"I think I am."
"No, honey, you definitely are. That smile says you're happy. The only one stopping you is you. That man who left this place is head over heels. It's written all over his face. I was worried about leaving you, but damn, you won't even know I'm gone."
My smile turns upside down. "I will. I miss you already."
"Then let's order some real pizza. They don't have real New York pizza in London. And open a bottle of wine and while we watch some sappy movie, you can tell me how much better Duncan is in bed than the guy in the film."
I rack my brain trying to think of any movie star who would be better than Duncan. Their faces and credits pale in comparison. I come up blank.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Duncan
My mom leans across the booth of the little pub in SoHo where I met her. It's one of our favorite spots. When I left for college, she insisted that I meet her once a week. In college, we had Monday nights off from football practice.
Monday night dates became our thing. Over ten years later, we're still doing it.
The night she stood me up at Gaston's, she was sick. Last week, she still wasn't one hundred percent, so I went to her and my dad's house for dinner. Now, as I gaze across the table, it's good to see the spirit in her eyes and to see for myself that she's finally feeling better. As much as I didn't want to leave Kimbra. I wanted to keep this date.
My mom has always been a cool mom. That doesn't mean she hasn't gotten upset with my brother Trevor or me. The best part about her is when she's mad, you know it. And when the issue is resolved, it's over. Her bark is far worse than her bite.
Even in her late fifties, she still works. She's cut it back to four days a week, but I can't convince her to stop. She doesn't need the money. Dad's still working, and more than once, I've offered to subsidize her income. She only laughs, telling me it isn't the money she loves: it's her work. It has to do with helping children's reading comprehension. Maybe that's why she's put up with Trevor's and my different issues. She's patient.
Mom lowers her voice as she looks directly at me. "Are you going to tell me about your weekend?"
I realize that not every thirty-three-year-old speaks as honestly as I do with my mom, but ever since Tessa, Mom and Mike have been my conscience. It's not like they're little Jiminy Crickets, but more like accountability partners. I did the counseling thing for a few years, mostly at Mom's insistence, but in the long run, Mom and Mike have taken over that role.
There isn't much about me that they don't know. I don't sugarcoat it. I even told my mom how Kimbra got me to go to Indiana—or how Kimbra thought she tricked me into being a plus-one. Though my mom wasn't happy with my behavior, she was more than a little impressed with Kimbra's spunk.
I take a sip of my coffee and grin over the rim. Without even speaking, my mom's features soften. She leans back in her chair as her eyes, the same color as mine, sparkle and little lines form in the corners.
"Duncan. Tell me that this is something...not your normal..."
I put my cup down. "My normal? Mom, you're mean."
"When do I get to meet her?"
Other than formal occasions when it is appropriate to have a beautiful woman on my arm, I rarely if ever introduce dates to my family. But after this past weekend, I imagine taking Kimbra to my parents' home and sitting with her and Trevor out to dinner. I shake my head. "I don't know. Maybe instead, I need intervention."
"Intervention? Tell me, what do you need to be saved from?"
"I can't even describe it. I wouldn't call this instant anything. It's been like a slow burn. You know, like that elusive honor. The prize you see on the top shelf of a kids' pizza place, like Chuck E. Cheese? The one you want, the one you work and work to achieve, saving your tickets until it can be yours.
"You could just go buy a similar one, but it wouldn't be the same. That's what Kimbra has been. She's been that prize, for three years, the unobtainable trophy." I shrug, being totally honest. "You as well as everyone else know I've bought substitutes. Not in the conventional sense."
I look Mom in the eye. "You don't have to add prostitutes to your list of my transgressions. I mean, bought women with gifts and dinners and shit. But none of them compare.
"The thing is," I go on, "I expected that once I achieved the coveted trophy, I'd be satisfied. I figured once I got a taste, it would ease my want. I mean, the hunt is the best part."
"And?"
"And I'm not satisfied. The desire hasn't eased; it's intensified. It's like I can't get enough. I want that prize in my penthouse, on my arm, and tucked beside me at night."
Mom's eyes open wide. "As in your bed?"
My mother knows the truth. I have sex with women, a lot of women, but I don't sleep with them. I haven't. It's my hard limit. I rarely invite anyone to my penthouse, but if I do, I provide a ride home before the night is done. Hotels are easy. I can leave. The same with women's places.
Duncan Willis doesn't sleep with women.
I shrug. "We stayed at her parents'. Her family is hilarious. You and Dad would love them. Her dad and brother are farmers, which I learned is much more complicated than I ever imagined. Her mom and grandma had me laughing all weekend."
"And?"
"We stayed in her room, together. Her mom's idea. And it was nice."
Mom shakes her head and scrunches her nose. "Now if you were one of my students, I'd ask you to describe nice, because I imagine you could come up with a better description."
The waiter arrives with our order. As he places the plates before us, I remember falling asleep with Kimbra's body against mine, the scent of her hair, and taste of her lips. I recall waking to the sound of her breathing. Once the waiter is gone, I look back at Mom. She isn't looking at her meal, but at me.
"And," I admit, "it was everything. Everything I've never wanted."
Mom clenches her hands at her chest. "Duncan Willis, I'd given up hope that I'd ever hear those words out of your mouth."
"That makes two of us."
"Don't screw this up."
I laugh. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"No, dear. I have the utmost confidence in you. When it comes to women, you're the best at attaining that prize. Now, convince her that she's more than that."
I lower the fork I've just lifted. "She is, Mom. She really is."
"Then use that ability you have to get what you want in a new way."
"A new way?"
"Use it to keep what you want." Her expression becomes serious. "As long as that's what she wants too. Is it?"
"I hope so."
It's after seven by the time I walk my mom to her car.
I can't get her words out of my head. Use it to keep what you want. As the weekend's memories replay in my mind, I recall the bouquet I'd arranged to have in the plane. We'd left it on the plane.
Did that mean that she didn't want it? Was earning the flowers all she wanted or was it just to fool her family?