The Suite Spot (Beck Sisters #2)(11)

“Do you ever think about dating?”

“Where did that come from?” Mom asks.

“Dad’s been gone for…” It’s been so long, I need to do the math. “Nineteen years, and you’ve never talked about any other men. Have you dated anyone since he left?”

“Oma, do you have a boyfriend?” Maisie asks.

Mom rolls her eyes. “Who has time for boyfriends?”

“You would if I took the job in Ohio,” I say. “You could downsize to a condo and not have to worry about repairs or yard work. You could go for drinks after work with your friends. You could sign up for a Tinder account.”

“Halt die Schnauze,” she says, pinching her fingers together like a closing mouth. She rolls her eyes again, but she’s fighting a smile. “Tinder account.”

“Why not? I’m sure a lot of old geezers would swipe right on you.”

She laughs. “I don’t need a man. I have my girls.”

“Mom, I’m taking the job.”

“I think you’re making a mistake.”

“You thought Anna was making a mistake when she went sailing,” I point out. “But look how that turned out.”

“You’re not Anna.”

“What does that mean?”

“You have a history of bad decisions,” she says. “Look at all the terrible boys you dated in high school. Look at B-R-I-A-N. And what about that guy last year who you thought was the One after your first date?”

“Maybe I inherited my decision-making skills from the woman who followed a guy to another country.”

Mom shoots me a murderous look—one I deserve—and points her knife in my direction. “This is not about me.”

“No, this is about my career,” I say. “I stayed on the night shift at Aquamarine when I had the chance to switch to days so I wouldn’t have to sacrifice my time with Maisie. I juggled college, a full-time job, and parenting. I may suck at dating, but I have always made good choices when it comes to my career. Don’t you dare try to conflate them.”

We sit in silence as a space battle plays out in the background on TV. The scrape of silverware across our plates seems amplified.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” I say. “It was disrespectful.”

“But also true,” Mom says. “I was like you when I was young, which is why I’ve always worried more about you than Anna.”

“I really want this job, but I’d rather go with your blessing than without.”

Mom smiles as she uses her knife to push a bit of casserole onto her fork. “I guess I wouldn’t mind getting a smaller place with no yard to worry about. I’ve always hated cleaning up after that tree.”



* * *



The next two days rush past like time-lapse film as I separate Maisie’s and my belongings—keep, donate, trash—and prep the car for a cross-country trek. I sell my bedroom furniture and Maisie’s old crib on Craigslist. I buy winter coats and accessories because my weather app shows temperatures in Ohio ranging from freezing to balmy in the span of a single day. And when I can’t drag my feet any longer, I call Brian and ask him to meet Maisie and me at Lester’s.

“I knew you’d be back.” He aims his dimpled grin at me as he drops into the booth across from us. Maisie is drawing a picture of a fish on the place mat, and my heart gives a nostalgic tug as I watch. My feelings may have changed, but Brian and I had some good times. Together, we made a beautiful child.

“So, um—I wanted to tell you in person that Maisie and I are moving to Ohio,” I say. “I’ve accepted a job as the manager of a specialty hotel, and I start next week. We leave the day after tomorrow.”

“Wait.” His eyebrows climb his forehead. Clearly not what he expected. “For real?”

“Losing my job was a wake-up call,” I say. “I’m too old to be living at home with my mom and I’m tired of waiting around for you. This job is a chance for me to finally get ahead.”

“But what about—” Brian points to himself, then gestures at Maisie. “I mean, how’s that going to work if you’re living in a different state?”

Brian and I never had a formal custody arrangement. It’s always been a loose agreement that Maisie would live with me and visit him whenever he wanted to see her—which hasn’t been as often as it should be. I’ve never asked him to help support Maisie financially, either.

“You’re not exactly a functioning parent when you flake out on visits and invite your girlfriends over when you should be spending time with your daughter,” I say. “So, until you get your priorities straight, you and Maisie can video-chat anytime you want.”

He drums his thumbs on the tabletop, not looking at me. “This really sucks.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know, I just remembered I’ve got a, um—a shift at work,” Brian says, sliding out of the booth. “Come here and give me a hug, little pea.”

He lifts her into his arms, and she hugs him tightly around his neck. I blink to keep from crying.

“Be good for your mama,” he says. “And send me some drawings for my fridge, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy. I love you.”