Page 53 of This Love
These things were complicated. And I had no one to ask. Harry didn’t feel right. Flo was full of advice I didn’t understand. I didn’t talk to the other servers long enough for something so serious.
Maybe I could ask Vinnie. Or bring it up to Tucker. That made the most sense.
I carried the plates to the back. I was getting off work, anyway. As I put my apron in my cubby and gathered my purse and keys, Flo walked up. She pulled a magazine from her slot. Flo loved magazines, thick and glossy with inserts that fell out. She called herself “old school” and said that “no over-hyped influencer” would ever replace the “good ol’ mags.”
“You need this more than me,” she said, handing me a thick copy of Cosmopolitan. She pointed to the type on the front and read it aloud. “How to figure out the average man.”
Oh! That did sound helpful. “I’ll bring it back,” I told her.
“No matter. I’ve read that one cover to cover. The new one comes out tomorrow.”
I tucked it under my arm. “Thanks.”
“We girls gotta watch out for each other. If that boyfriend of yours wants to stick it in you, you make sure he knows what’s in it for you.”
“I’ll, uh, do that. Thanks.”
I waited until I had crossed First Street, which was wild with cars late afternoon, to open the magazine and look.
The women were so perfect, and their clothes fit so well. The men were attentive, often tripping over themselves in the presence of the ladies. Tucker was like that, just not wearing those outfits.
Something tickled the back of my neck as I meandered down the sidewalk, dodging other walkers and people riding scooters.
I glanced around. This part of the street was always busy. Buses. Long lines of traffic sat impatiently at each light. The exhaust was strong. Maybe I’d turn off early. It was a solid mile walk to my house from here.
I had my magazine to keep me company.
I relaxed as I left the busy street behind.
But then my neck tickled again.
What was causing that?
I stopped abruptly and turned around.
A woman in a long flowy dress walked half a block behind me. I recognized her from the rose video. “Mother?”
She froze, glancing around. “You know who I am?”
“Of course, I do. Geneva Roberts. You ruined my childhood.”
She pressed her hand against her chest. She looked older than in the video I’d seen, her shoulder-length brown hair sparkling gray in the afternoon light. There were lines around her eyes.
I tried to breathe through my alarm. My tattoo flitted through my vision. Mom is bad.
“Why are you following me?” I asked.
“I was—hoping to catch you. I thought you might be working at Big Harry’s again.”
We stood well apart, enough that we had to raise our voices to hear each other. No one walked this part of the neighborhood. The row of houses was silent and still.
“What do you want?” I asked her.
She took a step toward me, but I took a step back. She stopped. “I would never hurt you. You are my only child. The most important thing to me.”
“Right. That’s why you never wanted me to leave.”
She attempted to flash a smile, but I wasn’t fooled.
