Page 32 of Hard to Get

Eeep. My thoughts exactly, but I know Mom doesn’t want to hear that. I’ve learned the hard way not to be critical of her partners.

“He told me he needed to be with someone for a year before he knew if it was going to last. Last week was our one-year anniversary. He took me out for dinner and b-broke up with me.”

I stare at my mom, my insides still churning. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

Mom changes the subject and asks about my business. I don’t want to tell her about the disagreement Troy and I are having, because I know it will drag up bad memories for her. It drags up bad memories for me. I haven’t even talked to Harrison about it. So I tell her things are going well and we’re looking at another acquisition if things work out.

Then she asks Harrison about his work. He’s Director of Engineering at a big packaging company in Richmond, which sounds kind of boring but he loves it.

“I met someone who watched you play hockey in Kelowna,” I tell him.

“Really? Who is it?”

“Jayden Wood.”

“Jayden Wood who plays for the Orcas?”

“Yeah. He grew up in Kelowna. He remembers watching you.”

“Wow. I had no idea.”

“How did you meet him?” Mom asks. “Through work?”

“Um… actually, no. We walk our dogs in the same park.” I skip over not knowing who he was until I saw him at the Seabrook Centre.

“Oh, cute,” Meredith says. “So he must live near you.”

“Yeah, apparently, he does.” Should I tell them? “We went out for a drink the other night. With the dogs,” I add.

“You went out with Jayden Wood,” Harrison repeats.

“Yeah.” I try to keep my expression bland. And I don’t mention that I’m supposed to see him again next weekend. Because I’m going to cancel.

He looks at me like I just told him I’m dating Hannibal Lecter.

“What? Why are you giving me stink eye? It was just a drink.”

“He’s a hockey player,” Harrison says through a tight jaw.

I stifle a sigh. “I’m aware.”

“Good for you!” Mom says. “You’re not getting any younger!”

I’m happy for some support, but Mom’s comment has my back teeth grinding together briefly. “Mom.”

“You’re just too picky,” she says. “You need to be more open.”

I swallow a sigh.

“When I was your age, I was married and already had kids!” she tells me for about the six hundredth time.

And look how that worked out.

Oh, that’s not fair. Mom and Dad were happily married for years.

“I know, Mom. But I’m not you and times are different now.”

Are they really that different, though? Mom came of age in the nineties. That wasn’t that long ago. It’s not like she’s eighty years old. It’s odd that she still has the attitude that a woman needs a man, whether it’s for safety or financial security, or to make her feel complete.