Thursday Night

Thursday nights were usually predictable. Chris would have another dinner meeting with clients, another networking event, or another reason he couldn't be home. Over the years, I had stopped asking questions. Sometimes the meetings were legitimate, sometimes they weren't, and sometimes I simply didn't have the energy to care.

That particular Thursday, I found myself driving toward my parents' house.

No matter what was happening in my life, my parents' home had always been my safe place. The moment I turned onto their street, I felt myself relax. It was the same neighborhood I had grown up in. The same trees lined the road. The same neighbors waved from their porches. It was as if time stood still there.

As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed my father's truck wasn't home yet.

Good, I thought.

That meant I would get a few minutes alone with my mom before Dad arrived and turned every conversation into a comedy show.

The smell hit me before I even opened the front door.

Garlic.

Roast beef.

Fresh bread.

My stomach immediately growled.

I walked into the kitchen and found my mother exactly where I expected her to be—standing at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, wearing one of her faded aprons.

She looked up and smiled.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in."

"Very funny."

She gave me a quick hug.

"Chris working again?"

"Meeting with clients."

"Of course he is."

There was enough sarcasm in her voice to season the entire meal.

My mother had never disliked Chris, but she had never completely trusted him either.

Mothers know things.

They see things long before anyone else does.

Mine certainly did.

I sat at the kitchen table while she continued cooking.

For a few minutes we talked about normal things. Work. Family. The weather.

Then I noticed her watching me.

Not casually.

Studying me.

That should have been my warning.

Finally, she set down her spoon.

"Lela."

I looked up.

"What?"

"Who are you going out with Saturday?"

I nearly dropped the roll I was buttering.

"What?"

"You heard me."

I laughed nervously.

"Nobody."

"That's funny."

"What?"

"Because I know you're going out with somebody."

I stared at her.

"How?"

She smiled.

"Because I'm your mother."

I rolled my eyes.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer you need."

I should have known there was no point arguing.

My mother could pull information out of people better than most detectives.

Eventually, I sighed.

"Fine."

She smiled victoriously.

"There it is."

"It's nothing."

"It's never nothing."

I laughed despite myself.

"A guy keeps calling me at work."

"The car guy?"

I groaned.

"Mom."

"What? That's who it is, right?"

"Yes."

"The one who sold me my car?"

"Yes."

"The one who won't stop calling?"

"Yes."

She sat down across from me.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

I shook my head.

"Ron is actually the reason I'm going."

Her eyebrows rose.

"Your boss Ron?"

"Yes."

"What does he have to do with any of this?"

I laughed.

"You'll never believe me."

"Try me."

I told her the entire story.

How Ron answered the phone.

How he listened to Jack talk.

How he called me into his office afterward.

And how he jokingly threatened to fire me if I didn't go out with him.

My mother's mouth fell open.

"He said what?"

"He was kidding."

"I don't care if he was kidding."

I laughed.

"Mom."

"No."

"Mom."

"No, absolutely not."

She pointed her finger toward me.

"Your father would have a heart attack."

"Exactly."

"He'd drive straight to your office."

I started laughing.

"He would not."

"He absolutely would."

"He likes Ron."

"Not after hearing that."

We both burst out laughing.

For a moment, it felt good.

Really good.

The kind of good that comes from forgetting your problems for a little while.

Then my mother's expression softened.

"He knows things aren't good with Chris, doesn't he?"

I nodded.

"Yeah."

"Everybody knows."

That hurt more than I expected.

Not because she was wrong.

Because she was right.

For years I had worked so hard to make everything look perfect.

The nice house.

The nice cars.

The successful life.

The happy relationship.

But people always see more than you think they do.

Especially the people who love you.

"Things haven't been good for a while, Mom."

"I know."

"I'm tired."

"I know that too."

"Tired of the drinking."

She nodded.

"Tired of the excuses."

Another nod.

"Tired of waiting for things to change."

This time she reached across the table and squeezed my hand.

"Oh, sweetheart."

For a moment I felt like I was sixteen years old again.

Not a grown woman trying to hold together a complicated life.

Just someone's daughter.

And honestly, that felt wonderful.

After a few moments, my mother smiled.

"So."

I immediately knew what was coming.

"So what?"

"What are you wearing?"

I groaned.

"Here we go."

"I'm serious."

"I'm wearing clothes."

"Lela."

"What?"

"You need something nice."

"I have nice things."

"No."

"I do."

"You have work clothes."

I laughed.

"What's wrong with work clothes?"

"Nothing if you're heading to work."

"It isn't a date."

My mother laughed so hard she nearly dropped her spoon.

"Oh honey."

"What?"

"It is absolutely a date."

"It is not."

"It absolutely is."

"No."

"Yes."

We went back and forth for nearly ten minutes.

By the end, she had already decided we were shopping whether I agreed or not.

That was when the back door opened.

In walked my father.

The king had arrived.

"Hey, Smurfette!"

I smiled immediately.

My father had called me Smurfette for as long as I could remember.

I was almost forty years old, and somehow the nickname had survived every stage of my life.

"Hi, Dad."

"What are you doing here?"

"Chris had another meeting."

He hung his keys on the hook.

Then he looked toward the stove.

"Your mother cooked?"

Mom immediately spun around.

"I cook all the time."

Dad laughed.

"Now that's funny."

She threw a dish towel at him.

He ducked.

I couldn't help laughing.

Watching my parents together was like watching an old comedy show.

After more than forty years of marriage, they still teased each other nonstop.

Dad grabbed a roll and sat down.

Mom immediately pointed at me.

"Tell your father."

I closed my eyes.

"Oh no."

Dad looked interested.

"Tell me what?"

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing."

"Mom."

Dad leaned forward.

"Now I definitely want to know."

My mother smiled.

"She's going on a date Saturday."

The room went silent.

Dad blinked.

Then blinked again.

"A date?"

I buried my face in my hands.

"Dad, it's not a date."

His eyes got wide.

"Does Chris know?"

"Dad!"

"What?"

"It's not a date."

"What is it then?"

I searched for an answer.

Unfortunately, I couldn't think of one.

Dad grinned.

"Sounds like a date to me."

Even my father was against me.

I was doomed.

What started as a quiet dinner with my parents had suddenly become an interrogation.

And somehow, despite all the stress in my life, despite everything happening with Chris, despite all the uncertainty surrounding Saturday night, I found myself laughing harder than I had in months.

For the first time in a long time, I felt something I hadn't felt in years.

Hope.

I didn't know what Saturday would bring.

I didn't know whether I would like Jack.

I didn't know if anything would come from the evening.

But somewhere deep inside, a tiny voice was whispering that maybe my life was about to change.

And for the first time, I wasn't entirely afraid of that possibility.