Page 46 of Aim for Love

She’s wrong. I saw how differently Hunter looked at me after the incident on the water pipe. Scott did too, and apologized tome last night for “putting you in danger and messing up your thing with Hunter.”

Of course I forgave him. He wasn’t the only person involved. I think Hunter maybe left open the possibility of a future before that, and now he doesn’t, and it’s my fault. I confused daring with a bad decision. And now he probably thinks that’s what I’m doing by moving.

We all went out for most people’s last night in Telluride. Almost everyone came to the bar except Hunter. I kept watching the door for him, hoping he would show up for at least a few minutes, and he never did. Tom said something about him being home with his head between a book’s cover.

I have goals beyond Hunter. I practice listing them in my head the day between Sophie and Nora’s departure and my mom’s arrival. My mom will blow in like a hurricane, with force. Before she gets here, I spend the day walking the streets of my new home and looking at apartments. Everything isexpensive—worse than Denver. The niggling doubts I’ve successfully hidden so far start to sound louder.

Maybe thisisfoolish. Uprooting my life for a man is one thing, but uprooting it for the sense of peace I find in a certain place? Maybe I can find or create that somehow back where I currently live—even though so far I’ve been unable. Maybe I need to try harder.

Still, Hunter proves that trying doesn’t always win.

When Mom gets there, she doesn’t address the reason she came flying across the country right away. Instead, she sits across from me at Dorothy’s cafe and critiques the town newspaper. “Look at this,” she says, her finger darting between headlines. “All of these headlines are from wire services. This one doesn’t even have anything to do with Telluride. This could be better.” She fans through the pages, saying “hm” every once in a while.

“This is cute,” she adds, showing me a column with a woman’s face in a box on top. “Paula. A local perspective. Apparently short term housing is a big issue here.” She keeps paging through the issue.

“It isn’t bad, in the end,” she finally says. “So few towns even have local news anymore. Clearly ad-supported; look at the pages and pages of them. They must have enough money to fix some of these problems. Hm. Interesting. There are only two people on the masthead as staff.”

Watching her puzzle through the business model, I smiled a little to myself. My mom, who had me later in life, has been talking about retirement for a few years now. She’s so immersed in her industry and her career that I worry she’ll die at her desk. But analyzing this newspaper has brought her to life in a way I haven’t seen in awhile.

“So,” she says, putting the paper down and focusing that analysis on me. “Your friends tell me you’ve gone crazy.”

“I’m notcrazy,” I protest. “Just because I want to move here.”

“Nothing wrong with going a little crazy once in a while. It’s how most people get big things done.” My mom takes a sip of her latte and then gives it a second look. “Mm. The question is whether this is a big thing or you running away.”

Unfortunately, I’m not sure of the answer myself. I stare back at my mother. “Let me show you around town,” I suggest. “Maybe you’ll understand why I like it.”

She nods slowly, and I can tell she has more questions. “And the boy?” She raises an eyebrow at me. “What’s going on with that?”

“That’s…not going anywhere. We were a vacation fling. Moving here doesn't change that.”

“In a town this size, you’ll see him constantly. How are you going to handle that?”

Biting my lip, I consider this. It’s a fair question, and one that’s been haunting me. Zoe mentioned that the dating pool here is pretty small, too. “Well…I don’t want to have one of those situations that drags on or is on-and-off-again because we’re bored and in the same place. Either we’re together or we’re not. And we’re not. So I can be friendly but that doesn’t mean I’m going to pine for him.” I think of Zoe and Tyler as I say this, even though I’m not sure that’s their relationship. They rarely hold hands or show affection in public. Yet they seem to date exclusively despite their casual attitudes.

Mom gives a decisive nod. “There’s no need for pining. You can get on with your life without a man holding you back.” That’s what she’s always done, so I guess I have a good example. “But—that’s not why you want to move?”

“It’s not!” I insist. “I love it here. You’ll see. It’s so much better than the city, where you don’t know anyone and you have to parallel park all the time.”

She snorts. “Where there’s museums and theatre and shopping malls?”

“Mother. When is the last time you went to the theatre.” I say the word with drama, like I have an accent.

She smiles, like she knows something I don’t. “I went on a date the other week to the theatre, you little whippersnapper.”

“You were on adate?”

“I’m 65, not dead.”

Setting aside that startling news—the idea I could gain a step-father at this point in my life had never occurred to me—I go back to convincing my mother Telluride is a great place to live.

She meets Dorothy, and the two of them discuss the recipe for Victorian sponge cake. Apparently my mother is guilty of overbeating every time she bakes. Dorothy gets to the heart ofthe matter immediately: “Do you have too much stress in your life?”

My mom gives me a look when I can’t help a snort. “Some would say that,” she admits.

Then we walk down the street to the bridge over the creek and look up at the mountains. It’s hot, with a cool breeze blowing down on us. “Well, I don’t think you could pick aprettierplace,” Mom acknowledges.

We look at a few apartments, all of them in shared houses charging high rent. She’s not impressed. “Do you really want to live with strangers?” she asks.

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