I laugh, shaking my head at the sarcasm in her voice. “I teased you about being shit with technology once.”
“Firstly, young man—”
“Forty-five is hardly young.”
“It is when you’re seventy. Now stop interrupting me. Firstly, mind your language.”
“What did I say?”
“It begins with s and rhymes with pit.”
“Oh, spit.”
I can practically hear her rolling her eyes, which just makes me laugh even harder. Mom might like to pretend my teasing bothers her, but it’s one of the things that brought us closer in the years after Dad’s passing. Dad always used to tease her, delighting in making her squirm, and I think part of her misses that.
“And secondly?” I prompt.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she says. “You’ve made me lose my train of thought like you always do, you pest.”
I chuckle again, my eyes moving over the city, my chest tightening as I wonder if my woman lives in this neighborhood… or this one… or this one.
I could call her and find out, but calling her for anything not related to work would be incredibly unprofessional.
And what the hell am I supposed to say?
She’d think I’m insane if she knew how I really feel about her.
“Miller?” Mom says, in that tone of voice that tells me she’s said my name several times already, but I’ve been too busy fantasizing about my woman to listen.
“Yeah?”
“I said have you met any nice women recently?”
There’s a playful note in her voice like there always is when she asks this question. This is the part where I’m supposed to banter with her, telling her I’ll never find the woman of my dreams. Then she’ll laugh down the phone at me.
I don’t need you to find the woman of your dreams, she’ll say. I just need you to give me some grandchildren.
I know how badly she wants them, but what I’ve always told her has held true.
I never found the woman who triggers something in me, who provokes the feral need I require to commit fully.
Until now.
“Miller?” she murmurs, lowering her voice. “Have you?”
“I… may have,” I say. “But it’s complicated.”
“How so?”
I laugh raggedly, hardly believing I’m going to say this. “Because she’s a potential patient…”
“So she already has a partner?”
“No,” I growl, hot fire entering my voice at the thought alone. “She wants to become a voluntary single mother. She doesn’t have anybody else in her life.”
Thank God.
It wouldn’t go well for them if she did, even if that would be unfair, even if it would make me the beast that so desperately wants to erupt from my chest.
“I don’t see how there’s a problem then,” Mom says, doing a terrible job at masking the excitement bubbling up in her voice.
I know she’s waited a long time for me to tell her I’ve found someone, and now this is her chance to be a grandmother.
How the fuck am I supposed to explain the craziness of the situation?
I sigh. “Mom, I only met her today. I probably spent ten minutes with her.”
“What?” Mom gasps. “I don’t understand.”
I laugh drily. “Yeah, neither do I. But it’s the truth. The second I saw her I knew…”
I trail off as savage words try to rise on my lips, the sort of words I’ll throw at my woman when I finally grab her by the shoulders and pull her flush against me.
But even the word finally doesn’t make sense here, because I’ve only wanted her for…
Hours.
It seems impossible.
It feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life for Macie.
“I know I had to have her,” I finish, keeping it clean for Moms’ sake. “I know it makes no sense. But I’ve never felt more certain about anything.”
“I can hear it in your voice,” Mom murmurs. “I’ve never heard you this passionate before, even about your practice. You have to try and make this work, Miller.”
I laugh, my voice low and gruff, as I turn and pace across my apartment. I throw myself on the oversize leather couch. Somehow this place seems far bigger than it did this morning, as though thoughts of Macie and the family she’s going to give me are making me lonely.
“What the hell do you think she’s going to say if I call her up and tell her any of this?”
“I didn’t say you had to tell her,” Mom counters. “But you have to pursue this. I know you better than anybody. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I think about the people in my life, the acquaintances, the friends, the colleagues, and I know she’s right.
After Dad died I closed off parts of myself, a defense mechanism to stop myself from feeling that sort of pain ever again.
“Yeah,” I say.
“And I know you’ll never be able to forgive yourself if you ignore this feeling.”
“So you’re saying it makes sense?” I ask with disbelief writhing through my voice. “Come on, Mom. I must be going crazy.”