Page 60 of Just Ten Seconds

“What’s that look for?”

“You like him,” she states and shushes my open mouth before I get to say anything. “It’s okay to like someone. And you don’t have to bring your past into your future. It’s none of Dean’s or anyone’s business, what happened to you. Now, if you become serious, then you can open up to him. Until then, my lips are sealed.”

I fight the need to roll my eyes. “No one is getting serious.”

She lets out a humming sound. “You’re the only person who believes that.”

There is nothing quite like the small-town, picturesque qualities of a white wooden building with a peaked roof and red double doors at the entrance.

I’m standing outside the children’s theater, garnering enough courage to walk inside when my cell phone rings from my bag. My shoulders drop when I see my mom’s name on the screen.

“Hi, Mom.”

“She’s alive.” Her sing-song tone of sarcasm has me feeling slightly bad for not picking up her phone calls. “I thought I would have to send out a search party.”

“I’ve been working a lot.”

“Mara, it’s a breakfast and lunch shop, not the White House. I worked two jobs while raising you, and I still made it a point to call Grandma—God rest her soul.” I can picture her clutching the cross around her neck. Not that my mom’s an overly religious person. She just wears it religiously.

“I don’t get the best service up here so if I lose you I’ll call you back.”

“If you moved back home, we could get you better cell coverage and a better job.” Her disdain can be felt through the receiver. “I didn’t bust my ass for sixteen years, so you could get a degree in waitressing.”

“I was bartending for years while auditioning, and it didn’t bother you.”

“That was because you were working toward your goal, but don’t think I wasn’t relieved when you started working for Benjamin. It was a good-paying job.”

“Listen, Mom, I have to go. I have an appointment.”

“Every time I bring him up, you hang up on me.”

She’s absolutely right. Whenever she brings up Benjamin, I turn off. Still, she shouldn’t have to think she’s done something wrong.

“You’re right, Mom. I’m sorry.”

She lets out a loud puff of air that vibrates in the phone line. “Why is my desire to not have you wallow such a bad thing? When your father left me, I didn’t have the luxury of moving out of town and hiding away in a café, serving pancakes.”

“What do you have against the café?”

“Nothing. I was a waitress too—or did you forget that? And a receptionist. I paid my dues, so you wouldn’t have to. You had a horrible thing happen to you, but enough’s enough.”

I grip the phone in my hand. “Enough what?”

“Feeling sorry for yourself. You act like you’re the only person who’s ever had something bad happen to them. I know you are hurting, but living the way you do isn’t getting you better.”

I run my hand over my gut. “I lost my family.”

“You can’t dwell on something that wasn’t meant to be.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I really do have somewhere to be.” As upset as she makes me, I hate ending things so abruptly with her, so I add, “I’m coaching.”

“Coaching?” She sounds more confused by this than anything she’s ever asked me.

“Acting. To kids at the children’s theater,” I say with a sigh. If I could just get my feet up the stairs and through the door, I’d actually do said teaching.

“Really?” Her voice sounds almost relieved. “That’s good.”

“You think so?”