Page 35 of Pour Decisions
“You’re a manager now?” Mom has always worked in insurance. Nothing fancy, but she’s done it for a long time.
“Yep, finally.” Mom takes a sip of her wine. “It’s great. More relaxed, but more pay. And it’s how I met Dillon.”
“He’s a coworker?” I raise an eyebrow. One of the things Mom drilled into my head when I was growing up was to not to fuck around at work. The professional standard for Black people, particularly women, doesn’t allow for BS like that.
My stomach twists in knots. JD isn’t a coworker but banging a client is somehow worse. Yet another reason to keep my hands off him.
“No. God, no.” Mom laughs. “We were always on lunch around the same time and kept running into each other at the store. One day he asked if I’d like to join him for lunch and we hit it off.”
Mom’s smile is radiant. I can’t shake my skepticism, though. She’s dated some real duds in the past, even though she’s gorgeous. She could have her pick of men. But then again, with so many options, maybe there are more chances that she picks a guy who’s kind of shitty.
“What does he do?” I ask, spearing some salad.
“He’s a florist. He owns the flower shop in town,” she says. “I’ve learned so much about flowers.”
“So those are from him?” I nod toward the vase filled with beautiful flowers on the table. It’s elegant and bright.
“All him.”
I nod, the tension fading in my chest. I’ve seen that floral shop in town. It’s a nice place, and from what I’ve gathered, it’s been there for a while. He runs his own well-established business and he’s given Mom these gifts. They met in a normal place.
I’ll hold off on judging him fully until I meet him, but he sounds like a nice guy.
“How’s your new job?” Mom asks, topping off our wine.
“It’s great. Jepsen must have really needed a physical therapy clinic because we’re busy,” I say. “My coworkers are great, and so is my boss.”
“I hope you’re getting some time off.” She raises an eyebrow, a mirror of an expression I make all the time.
“I am.” I smile and sip my wine. It’s surprisingly good for something I picked because it was the second cheapest wine theyhad. “I’ve been trying a few new things around Jepsen. At least when I’m not working.”
“Have you been to the new theater in town? Definitely low budget, but I was a background dancer in their first musical.”
“You were?” I smile. “I didn’t even know this theater existed.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty new. Very small town, of course, so everyone’s an amateur. I’m rusty and my legs hurt, but it was fun.” She chuckles. “But that was what, a year ago? I think they did a play instead of a musical after that, so I haven’t had the chance to be involved.”
The conversation drifts to the theater, and how I could possibly get involved someday. Lightness I haven’t felt around my mom in over a decade fills my chest. Mom was always proud of my dancing and it’s the one thing we both had in common. But we were never able to share it together, or even have the opportunity to.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be able to set aside big chunks of time to do something like be in a show,” I say. “I’d be overextending myself with my current hours.”
“You’re too young to run yourself into the ground. Make time for friends or dates now that you’re single again,” Mom says. “I’m a little jealous of you. In a good way. Having your career and now the chance to find the right man.”
I swirl my wine. I’m surprised Mom outright said she was jealous of me. I’ve always gotten the sense that she was, even though my life isn’t particularly special. I just had more opportunities to take dance classes, get tutors in high school when I wasn’t doing well in a subject, and got into a great college.
As for men…well, most of them haven’t been much to write home about, but they were better than her exes (again, my dad excluded). They were quietly assholes, or just distant.
The thought of relationships makes the reality of JD come crashing back down into my thoughts.
“I don’t want to kill the mood, but can I ask you something kind of important?” I put my wine glass down.
“Of course.” Mom frowns.
I take a deep breath and say, “Do you remember that guy I dated when I lived with you in college? JD? We…ran into each other.”
“Mm. His family owns that distillery, don’t they? I imagine he’d live here forever,” she says, picking up her wine glass again. “I’m glad you could run into him and have a civil conversation.”
“Right. Anyway, he told me that Raymond asked his father to give him money in exchange for not pressing charges against JD. His father paid him off,” I say. “Did…did you happen to know that?”
