I grab a leather coat rather than my usual enormous winter one, and toss a cross-body bag over my shoulder. One of my cute little bright red ones that pretty much only holds my phone, a subway card and a credit card. Not that Russ will let me pay when we go out together—he won’t even let me buy us lunch in the work cafeteria, the couple times we’ve dared to eat together down there. But still, I bring it just in case, along with an ID. I wonder if I’ll need anything else. But I figure Russ would have told me if we were doing something off the beaten path that required special supplies.
I just hope we aren’t really going to a soup kitchen again, or I’m going to be obnoxiously overdressed for the occasion.
Still smiling at the thought of last time we met up like this, I troop downstairs, only to find my mother in the kitchen, in the middle of mixing up her and Dad’s usual post-work cocktails—Manhattans with a cherry on top. She eyes me, then does a double-take, her eyebrows rising. “Someone’s all dolled up.”
My cheeks flush a warning pink. “Meeting up with some friends.”
“Some friends?” Mom’s eyes narrow knowingly. “Or one special friend in particular?”
I force myself to laugh lightheartedly, despite the jolt of panic that floods my veins. “What are you talking about?”
She shrugs, a look of pretend innocence on her face that I’m not buying for a second. Anyone who knows my mother would recognize this as her None of my business, but… expression. “I’ve just seen you texting a lot lately. And you get this little half-smile on your face when you do, like you’re daydreaming…”
Damn. I thought I was being careful. So much for subtlety. I’ll need to be more cautious about when I text Russ in the future, if I want to keep this up. “Nobody special,” I say aloud, not allowing my smile to slip. “Just been in a good mood lately.”
“That’s good.” Mom’s expression goes a little serious, and she checks over her shoulder. Looking for Dad, I realize. When she speaks again, her voice is a little softer. “I was worried when you started at the hospital. Because I know you and your father don’t always see eye-to-eye on things there…”
“Still don’t,” I admit with a faint grimace. “But it’s getting more bearable.”
“Well, good.” Mom’s smile softens as she watches me. “He cares about you, honey. And he wants you to be successful and have a great career like his.” Her expression turns a little sly. “But your father doesn’t know everything. Sometimes you need to stand up to him to show him who you really are.”
I watch her turn back to her drink shakers, my mind reeling. Your father doesn’t know everything. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mom talk like that about him. Of course, she’s always been the only person in the world who Dad actually listens to, instead of just talking bullheadedly to prove his own opinion.
Maybe that’s how she came to be. Because she forced him to recognize that her opinion counted, too.
Can I do the same?
“Thanks, Mom,” I say absently, as I start toward the door, mulling her words over. She just waves at me with a shake of her head, and tells me to have fun with my friends tonight. If only she knew it wasn’t my friends I’m about to have fun with, but hers.
I push the thought from my mind, less some of my guilt shows on my face. If it weren’t for Dad, I probably would tell Mom about Russ and me. But my parents share everything, and even my free-spirited, fun-loving mother might react weirdly to me dating someone her age. I can’t be sure, and I’m too nervous to even think about trying it.
No, we need to remain a secret. If not for my sake, then for Russ’s, who has to keep his job at Dad’s hospital.
Outside, the winter wind bites through my light leather jacket almost immediately. I scurry toward the nearest subway, cursing myself for not wearing a thicker, albeit uglier, coat. Or at the very least, some boots, even though they wouldn’t go with this dress at all.
Finally, I slip into the subway station, where a blast of warm air hits me straight in the face. In the summer, the stations are abysmal, but in the winter months I do appreciate the heat, even if it comes with a whole host of not great smelling side scents.
My parents never take the subway, not since Dad bought his car. But as a broke student, I got used to it. Now I almost prefer it. At least there’s never traffic, even if the MTA sometimes (okay, most of the time) messes up the schedules and changes the tracks for construction all the time.