Free Long Summer Nights by Kathleen O'Reilly Page B

double cheeseburger with avocado and fries or skipping straight to dessert—achocolate-mocha cheesecake coated in a white chocolate ganache. The cheesecake was winning.
    “How are you doing, sweetie?”
    “I’m doing fine.”
    “You haven’t been laid off yet, have you? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
    The thought of layoffs cemented the decision. Definitely the cheesecake. Life was too short to forget dessert. “I’m not laid off yet, but the day’s still young.”
    “I read about the cutbacks at the Times. I worried. Did you see that article?”
    “Yes, that is my paper. I do read it. Daily.”
    “I didn’t think they’d have it up there.”
    “Floored me, too. And indoor plumbing, can you believe it?” Just not in my cabin. “It’s not the boondocks, Mom. Besides, I get the news on my phone. It’s really cool.”
    “You shouldn’t have bought the phone, Jennifer. You can’t afford it.”
    “Yeah, but since I’m about to lose my job anyway, what’s a little more red ink?”
    “You could come and work at the hospital with me. We need someone in payroll. It’s not as glamorous as journalism, but the salary is better. And the benefits are good, too.”
    “I don’t want to work at the hospital. My stomach doesn’t have the Kevlar coating that yours does. I’m a journalist.”
    “I know that’s what you think you want to do, but how do you know, Jennifer? When you were seven, you wanted to be an astronaut.”
    “And now I’m twenty-seven.”
    “When I was twenty-seven, your father and I had bought our first apartment.”
    “Real estate was very cheap back then. I rent.”
    “But it’s not very smart, Jennifer. How can you be comfortable with that decision?”
    “I feel very comfortable with that decision.”
    “I’m sorry. I’m pushing, aren’t I? Henry said that I’m pushing you too hard, and I should back off. But these are hard times, and I love you, and I worry about you.”
    “I know, Mom. I’m going to be fine.”
    “If you need anything…”
    “I’ll let you know if I end up starving or without heat—”
    “Did they shut off your power? Oh, Jenn!”
    “I was joking, Mom.”
    “Well, you know your roommate is going to move on without you one of these days, and then where will you be?”
    “Without a roommate,” she tried, not that her mother would see the humor.
    “Wouldn’t you rather have a cat?”
    “A cat won’t pay rent, Mom. People can be useful that way.”
    “How’s your room up there? Are you locking your doors? There’s a lot of strangers up there, and you don’t know who you’ll meet—”
    “I’m in a great place,” she interrupted, thinking fast. “It’s this huge Victorian with clawfoot tubs and they have a security guard in the lobby, in this bright scarlet blazer with gold tassels. You’d really like him. His name is Oliver, and he’s British.”
    “Really?” Out of everything, it was the British that tickled her mother. “Oh, good. I was nervous about you being there alone.”
    Sometimes she made up stories to give her mother hope, and it made her mother happy. Perhaps Dr. Dade suspected the truth, but Jenn didn’t think so. Those romantic, idealisticgenes singing happily inside Jenn came from somewhere. Ironic that the very traits that she’d passed onto her daughter were the ones that worried Jenn’s mother the most. Or maybe that was the point of family. You got who you got, no matter who you hoped they’d turn into. And when you finally accepted them, then you knew there was love.
    “I love you, Mom, but listen, I have to go.”
    After that conversation, Jenn looked over the menu, felt the slow hardening of her arteries, and with a dejected sigh, she walked away.
    Twenty-seven years old, and the power of the parental suggestion still worked over distance, cell connections and sometimes without talking at all. Darn it.
     
    J ENN HAD MADE PEACE with her decision to forgo the cheesecake. She’d spent the afternoon at the