10. Dating With Mom

Juliet

I stab Rachel's name on my phone and slam it against my ear. It rings once. "Answer, please," I mutter as I tromp toward Pick Me Up, the nearest coffee shop. I need caffeine, and I need sister time, and I need an answer ASAP.

I pass a tattoo shop dubbed Blue Roses, bustling with customers and displaying art with fine linework of vines, foxes, skulls, and blue roses. I'm wondering which came first—the art or the name—when Rachel answers.

"Hey! What's going on?"

I cut to the chase. "We need to talk. Now."

I'm still worked up. When breakfast ended, I told Monroe I needed to talk to a client and I'd get the bike later. I told my mom I'd call her tonight, and I marched downtown.

"Okay, talk," Rachel says. "I'm at the store, though, so if a customer comes in I have to go." I near the next block. A consignment shop called Second Time Around boasts vintage blouses in the window, but I refuse to look at the pretties right now.

"Your mom wants me to be her new dating bestie!"

Rachel scoff-laughs. "My mom?"

"Yes. Your mom."

"She's always my mom when you're worked up."

"Because she is," I sputter, building up a new head of steam, dodging a pair of older men power walking. "This is such a thing your mom would do. And I'm left to deal with it because you went out and got yourself married. You met a perfect man in Carter, and Sawyer's dating Katya, and I'm left to be Mom's dating buddy. She was like, let's do it together." I pass a small-batch ice cream shop with delectable flavors like tequila and lime, and I'm pretty sure that's a need. A tonight need. Maybe it will help me make sense of New Mom. "And she wears Converse now. She doesn't wear mom shoes. Help me, Rachel!"

Rachel's just laughing. Or maybe chortling. Whatever it is, she's definitely doing it at me, not with me. "But you're the dating expert. So now you have to help Mom figure out how to date!"

Across the street, a pack of yogis floods out of a studio and into the Pick Me Up coffee shop. With an aggrieved groan, I turn at the corner, then stop and lean against the bright green wall of the town library, where the scent of lavender wafts through the air. It smells so nice, it almost relaxes me. Almost. I'm still completely baffled.

"I don't know who she is," I say quietly to Rachel.

She pauses briefly, then asks, "Is that really what's shocking you? Or is it that Mom's enjoying dating and you're not?"

Way to see inside my soul. I slump down against the wooden wall. "What am I doing, Rach? I'm in Darling Springs with this va-va-voom house and the guy I dated once upon a time and my mom asking us both for advice, and meanwhile, my dating life sucks. The last guy I went out with told me I was too old to ride his ride, and he was easily forty. And this is becoming my norm. It's embarrassing. I have the worst luck with men. No wonder I'm a breakup-party planner."

Rachel sighs sympathetically. "Is it really such a bad idea, then, to date with Mom?"

I don't even know anymore. "But what about Dad? I don't want to be disloyal to him. Hey, Pops. Your ex-wife is DTF, and I'm gonna help her get some."

"I'm pretty sure Dad is doing just fine post-divorce," Rachel reassures me. "He's going to stop by later today. He told me he's coming to the city to do some shopping, and he sounded great. But let's talk about you, J. You haven't had much luck dating in the city. Maybe this Darling Springs dating experiment is a good idea. Maybe you need a small-town guy to, I dunno, reset things."

I shake my head, adamant. "I like the city. I like the hustle and bustle. I like my business. It's a city business. I like all the people, and the opportunities, and the chances. I don't want to find a guy here. This place is cute and adorable, but…"

"But what?" She's gentle but insistent.

My gaze strays to Main Street. To the arcade. To the single-screen movie theater where Monroe and I went one night, laughing our way through the 1990s comedies of the retro movie marathon before we kissed as the credits rolled.

It was a kiss that melted me. A kiss I was sure was better than any silver-screen kiss.

A kiss that still makes my skin tingle.

I drag my gaze from the theater, but it lands on The Slippery Dipper just beyond. This town reminds me too much of one stupid week. One stupid, wonderful week I can't forget. How can a one-week fling eight years ago stay with me like this?

Oh, right. Because it was with my co-worker.

Great decision, doing a podcast with him.

Darling Springs is a seductress. Its hip, modern, small-town energy will not seduce me again. "It'll be fine. I don't need a dating reset after all. I'll just come up with a new dating plan in San Francisco. Join a new app or try a matchmaking service, even. Some of my clients have. I can get some good recs."

"True. But maybe, hear me out, in Darling Springs, you'd get some fresh experience with different men there?"

Except what if nothing changes? What if I'm just bad at love?

The shop bell tinkles in the background, and she says apologetically, "I have to go. Think about it."

"I will," I say, then hang up and drop my head in my hands, downbeat again and hating being that way. Especially when everyone else is so upbeat. Mom has never seemed happier.

But what about Dad? Is he as good as Rachel says he is? As he says he is when I've talked to him? Fine, Mom and Dad said it was amicable. They said it was conscious uncoupling. But they're not even supposed to know that term, let alone use it.

And what if it's not? It might be rude for me to wingwoman my mom if my dad is hurting. Sure, he's shopping, but what if he's shopping for gratitude journals because he's sad about his split?

I should help him. He needs me! I hit his name in my contacts, and he picks up immediately. "Hey, sweet pea. How's everything?" He sounds rushed, but kind.

"I'm fantastic," I say, putting on my best cheer. "I just haven't chatted with you much and wanted to say hi." He's probably wandering the streets of San Francisco, hunting for a book of affirmations. I should send him one. Pop into the Darling Springs bookshop and grab one.

"Oh. Well. I always love chatting with you," he says. There's a clink of plates in the background, then a faint voice saying your avocado toast.

I startle. "Where are you?"

There's a pause. Then a clearing of his throat. "I'm at Oak and Vine. Why don't we catch up later? I'm, um, just having a bite."

I groan. He's on a date, and he can't even tell me. "You're on a date?"

Another pause, then a sheepish, "Yes."

He says something, but it's muffled, then I hear footsteps for a few seconds before he speaks in a clear but low voice. "And she's great. A very nice woman. I'm taking her shopping at your sister's store after brunch. Let me call you later, sweet pea."

"Of course," I say, then I let him go.

Brunch. My father has a brunch date. He has a shopping date. He's taking a woman to a trendy restaurant in the city.

Both of my aging parents, who haven't dated in over thirty-five years, are rocking the single life. If the two of them can kill it at dating, I should be boss-level by now.

And yet, here I am, slumped against this wall, feeling sorry for myself because I officially suck at dating.

I blow out a frustrated breath, then consider moping and moaning all day long.

I really need to get it together.

When I lift my face, there's a fair-skinned blonde with tattoos curling over one bare shoulder walking toward me. She's clutching several bouquets of lavender and wearing a snug lavender tank top that says Bees Do It.

She looks happy enough. I bet I look like a grumpy city girl. That's not me. Why am I in a funk that my mom is dating and my dating life sucks?

A voice in my head says get it together.

I snap to it. "That lavender smells amazing," I say, standing too.

"You can't go wrong with lavender. That's just a fact. Especially if you're having a bad day."

I frown. "That obvious?"

Her smile is kind. "Just a guess?"

"A good guess," I admit, a little ashamed it's so apparent. "But I need to get out of this funk."

"Well, I run a lavender farm. It lifts your spirits. So if that helps, come on by," she says, her brown eyes friendly.

"You live here?"

"Yes, I'm Ripley. My farm is that way," she says, pointing behind her. "But I'm bringing these to my friend who runs Downward Dog All Day. It's a combo yoga studio/doggie daycare."

"Shut up. That's too cute," I say, then I give a wave instead of a handshake since her hands are full. "I'm Juliet. From San Francisco." And…screw it. I might as well ask her advice about the prospects here. She'd know better than my mom or I would. "Can I ask you a question? What's the dating scene like here?"

The laughter that falls from her lips is unlike anything I've heard before. It's knowing, resigned, a little reluctant, but totally amused.

I'm too curious to return to my bike. "Now I really need to know."

"How much time do you have?" Ripley's tone is pure deadpan.

Thirty minutes and a latte later, I have a new friend, a bouquet of lavender, and a handful of tales about dating in a small town.

The conclusion? It's full of ups and downs like anyplace else. Full of duds and bores, frat boys and tech bros, bad boys and good guys. It's full of hope and heartache.

"For someone who specializes in breakups, you're pretty freaking positive," Ripley says as she sets down her emptied London fog. "I say give it a shot. Like you said—every breakup gets you closer to the one. You'll meet some jerks—trust me, I have. But maybe you'll meet someone…fantastic. Maybe I will too. So try it."

It sounds so easy. Almost as easy as making a new friend. So easy I should do it. "Thanks, Ripley. It was great meeting you."

I say goodbye after we exchange numbers, then I return to my bike and set my lavender in the basket and pedal home. When I reach Eleanor's—I mean our—cottage, Monroe's pruning the bushes in the front yard.

No time like the present. I hop off the bike and announce: "I'll do it."

As he looks up from the bush, pruning shears in hand, his expression is unreadable. "You want to date here. This week?"

Like he needs to make sure I've really said that.

I nod vigorously. "I'm not backing down. I won't be the girl who slumps against libraries in a dating funk. I will be the woman who tries again."

A line digs into his brow as if he can't make sense of everything I've said.

But I've said it. Now I'm doing it. "If Mom can, I can. I'm making a change. Time to turn over a new leaf. Now, I'm going to tackle the kitchen," I say, grabbing the lavender bouquet and bounding up the steps.

"Okay," he says, sounding a little dazed.

Perhaps I surprised him with my decision. I yank open the door, then shrug happily. "In fact, I'm going to start tonight. And you can help me pick the guys to date."

I might be bad at love, but I won't let that get me down.