Free That's (Not Exactly) Amore by Tracey Bateman Page A

teakettle and set it on the stove. My mind is buzzing from the events of the day. I snatch up the phone and start to dial Tabby to thank her for inadvertently getting me a date, but then I realize newlyweds do not want to be interrupted on Valentine’s Day after the kids are in bed. So I set the phone back in its cradle and slowly back away.
    Nancy shows up wearing a white terrycloth robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. She smiles. “Did you have a date tonight?”
    I shake my head and use the excuse I’d planned (God bless the former babysitter and her strep throat).
    Her eyes widen. “Really? I thought Joe was taking you out to dinner.”
    “Joe?” I laugh. “Why would he?”
    A shrug lifts her very slender shoulders. “Just a hunch. Guess I was wrong.”
    “Slightly. Joe and I have never been like that.”
    “I see.”
    “So what did you do tonight?” I practically dare her to make me jealous. “Go out on a date?”
    “No way. I’ve sworn off all guys for as long as I can stand it.”
    “For as long as you can stand it?”
    I never noticed before, but her nose wrinkles when she grins. “Well, I’m not exactly a nun. Right now I’m getting over a pretty bad breakup. But eventually I’ll need a man with big arms to sweep me off my feet.”
    As if to demonstrate, she drops into a chair at the table and props her feet up on the chair across from her.
    You have to admire her spirit. And those toenails. Pedicured.
Figures.
“Who did your toenails?”
    She wiggles her toes. “Me. I have a kit. Want me to do yours?”
    “Really?”
    “Sure. What are roomies for?” She stands. “Besides, after that cinnamon roll, I owe you.”
    Just wait until she gets a taste of my cheesecake.
    Saturday morning when I get out of the cab, Mom greets me with a smile on her face. No, not that sad thanks-for-noticing-me smile. I mean, a genuine I’m-truly-not-depressed smile.
    The blinds are pulled back and actual sunlight is bursting through the windows. If I had the guts I’d make a vampire crack, but better to leave well enough alone.
    Only, another weird thing . . . There are bouquets all over the room. Gardenias on the table. Roses (roses?!) on the coffee table. And daisies, which happen to be my mom’s favorite flower but are not in season in February.
    “What’s up with the flowers?”
    Mom blushes. Is this an alien invasion? Mom doesn’t blush. Or open blinds, or smile without a darn good reason. What is going on?
    “Mom?”
    She gives a nonchalant little wave. “Oh, those are knockoffs from the florist down the street.”
    “Aaron’s Flowers?”
    The blush deepens as she nods.
    “They have flower knockoffs?” I frown. “You mean like Prada?” Tabby and Dancy wear the real Prada. I can’t even afford the knockoffs.
    But that’s beside the point. The actual point is that my mother is buying flowers and turning my Addams family home of depression and darkness into a sunshiny Care Bears house. It can’t be menopause. She went through that years ago.
    “Ma?”
    She turns to me with wide-eyed innocence. “Yes, darling?”
    “Come on. Give it up. What’s going on?”
    The phone rings. She smiles with fake apology. “Excuse me, I need to get this.”
    “All right. But this isn’t over. Be prepared to explain.”
    She waves me away.
    I stare after her for a minute. She snatches up the phone and her face brightens even more—if that’s possible.
    Something doesn’t add up here. Trudging up the steps to my room, I try to put two and two together. Flowers, smiles, light, phone calls. It almost sounds like . . . No, it can’t be that.
    No way.
This woman can’t even throw away the holey robe my dad got her twelve years ago. There is not a tiny chance that she’s dating someone. Or is there? My mind goes back to the man a couple of weeks ago who couldn’t keep his eyes off her. How weird is this? A little flirtation with the florist down the block and all of a sudden Mom’s not depressed