“My mother has announced that she wants to move to one of those condo buildings at the Shops at Don Mills.”
“That’s great!” Wait. Was that great? Her initial response had been genuine. But without the shared mission of hoodwinking his mother, what reason was there for them to see each other this evening?
“She wonders if you can connect her with that Realtor you were talking about. I could give her mine, of course, but you mentioned a discount on the commission, and as you can probably imagine, there’s nothing my mom loves more than a discount.”
“Oh. Yes, of course. I’ll email you her contact info and let her know to expect to hear from your mother.”
Silence then. Was it her turn to talk? Because she was the one who’d made the big leap and suggested the “movies” last time. To do so again, without the excuse of them already being together? It smacked of desperation, didn’t it?
“Well, then,” he said, clearing his throat.
Oh, God. This was not the voice of a man enthusiastically looking forward to a date. Or a hookup. Or whatever. It was the voice of a man looking to be let off the hook.
“It’s for the best,” he said. “I’ve got a ton of work to do tonight on the new app. We’re seeing some more potential investors tomorrow.”
She cleared her own throat. Dignity. She wasn’t doing a Mason Redux here. She’d had more than her share of humiliation for a lifetime. “I’m actually pretty swamped, too. The lawyers signed off the paperwork for the McQuade deal faster than I’d anticipated, so…”
Another longer-than-normal silence. Argh! She wanted to scream and throw her phone across the room. Either that, or she might cry. And that was not acceptable. She was not crying over Dax Harris. She’d go back to hating him first.
“Right,” he said. “It was fun while it lasted. I guess I’ll…see you around.”
“See you around,” she echoed, sending a silent howl of protest to the universe.
Then she really did throw her phone at the wall.
But it didn’t do any good because the tears came anyway.
Chapter Fifteen
“Sit.”
Dax looked up, startled. He’d just finished mowing his parents’ lawn, taking great pleasure in the idea that he only had to do this a couple more times before they closed on the sale and moved into the new condo.
His dad handed him a glass of the homemade lemonade that had been a staple at the restaurant and lowered himself into one of the chairs on the porch.
Dax looked around for his mother. Usually if his dad wanted to have a heart-to-heart it was because his mother had put him up to it, and his father ended up sounding like he was reciting lines in a play.
But since his mother was nowhere to be seen, what could he do but sink into a chair next to his dad? “What’s up?”
“Why haven’t we seen Amy for the past few weeks?”
“Why would you see Amy?” Here it went. You’d think by now, everyone would have his “Amy’s not my girlfriend” speech memorized. He certainly did.
“I think it’s time you let go of this Allison thing.”
Dax reared back involuntarily, as if his parent had struck him.
“It wasn’t your fault, you know.”
“I know.” Jesus. It was almost twenty years later and people still had to say this shit to him?
“But do you? Allison was mentally ill. It wasn’t your fault. If it hadn’t been the breakup, it would have been something else.”
Dax buried his face in his hands. He so did not want to have his conversation. Especially with his father. “Dad, it’s fine,” he finally.
After an uncomfortable silence, his father said, “It was fine while you didn’t care, but now that you do, it’s not fine.”
“What are you talking about?” He tried to temper his tone, but his patience was just about gone. He was thirty-five years old, for God’s sake. Why couldn’t everyone understand that Allison wasn’t holding him back? Quite the contrary—she’d taught him a valuable lesson.
“You’ve probably noticed how I don’t talk very much,” his father said, switching topics with a speed that nearly gave Dax whiplash. If he wasn’t programmed to be such a good son, this was the part where he’d just get up and leave.
“Uh, yeah. It’s kind of one of your signature things.”
“I was always pretty even-keeled.”
He bit back a laugh. “You don’t say.”
“And then I met your mother.”
Dax let the laugh loose then, in spite of himself, imagining his twentysomething father hit with the hurricane that was his twentysomething mother.