Chapter 3

"It's Friday night," her mother started as usual. "You should be out there enjoying yourself, Tasha Harrison. Not stuck in your home office with a conference paper.”

"I'm not stuck in the office, mom." She protested weakly.

“Princess, start allowing yourself to enjoy happiness again.” The older woman said perceptively. “It's been seven years. Give yourself a chance at happiness again.”

“Mom,” she dragged in a long breath. “I am trying.”

“No, you are not, sweetheart. All you do is work: research, grading of papers, preparing lectures and conference papers.”

“But these are the things that give me joy,” she said, meaning it.

“No, they shouldn't be the only things that give you joy. You need a man. Forget Blake, he's never going to come back. You have to stop thinking about him.”

“Of course, I know he's never coming back,” she stood up from her desk and left the room. “Blake is not on my mind anymore.”

“Yes, you still think about him,” her mom insisted. “I am your mother. I see the longing in your eyes every time.”

“You are just misinterpreting the looks in my eyes, mother.” She scoffed. “What will I be thinking about him for?”

"How is Grant?" Her mother asked. “Grant?” Tasha made a face as if the older woman were there with her. “What has Grant got to do with this conversation, mom?"

"Grant is a nice young man," Mrs. Harrison said. “You know what he wants by hanging around you all this while?"

"Hmmm," Tasha snorted and walked into her bedroom. She didn't like where the conversation was heading.

“Okay mom,” she said exasperatedly. “I promise I will change. I will improve my social life.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, mom,” she chuckled. “I promise.”

“I will surely hold you up to that young lady.”

“Yes, mommy, do.”

“What day are you going to book my flight for?” Mrs. Harrison changed the topic swiftly in her usual character.

She was coming over to stay with her grandson during the time Tasha will be away in Canada.

“I haven't booked yet,” she said. “I want to ask you first.”

“Since you are leaving on Monday night, why not book it for Sunday?”

“Alright, Sunday is okay. I will do it tomorrow.”

“That's okay. So I will see you next week.”

“Yeah, next week mom.”

They soon ended the call, and Tasha went into her bathroom.

********

“Thank you all for listening,” Tasha said into the microphone the following week at the conference in Canada to end her presentation. The hall erupted into clapping, she smiled at the audience and readjusted the microphone.

Tasha's heart swelled with pride. She smiled at the audience one more time and went back to her seat.

“That was a very brilliant presentation,” Professor Morgan, who was sitting beside her, beamed at her. “I am so proud of you, Dr. Harrison.”

Professor Morgan, now a Professor Emeritus, was one of her lecturers back in Chicago state university during her undergrad days.

“Thank you, Prof.” she said to the old man. She was happy when she found out he would be at the conference and that made her put in all her best when she researching for and writing the paper.

The last speaker for the day came up, and he spoke for another two hours, just like her. After that they had a question-and-answer period of one hour, then the conference came to a close for the day.

“You definitely outdid yourself again,” her former colleague at Cleverwood, now Professor Georgina Connor, said and hugged her as she was making her way out of the conference hall.

“Thank you, Prof.” Tasha hugged her back tightly. “It's good to see you again.”

“Sure…it's good,” Georgina said when they pulled apart.

Someone else called the attention of the Prof, and the two women wandered away in different directions.

It was late in the evening by the time Tasha returned to her hotel room. She plopped down on the bed and kicked off her shoes. Checking through her phone, she realized she had missed a call from Grant.

She was debating whether or not to call him back when her phone started ringing and it was Grant.

“Hey Grant,” she said and sat up on the bed. “Sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“Hey, Tasha,” he said in a breathy voice. “Yeah, I just called to ask about your presentation. How did it go?”

“It was fine.” Her lips curved into a silent smile. “Thanks for checking up on me.”

“You are always welcome, dear,” he replied. “I went to watch Tyson's match today. He played excellently well.”

“Oh, that's so kind of you.” It impressed her he did that, knowing how he and Tyson were fond of each other. “I'm sure he was happy you were there.”

“Yes, he was,” Grant chuckled. “He's here with me. I'm in your house. Your mom invited me over for dinner.”

“It's okay,” she said. She knew what her mother was trying to do. The old woman had seized the opportunity to plant Grant back into Tasha's life. Tasha was so sure her mom would continue to invite him for dinner until she returned home on Friday night. “Can I talk to him?”

“Sure, let me give the phone to him.”

“Helloo, mom,” Tyson's sweet voice floated into the phone. “I scored two goals today!”

“Wow! Fantastic!” Tasha got up to her feet. “Well done, my boy.”

“Grant came for my game,” Tyson continued happily. “He's here. We are going to have dinner together.”

“Yes, he told me.” Tasha patted the window blinds and looked outside. “Let me leave you to enjoy your time with Grant. Tell grandma I will call her later.”

“Okay, mom. Bye.” She disconnected the line.

Tasha changed out of her clothes into something simple. She went downstairs for dinner instead of calling for room service.

She had just made her orders and returned the menu back to the waiter when someone called her name. “Tasha, Tasha Harrison, is that you?”

Tasha felt all the hair on her arms stand on end as she heard the voice. She knew the voice so well. It was the voice of the man that had tormented her mind for the past seven years. She swallowed hard and turned around.

“Blake, Blake Carter,” she muttered gently, her heart beating so very fast as her eyes met with his.

“Tasha,” he called rather fondly. “It's nice to see you

again. I can't believe this.”

“What do you want?” Her posture became rigid. “Blake?”