“He works for me.”
“He works for your security company. Not quite the same power dynamic.”
“Christine—”
“I’m serious, Alicia. When’s the last time you let yourself have something just for you? Not for Stella, not for your career, not for managing Richard’s feelings—just for you?”
The waiter arrives with our food, and I’ve never been more grateful for the interruption.
But as we eat, Christine’s question lingers. When was the last time I did something just for myself?
“What about your date?” I ask, redirecting.
“Didn’t make it past one drink. He spent forty minutes explaining cryptocurrency.” She spears a bite of quiche. “I don’t want to hear about blockchain. I want to hear about your bodyguard’s—” She pauses dramatically. “—skill set.”
“Christine!”
“What? I meant his professional qualifications.” Her grin is wicked. “Unless you have other data to share?”
My phone rings—Richard’s landline, meaning Stella is calling—and I grab it like a lifeline. “Saved by the preteen.”
Christine just laughs and reaches for another pastry.
I exit the restaurant so I can speak where it’s quieter.
“Hey, honey,” I answer. Sometimes when she calls on Sunday things aren’t going well and she’s looking for an excuse to exit early.
“Hey, Mom,” she says. “Where are you?”
“Brunch with Christine.”
“Cool.”
“What’s up?” I left my coat and scarf hanging on my chair. The crisp air cuts through my sweater, nipping at my skin. I’m under an awning, but the air itself feels wet.
“Oh, nothing much. I’m about to head over to Melissa’s for a study session.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah, and then Jessica wants me to join them for dinner tonight, you know, since I’m not spending the whole day with them.”
That’s not unreasonable, I suppose—but the word them lands hard, an unwelcome reminder that I’m no longer the center of her orbit.
“Well, you can just let me know what time to pick you up.”
“It’s probably going to be a late dinner. The reservation is at eight.”
That’s very late for a school night, but I’ll save that commentary for Richard.
“So, I might just stay with them tonight, then come home after school tomorrow.”
“That’s fine,” I say, scanning the street. Movement from a man in a black coat beneath an awning across the street catches my attention, but then he steps inside the store.
“Why don’t you text me what your snack, lunch, and dinner preferences are for the week. I’ll make sure we’re stocked up.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” But the words land flat, missing her usual energy.
“What’s wrong?”