to go to orientation there twice this week.” Hailey had been awarded a good deal of scholarship money, but had insisted on working to help supplement her living expenses—her contribution to what she called Claire’s “grand year of writing.”
“You know you don’t have to . . .” Claire began.
“Yes, I do and I don’t want to talk about it again,” her daughter replied. “You’ve done enough. It’s my turn to step up for a while.”
Claire swallowed the automatic protest, not wanting to diminish Hailey’s pleasure in her contribution. “Okay. So tell me what’s going on there. I need some detail so I can picture what you’re doing.”
Claire walked and listened with pleasure as Hailey chattered on, describing her roommate’s borderline compulsive cleaning routines, her professors’ various quirks, and even the sharp spicy scent of the head librarian’s perfume, with an evocative economy of words that the writer in Claire envied. She kept the phone to her ear, enjoying the sound of Hailey’s voice, treasuring the connection.
“Where are you now?” Hailey asked.
“I’ve just left the park and I’m back on Piedmont walking west toward Peachtree.”
“Are you going home?” Both of them paused at the word.
“Yes.” When she reached the Alexander she put her key in the lock and stepped inside. The security guard nodded and smiled. “I’m in the lobby and headed for the elevator,” she said in the tone of a travelogue host. “Oh, and what is that I hear?” As she passed the fountain, she took the phone from her ear and held it out for a moment so that Hailey could hear the splash and spill of water.
“Is that the fountain?”
“Ding, ding, ding,” Claire said. “You got that one right.”
She kept up the travelogue as she stepped onto the elevator.
“I’m on the eighth floor now, nearing my front door.” She jiggled the key in the lock so that Hailey could hear it. The door creaked slightly as it opened.
“Phew.” She slammed the door and threw the dead bolt. “Thank God I made it in one piece.”
Hailey laughed. “So what do you have going on the rest of the day?”
“Oh, a little of this and a little of that,” Claire said evasively. Both of them had dreamed for so long about Claire’s new life that she didn’t want to spoil their vision with anything that even sounded like a complaint. “I picked up the Sunday
New York Times
and you know I can spend a full day on the crossword puzzle alone.”
“You’d be better off going out to a movie or to dinner with a friend,” Hailey said.
Claire did not want to point out the obvious—if she wanted to see any of her existing friends she was going to have to drive out to them. “I had emails from Susie and Karen.” She mentioned her online critique partners. One of them was at her vacation home in Florida, the other in Indiana. Typically they brainstormed by phone and critiqued online. Once a year they met up at a writers’ conference. Every other year they rented a mountain cabin where they wrote all day and drank wine, brainstormed, and watched movies each night.
“Emails and phone calls aren’t the same as having someone there to do things with,” Hailey pointed out.
“That’s true,” Claire conceded.
“I think this would be the perfect time to give online dating a try,” Hailey said, not for the first time. “You should post a profile and get started.”
Claire bit back a groan. “Oh, Hailey. There’s no way I’m doing that.” She wasn’t even sure what she’d do with a man at this point. “I really need to focus on my book. And it’s not like I’ve never dated.”
“Mom, you’ve had what—three or four dates in the last fifteen years? You haven’t been out with a man in this century!”
“I’m sure it’s like riding a bicycle . . .” Claire began.
“I hate to break it to you, Mom, but dating is
not
like riding a bicycle. Things have changed. One out of three people meet
“You know you don’t have to . . .” Claire began.
“Yes, I do and I don’t want to talk about it again,” her daughter replied. “You’ve done enough. It’s my turn to step up for a while.”
Claire swallowed the automatic protest, not wanting to diminish Hailey’s pleasure in her contribution. “Okay. So tell me what’s going on there. I need some detail so I can picture what you’re doing.”
Claire walked and listened with pleasure as Hailey chattered on, describing her roommate’s borderline compulsive cleaning routines, her professors’ various quirks, and even the sharp spicy scent of the head librarian’s perfume, with an evocative economy of words that the writer in Claire envied. She kept the phone to her ear, enjoying the sound of Hailey’s voice, treasuring the connection.
“Where are you now?” Hailey asked.
“I’ve just left the park and I’m back on Piedmont walking west toward Peachtree.”
“Are you going home?” Both of them paused at the word.
“Yes.” When she reached the Alexander she put her key in the lock and stepped inside. The security guard nodded and smiled. “I’m in the lobby and headed for the elevator,” she said in the tone of a travelogue host. “Oh, and what is that I hear?” As she passed the fountain, she took the phone from her ear and held it out for a moment so that Hailey could hear the splash and spill of water.
“Is that the fountain?”
“Ding, ding, ding,” Claire said. “You got that one right.”
She kept up the travelogue as she stepped onto the elevator.
“I’m on the eighth floor now, nearing my front door.” She jiggled the key in the lock so that Hailey could hear it. The door creaked slightly as it opened.
“Phew.” She slammed the door and threw the dead bolt. “Thank God I made it in one piece.”
Hailey laughed. “So what do you have going on the rest of the day?”
“Oh, a little of this and a little of that,” Claire said evasively. Both of them had dreamed for so long about Claire’s new life that she didn’t want to spoil their vision with anything that even sounded like a complaint. “I picked up the Sunday
New York Times
and you know I can spend a full day on the crossword puzzle alone.”
“You’d be better off going out to a movie or to dinner with a friend,” Hailey said.
Claire did not want to point out the obvious—if she wanted to see any of her existing friends she was going to have to drive out to them. “I had emails from Susie and Karen.” She mentioned her online critique partners. One of them was at her vacation home in Florida, the other in Indiana. Typically they brainstormed by phone and critiqued online. Once a year they met up at a writers’ conference. Every other year they rented a mountain cabin where they wrote all day and drank wine, brainstormed, and watched movies each night.
“Emails and phone calls aren’t the same as having someone there to do things with,” Hailey pointed out.
“That’s true,” Claire conceded.
“I think this would be the perfect time to give online dating a try,” Hailey said, not for the first time. “You should post a profile and get started.”
Claire bit back a groan. “Oh, Hailey. There’s no way I’m doing that.” She wasn’t even sure what she’d do with a man at this point. “I really need to focus on my book. And it’s not like I’ve never dated.”
“Mom, you’ve had what—three or four dates in the last fifteen years? You haven’t been out with a man in this century!”
“I’m sure it’s like riding a bicycle . . .” Claire began.
“I hate to break it to you, Mom, but dating is
not
like riding a bicycle. Things have changed. One out of three people meet
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