Page 5 of Afternoon Delight

Yes. I was feeling very defensive. Everything Mom was thinking behind that sour expression, I had already said to myself in her voice. I would be throwing away a secure, flexible, lucrative job on what amounted to a midlife crisis, but I was tired of making safe choices.

I had married Joel because I was scared to do anything else.

And yes, sometimes I blamed my mother for pushing me into marrying Joel when I got pregnant—as if being a young, single mother would have been easier.

As if I could imagine a life where the kids I loved with my whole heart hadn’t been born at all.

I was exactly where I had allowed myself to wind up, but that’s why I was determined to make new choices now.

Divorce had sucked, but it was done. I was glad.

Leaving my job and starting something new was also going to be hard, but I didn’t want to hate myself in ten years for staying with a company that also took me for granted.

“It’s only for a few weeks,” I said, trying to reassure both of us.

“It depends on when Georgia can get her surgery and how quickly she recovers. But this is a time in my life when I can do something off-brand. It’s not like I have young kids and the Parent Advisory Committee watching my every move. ”

“Only your mother and her friends,” she said under her breath. “Will Georgia pay you?”

“Minimum wage, but she needs help, Mom. She might lose all the money she put into that business. If I can bring it back to turning a profit, at least she’d have a shot at selling it, if she can’t actually go back to work.”

“Why wouldn’t she be able to work?” Her eyes widened in alarm.

I explained about the tumors on Georgia’s spine. Initially, she had thought the pain in her back was from an old injury—falling off a stage—coupled with the stress of setting up her new business. Eventually, she’d been in too much pain to move.

“Cancer?” Mom’s expression reflected the same combo of PTSD and mental leaps I had made when Georgia had told me. Cancer sucked . But watching Dad’s battle had taught us how to navigate that journey. It was a marathon. Pace yourself.

“They’re still doing tests, but they’re pretty sure it’s benign. They’re hoping she’ll be able to walk after the surgery, but it’s spinal surgery.”

Mom nodded, brow furrowed. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Does she have a date?”

I snorted. I would defend socialized health care with my dying breath, but the wait times these days were awful.

“She has a really good specialist. He’s optimistic, and so is she.

We are, too,” I decided for both of us. “She’s in a lot of pain, though.

She was filling online orders using stock from the store, but her sister can’t run in here every other day to pick things up.

Gail has her kids and work, and now Georgia needs more help. ”

“Georgia can’t hire someone else?”

“She had someone quit right before Christmas.” Right when Georgia might’ve made enough to sustain herself a little longer. “I guess it was getting awkward with the landlord. He owns the whole building and works at the antique shop next door.”

I didn’t mention Zak. He wasn’t the reason I was doing this, and I didn’t want Mom jumping to conclusions. Sure, I’d been married for over twenty years to the man who took my V-card, but as far as she was concerned, I was incapable of keeping it in my pants.

“I guess he has dementia. He walks in, then gets upset that it’s not the fabric store that was there ten years ago.”

“Oh, that’s sad. Does he have family to help?”

“His kids, yeah. They gave Georgia a break on rent for January, but they’ve been texting, asking what she plans to do. When she moved back here to open that shop, she thought it would support her for the next twenty years. Then she could sell it when she retired.”

“That’s optimistic.”

“Not really. Sex doesn’t go out of style. Some of us grow out of it, but it’s always popular with the kids.”

“And it produces the next generation of customers,” Mom mused. “It’s actually the perfect business model.”

I chuckled, relieved. If Mom was making jokes, she was coming around.

“Is there nothing we can do for her on the financial side instead?” she asked. “How much does she need?”

I groaned inwardly, wishing I could parlay helping Georgia into selling this house.

“I offered her money and said I could talk to the bank for her.” Helping small businesses rejig their finances was something I did all day, every day.

I firmly believed the biggest reason I’d been passed over for the promotion was because I was too valuable at the client-facing grunt work.

Clients loved me for my reassuring voice and my bossy ability to impose order onto chaos.

“You know what she’s like, though. She doesn’t want to need help. She wants to fix it herself—and can’t.”

It had been really hard to see Georgia chewing on so much frustration and despair, never having expected her body to let her down. When she said she didn’t want to be forty and starting from scratch, I’d almost said, I’m turning forty and starting from scratch.

Not total scratch, obviously, but when I looked back on the last twenty years, I had to wonder what I’d done with my life. I love my kids. I’d die for them. But I could see how I had repeatedly settled back into my safe little rut—my comfortable job where I was overlooked and taken for granted.

“I wish I’d had an ounce of Georgia in me when they told me that Cameron—the guy I trained —was going to be my new manager. I should’ve told them to go fuck themselves.”

“Meg,” Mom murmured in protest at my curse. “What if Georgia can’t walk again?” Her brows came together in worry.

“I’m confident she’ll walk through the door of the shop within a few months and pick up where she left off. But she can’t let it languish. She has to pay her bills.”

Mom sighed and rose, moving to the plate cupboard.

I held my breath, wanting her approval even though I knew I wouldn’t get it.

“We’re really doing this?”

“ We ?” Record scratch. “You want to work in an adult toy shop, Mom?”

“ No . But I can’t let you risk Georgia’s future along with your own.” She set two plates on the counter.

“I’ve worked retail. I can handle it.” I got up to get the cutlery.

“No, you’re running her business. That’s not as easy as it sounds. I know from running your father’s office.” She handed me the bowl of salad.

“I did the books for Joel’s dental clinic!

” I had hired and fired most of his staff.

I had designed his website and maintained it right up until I emailed Wanda four days ago with the login credentials.

“I’m an accountant, Mom. I work with small businesses every day.

I know how they run. I know what they need. ”

“Do you know what her clients need?” she asked condescendingly.

“I like to think I’m intelligent enough to learn. Why? Are you offering to help? Tell me about your vast experience taking Dad’s dictation.”

She paused mid-jab, her serrated knife buried in the lasagna. “Don’t be crass.”

“I’m just saying, don’t rush to help. Think about it first. Long and hard.”

“Stop it.” She aggressively cut rows and squares.

I smirked and set out the cutlery, then brought the salad to the table while she brought our filled plates to the placemats.

“I’m open-minded, if not particularly adventurous,” I said once we were seated. “Thanks to you, I’m also pathologically responsible. Georgia asked for my help, so I will help her.” Honestly, Georgia was doing me the favor—shoving me off the ledge. We both knew this would be good for me.

Mom huffed out a sigh. “What will you tell your children?”

“That I’m working for a friend.”

Mom’s brows went up in challenge.

“I’ll tell them as much as they need to know.” I might’ve watered down various details through the years—especially around the divorce and Dad’s illness—but I didn’t keep secrets from them. “I’m as entitled to a private life as they are.” Hint, hint.

Mom used the side of her fork to cut away a bite of lasagna. “What about the house? I thought you wanted me to sell it?”

“I do.” But throwing out expired cottage cheese got her back up. I didn’t expect her to change her attitude any time soon.

“You said you were going back to Toronto in two weeks. What about Roddie?”

“I’ll ask Roddie to come for spring break. Maybe he’ll want some of Dad’s things.” I highly doubted it, but the suggestion perked up Mom’s ears.

“He’ll need the sofa bed. I’ll take your father’s clothes to the thrift store the next time I go.

” She had been saying that every day since I’d arrived.

I had a feeling she dreaded seeing them on the racks—or worse, on someone in town—but she was too loyal to the Ladies Hospital Auxiliary to take them anywhere else.

“Let me know when you’re ready. I’ll help carry everything to the car,” I said, exactly as I had every other time. “Do you want more wine?”

“That would be nice, thank you.” She pushed her empty glass across the table.