'Alan was kind enough to pick me up at the airport. We've been planning this for about two weeks.'
I cinched my robe tighter, and spoke to my mother while my eyes were on him.
'Mom, maybe you should have told me first.'
'Nonsense. You would have said no.'
'Mom . . .'
'You're both adults, Jacqueline. I didn't think it would be a problem. Now, are you going to invite us in, or are we going to have a reunion in your hallway?'
Alan raised his eyebrows at me, still smiling. I gave him my back and walked into my apartment.
'Do you have any coffee, Jacqueline?'
'I'll make some.'
I entered the kitchen, lips pursed. Coffee used to be an important part of my day, but now that I lived without a schedule caffeine wasn't necessary. I managed to remember how the machine worked, and got a pot going as Alan came in and leaned against the breakfast bar.
'Is this awkward?' he asked. He wore blue Dockers, a white button-down shirt, and a familiar faded brown bomber jacket.
'Don't you think so?'
'No.'
I wanted to say something, to hurt him, but didn't have the energy. Maybe after some coffee.
'How are you doing?'
'Fine. Okay. Good.'
'I heard you got shot again.'
'I wasn't aware that you knew about the first time.'
'Your mother keeps me informed.'
I folded my arms. 'Since when?'
'Since always.'
'What does that mean?'
'Ever since our divorce, Mary and I have been in touch.'
I snorted. 'Bullshit.'
'Why is it bullshit? I always loved your mother.'
I had him there. 'Since when did love stop you from leaving?'
Alan nodded, almost imperceptibly.
'Jacqueline!' my mother called from the living room. 'You didn't tell me you had a cat!'
'Mom, don't!'
I rushed past Alan, hoping to prevent the maiming, and was shocked to see Mom cradling Mr. Friskers in her arms and stroking his head.
'He's adorable. What's his name?'
'Mr. Friskers.'
'Oh. Well, he's adorable anyway.'
'You should put him down, Mom. He doesn't like people very much.'
'Nonsense. He seems to like me just fine.'
'Then why is he growling at you?'
'That's not growling, Jacqueline. That's purring.'
Son of a gun. Damn cat never purred for me. Not once.
My mother made a show of looking around the apartment. She tapped her knuckles on a large cardboard box. 'What's with all the packing, dear? Putting some things into storage?'
'Yes.' I hadn't yet told my mother about moving in with Latham.
'Good. I'll need the room.'
She beamed at me, so full of strength and life, so unlike the woman I saw in the hospital bed months before.
I tried to sound upbeat. 'You've decided to move in?'
'Yes, I have. I know I've threatened to disown you whenever you brought it up, but I came to a different conclusion. I don't believe I need you to look after me, but I don't have too many years left, and I'd like to spend them in the company of my daughter.'
