Page 38 of Just the Tipsy
I just shake my head. “Still no. She’s not even interested in that right now either.”
“I’m just saying.” He stretches his shoulder, which has given him trouble since we were seniors and he fucked it up during the homecoming football game. “You two seem like a good match. Invite her to trivia so Jada and I can get to know her more. That’s not too serious. And we need your dorky ass to answer the science questions.”
I smile. “Okay, fine, I’ll invite her.”
The rest of the workout goes on without a hitch, and we part ways. After I get home, take Duke for a quick walk, and shower, I head to the clinic.
I fall into the rhythm of the day, calling up owners to tell them how their pets are before seeing a few more for regular checkups. Thankfully nothing goes sideways or throws me off.
But around lunch, I get a text from Mom, asking me if I want to go to Patty’s, a lunch spot within walking distance of the clinic — her treat.
Her emphasis on it being her treat gives me pause. Why is she trying to lure me in? I would have gone even if I had to pay myself. I’m starving, so I say yes.
Around lunch, I head over and spot Mom sitting outside with Lady, who stands up and greets me first. I give the dog butt scratches, then kiss Mom on the cheek. Mom must be running errands or just walking around town, based on how casually she’s dressed — nice jeans and a nice blouse. I’ve never seen her dressed in anything less in public unless she’s going to a workout class.
“Hi, honey,” Mom says. “I ordered your favorite since I know you don’t have a lot of time. They should call it for pickup soon.”
“Thanks.” I sit down across from her and Lady rests her chin on my feet. “I worked out with Jeremiah earlier so I’m starving.”
“How is he?” Mom asks.
I give her the rundown on how he is, then a similar rundown on Jada. She cares a lot about them both, but I can almostfeel her buzzing with anticipation to blast me with whatever she wants to say. The walk from our table outside to the pickup counter inside allows me to prepare myself for whatever she’s about to ask.
I sit back down, and Mom starts immediately.
“I’d love for Bianca to join a few of the ladies’ groups in town,” she says. “And maybe she’d be interested in making a few appearances?”
I let out a slow breath. “What do you mean by appearances?”
“You know — just going to an exercise class or two, and the ladies’ groups, like I said.” Mom examines her nails, which are covered in the same pale pink they’ve been since I was a kid. “So she can be a part of Jepsen.”
What she’s left unsaid is that she wants Bianca to be just like her — to be her version of perfect. Outgoing. Involved in every single aspect of town so everyone knows her. Bianca has the look down, or at least she will if my mom manages to wrangle her into whatever outfits she feels are appropriate.
It’s just like what Mom is trying to do to me — push me and shape me into something I’m not particularly interested in being anymore.
“What’s wrong with what she’s doing now?” I ask. “Do you not like her?”
“I like her!” Mom says, almost gasping in horror. “She’s so beautiful. A little quiet. But maybe I just need to talk to her more. And you two look so good together.”
I take a huge bite of my sandwich to give myself time to gather my thoughts. My mom would probably think I’d look good with a cardboard cutout of a woman, but still. Guilt makes me avert my gaze. The whole fucking point of this thing was to make Mom happy that I was dating someone. Why do I feel weird about it now?
It’s a little too late, though, so I shove the guilt down.
“I know, but why do you want her to be any different?” I finally ask.
“Oh, honey.” Mom sighs and squeezes my forearm. “She’s lovely. She just needs a little push to be perfect.”
“Well, why does anyone need to be perfect?” I ask, holding back a sigh.
“Fine, fine, perfect is a stretch.” She spears a few chunks of lettuce. “Let’s say a push to help her reach her full potential.”
I blow out a breath through my nose. Does she not hear what she’s saying? ‘Full potential’ is a loaded term too. It’s not bad to think the best of people and their abilities, but I’ve spent my entire life trying to “live up to my full potential”. I nearly burnt out before I started pushing back and I still have a weird relationship with success.
“I can see if she’d be interested in the groups,” I say. Hedging is always a bit easier than flat out saying no in this instance. Otherwise, Mom would go around me and start texting Bianca or something.
Mom beams, and that weird mix of guilt and annoyance spreads its way across my chest again. I can’t push Mom off forever, but I don’t know how much longer I can let her press. Especially if she starts pressing Bianca.
“I hope I’m not disappointed,” she says with a smile, making my stomach drop.
