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I’ve gotten really good at keeping my comments brief, so I end the call by saying, “Every day, it gets a little easier to think about you. And maybe one day, I won’t cry at all. You’ll be happy about that, I’m sure. Just wait a little longer, Cullen. I’ll make your wish come true.”
Mom’s footsteps prompt me to put my phone away and act nonchalant, but she’s already sniffed me out.
“You were talking to Cullen again, weren’t you?” Her eyes narrow.
“Mom, you’ll make me sound crazy going around saying that.” I set my cup in the sink since Ashley’s coming by later and head upstairs.
Mom follows me and watches as I step into the giant walk-in closet in search of an outfit to wear for the board meeting.
“Youaregoing crazy. Don’t think I forgot that little comment you made last week about feeling like someone’s watching you.”
I cringe at the reminder. The truth is, I’ve been getting that feeling more and more lately. At first, it was just a sixth sense, a gut feeling that I wasn’t alone. Then it was the echo of footsteps behind me when I walked to my car from the food stall.
Another time, it was on a rainy day when I was leaving a cafe and I didn’t have an umbrella. I shrugged out of my jacket, intending to hold it over my head and dash out. When I glanced up, I found an umbrella leaning against the door where there wasn’t one before.
The incidents have been spaced out over weeks at a time, and they were coincidental enough that I hadn’t thought much of it.
However last night, I was sure I saw a shadow on the front lawn move in a very human like way. It made my skin prickle and the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I quickly checked the security cameras, but there was nothing out there.
“If you’re that concerned, tell Roger about it. Isn’t he a former spy?” Mom asks.
“Not a spy. Former special forces. And I don’t know. It might just be that I’m paranoid.”
“You know what will make you feel secure?”
“More security cameras?” I offer.
“A nice, strong,strappingyoung man.”
I groan.
“I met a nice one yesterday at the Caribbean mart,” mom says, watching me intently.
“A nice one? Are we discussing a human being or meat?”
Mom gives me a ‘don’t be a smart-mouth’ look. “He said his mom is Belizean and his dad is Nigerian. Very nice-looking man. Very tall and well-spoken.”
“Are you interested, mama?” I wink at her. “It’s never too late to get back on the horse.”
“That man could be my child.”
“As long as he’s an adult, it’s fine. Age is just a number.”
Mom shakes her head when I put a maroon blazer to my face. She chooses the blue blazer I’d flung away on the bed instead. “You don’t have to marry him, Nardi. Just a little coffee date will do.”
“I’m not interested, mom.”
“How will you know you’re not interested if you don’t even try?” Mom follows me around my room.
“I’m not interested in dating anyone else.”
“But you’ve been doing so well,” mom counts on her fingers, “you’ve been going out with those rich friends of yours. You take care of yourself again. You do your hair and actually shower consistently now.”
“Mom!” I gasp in horror.
“One little meeting won’t hurt.”
I know she’s going to nag me forever if I say no, so I concede. “I’ll think about it.”