can help you make that dream come true. Stop putting all the pressure on me!"
"Who, your brother? I'll be lucky if he settles down before I'm in a home somewhere."
"Okay, okay." I drop it. "What's going on with you? How's the pickleball league going?"
I listen to all the inner workings of her newest hobby, including her opinion on every player in her senior pickleball league at her local YMCA. She's only recently retired after working for thirty years at various state-level civil service jobs. I had my reservations about her stopping work, as it was always a huge source of connection, stimulation, and satisfaction for her. But she proved me wrong and now seems busier than ever between her new sports, interests, and dozens of friends.
"The reason I'm calling is Thanksgiving. What are we doing? Are you working? Or coming here? Am I coming there? I cannot get your brother to text me back. Do me a favor and call him. I have had several invitations from my gal pals for Turkey Day. Betty invited me to join her at Baltimore Country Club, and you know how much I love it there. Their mashed potatoes are to die for. So, talk to your brother and let me know the plan. Gotta run, love you, hon."
She clicks off before I can respond.
Matt's midtour break is coming up, and he's asked me—several times—if I'll join him in Mexico. I've been noncommittal because the trip coincides with both Matt's forty-third birthday and Thanksgiving. I want nothing more than to spend five consecutive days with him in the sun, no work, no other obligations, but I feel guilty at the thought of being away from my mom. We've always done our best to be together for holidays. I scroll through my phone to find Ryan's number and am shocked when he picks up my call.
"Ry, can you move back East yet?" I ask.
"You sound like Mom. What's up, Jules?"
"Nothing, just strolling down First Avenue. The air is crisp, everyone is drinking hot coffees, the beginning of coat weather is here, and you know New York is only going to get even better as Christmas nears.…"
"I've been enjoying that same crispness for the past six weeks, but without the smell of hot garbage lining the streets. I'm staring out my office window, and all the trees are changing. I'm going up to the mountains this weekend to try out a new trailhead with some friends, and there’s a brewery on the way. So, I think I'm good. Can you see any trees? Or just gridlocked traffic, people in a rush, and a wall of skyscrapers?"
I sigh. We go back and forth about this often. Ryan has made it clear he has no intention of ever leaving the Centennial State.
"Fine. Fine. You win. But I'm calling because I need some reinforcement—Mom is trying to lock down holiday plans. She has an offer to go to BCC with Betty. What are you thinking?"
"I haven't even thought about it." Shocker.
"Well, let’s figure it out, because I have plans but don't want to leave her by herself."
"What kind of plans?"
"A trip to Mexico."
"With whom?"
"A friend."
"Meredith?"
"No, not Meredith."
"Meg? Jenny?"
"No, none of them. They all have husbands and families."
"Then who, Jules?"
Silence.
"A guy ?"
"Maybe."
"If you want an assist from me with Mom, you'd better start talking."
"Fine. I've been seeing someone for a few months. We met at work. He's funny, smart, and sweet. He's invited me to come to Mexico with him for the week of Thanksgiving, which is also his birthday. I want to go." It feels nice to admit it out loud.
"Okay, well, what's his deal? Where does he live? What does he do for a living?"
"He lives in New York, partly. He's a musician."
Silence.
"Does he have a job?"
"Yes, don't be rude. He has a fantastic job."
"Okay, what's his name?"
"Matt."
"Matt who? Come on, Jules."
"Matt Johnson."
Pause.
A longer pause.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes."
“Like the famous musician?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you remember when I tried to teach myself guitar? To his songs?”
I did not remember that at all.
"Well, okay ... is this like a thing?" he asks.
"What do you mean?"
"Like, is this legit? Do people know about this?"
"If you mean legit, like are we dating exclusively, then yes. And no one knows about it besides a few coworkers, Meg, Meredith, and some of his close friends. And now you. Mom does not know, and I'd like to keep it that way. For now, at least. I like him. A lot."
"Okay, okay. I'll invite her here for Thanksgiving. She'll probably say no, especially if Baltimore Country Club is on the table. She loves that place. But this way we can both absolve ourselves of any guilt."
"Thank you." I'm relieved.
"But what are you going to do about Christmas?" Ryan asks. Shit, I haven't even thought that far ahead. My favorite holiday. I don’t know what Matt's plans are or if we will spend it together. It seems like a big step.
"I don't know yet, I'll get back to you on that."
"Okay, sounds like a plan."
"Thanks, Ry."
"Of course. And Jules, one last thing."
"Yeah?"
"Does he treat you well?"
My eyes prick with tears at this question. I don't forget that Meg had basically just asked me the same thing. It is both validating and immensely sad to be reminded that the people I love know how brutal things have been. Nick was never unkind to me in all our time together until the end. That, perhaps, was the most jarring element of it all. It wasn't just that he revealed a part of himself I didn’t even know existed—a cold, disengaged, indifferent version—it's that he weaponized it.
"Yes," I answer.
"Does he prioritize you?"
"Yes. He does," I say, with zero hesitation.
He pauses.
"Then he's okay in my book."