Questions

"Where is Jack taking you for dinner?" Mom asked as we walked toward the mall entrance.

I smiled.

"Pier W."

Mom stopped so fast I nearly walked right into her.

"What?"

I laughed.

"Pier W."

She just stood there staring at me.

"The Pier W?"

"Yes, Mom."

For a moment she didn't say anything.

Then she grabbed my arm.

"Lela, do you realize how hard it is to get reservations there?"

I shrugged.

"Not really."

She started laughing.

"Oh my God."

"What?"

"Sweetheart, people wait months for reservations at Pier W."

I looked at her.

"Seriously?"

"Very seriously."

I had heard of the restaurant, of course. Everyone had. It was one of those places people talked about for weeks after they went there. The food, the view, the atmosphere—everything about it was supposed to be incredible.

But I never really thought much about it.

Chris and I rarely went anywhere special anymore.

Most dinners out consisted of whatever was convenient between schedules.

Mom shook her head.

"You don't just wake up on a Tuesday and decide you're having dinner at Pier W on Saturday."

I laughed.

"Maybe he planned ahead."

"Maybe."

She looked thoughtful.

"Or maybe he knows somebody."

I smiled.

"That sounds like Dad."

Mom immediately laughed.

"Your father is one of the few people I know who can get a reservation there whenever he wants."

That didn't surprise me at all.

My father seemed to know everyone.

And if he didn't know them personally, he knew someone who did.

For as long as I could remember, Dad had relationships everywhere.

Restaurants.

Dealerships.

Country clubs.

Local businesses.

Construction companies.

Banks.

It didn't matter where we went.

Somebody always knew Paul.

And somehow, Paul knew everybody.

I laughed.

"Remember our anniversary dinner there?"

Mom rolled her eyes.

"How could I forget?"

She started smiling.

"Three months."

"What?"

"Three months."

I looked confused.

"The waiting list."

"Oh."

"The woman on the phone told me there wasn't a reservation available for almost three months."

I laughed.

"Sounds about right."

Mom nodded.

"So I told your father we would just go somewhere else."

"And?"

She laughed.

"He disappeared into his office."

I already knew where this story was going.

"Thirty minutes later he came walking out."

I smiled.

"With reservations."

"Of course."

Mom shook her head.

"I didn't even ask."

"You didn't?"

"No."

We both laughed.

"After thirty years of marriage, you learn not to ask questions."

"Probably smart."

She pointed at me.

"When we arrived, the hostess greeted him by name."

I burst out laughing.

"That doesn't surprise me either."

"Nothing surprises me anymore."

For a moment, we just stood there smiling.

Thinking about Dad.

His personality.

His charm.

His ability to talk to absolutely anyone.

Then Mom looked at me again.

"Jack must have put some effort into this."

I looked away.

Because that thought had already crossed my mind.

More than once.

The truth was, I had expected something simple.

Maybe coffee.

Maybe lunch.

Maybe a casual dinner somewhere nearby.

I certainly hadn't expected one of the nicest restaurants around.

Mom seemed to read my thoughts.

"You know what this tells me?"

I immediately groaned.

"Please don't."

"He wants to impress you."

"Mom."

"He does."

"No."

"Yes."

I laughed.

"You're impossible."

She smiled.

"I've earned that title."

I shook my head.

The more she talked about it, the more nervous I became.

Not because of the restaurant.

Because of what the restaurant represented.

Effort.

Thoughtfulness.

Planning.

It had been a long time since someone had put that kind of effort into spending time with me.

A very long time.

Mom must have noticed the change in my expression.

Her smile softened.

"What?"

I shrugged.

"Nothing."

"Lela."

"It's just weird."

"What is?"

I thought for a moment.

Then I answered honestly.

"The idea that somebody is actually excited to spend time with me."

Mom stopped walking.

Immediately.

I knew I had said something important the moment the words left my mouth.

She looked at me for several seconds.

Then she wrapped her arm around mine.

"Oh, sweetheart."

I looked away.

Embarrassed.

Because hearing it out loud sounded far worse than thinking it.

But it was true.

For years, my relationship with Chris had become routine.

Predictable.

Comfortable.

Not necessarily in a good way.

More like roommates sharing responsibilities.

The excitement had disappeared so gradually that I barely noticed it happening.

Until now.

Mom squeezed my arm.

"You deserve to be excited about."

I laughed softly.

"That's a strange sentence."

"You know what I mean."

I did.

And honestly, I didn't know how to respond.

Because part of me still felt guilty.

Not because I was doing anything wrong.

But because I was looking forward to something.

And after years of disappointment, hope felt dangerous.

Mom glanced at me.

"Nervous?"

I laughed.

"A little."

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot."

She smiled.

"Good."

"Good?"

"That means you care."

I rolled my eyes.

"It means I'm terrified."

She laughed.

"Same thing."

We started walking again.

The mall entrance was just ahead of us.

Then Mom stopped one last time.

"Just imagine your father's face when he hears Pier W."

I burst out laughing.

"Oh God."

"He'll probably want to know how Jack pulled it off."

"He absolutely will."

"And if your father is impressed..."

She paused dramatically.

I already knew where this was going.

"What?"

Mom smiled.

"That's saying something."

I laughed all the way into the mall.

But deep down, she was right.

Because if there was one thing my father respected, it was a man who made an effort.

And somehow, without even realizing it, Jack had already started doing exactly that.