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“Don’t be a smart-ass.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.”
I can hear her getting ready in the background. “What are you doing?”
“Straightening my hair.”
“I like it curly so much better.”
“Thanks, Mom. So do you have all night to chat or . . .”
“No, he’ll be here soon.”
“OK, then tell me what you’re worried about?”
I laugh bitterly. “Oh, I don’t know. Getting caught. Losing the promotion. Maybe even losing my job. Making the same mistake as last time. Letting Dad down, again. Just a few minor things like that.”
Kristina is silent. I look outside again. Nothing but the pretty twinkle lights hidden in the greenery and the string of white lights strung across the bridge leading toward the main building.
“Getting caught. In Skaneateles? Unlikely.”
“No, dipshit. When we’re back in New York.”
“I love how sweet you are to me. Back in New York? I’d say it’s still unlikely. It’s a big city.”
“We ran into each other, twice.”
“Only once counts. The second time you increased the likelihood when you ran down his street like a stalker.”
True.
“You’ll only lose the promotion if you get caught. Which is possible. So you really should prepare for that to happen, for argument’s sake. Losing your job? Less likely. You’d be censured and reassigned.”
I agree with that.
“Making the same mistake? No, I don’t accept that. It’s an entirely different kind of mistake.”
Ouch.
“The last two are tougher. You’re worried you’ll let down Dad by choosing love over work? Also doubtful. He passed up a position in Geneva that would have put him on the world stage so he could be home with Mom and us, so I think his priorities are pretty aligned with yours.”
“I’m not in love, first of all. And passing on a job for your family and screwing around with a sponsor are a bit different.”
“Maybe. But I don’t agree about the love thing. This is an unusual SOS, even for you.”
I’m not in love with Hayden Tanner—it’s much too soon, and he’s much too dangerous—but I let that one go for now.
“And your conscience.” She sighs and puts something down, presumably the flat iron. Suddenly, her voice is right in my ear. I’m no longer on speakerphone.
“‘There is no right or wrong, only our thoughts and perceptions make it so.’”
Debasish Mridha. A physician friend of my father whose platitudes he’s touted many times.
“That’s a nonanswer, Kris.”
“But the best one I have. I love you, and I’m proud of you. Go get ready for your guy.”
I laugh. “In other words, you have to finish getting ready?”
