“A regular job with benefits, steady hours...”

      Effie shuddered at the thought of going back to corporate work. “I spent the first few years of Polly’s life working to afford day care for her, Mother. It’s not like I don’t know what it’s like to work in a cubicle. This is so much better. I’m home to get her off to school. I’m there when she gets home. If I want to work until two in the morning and nap from ten to noon, I can do that.”

      “It’s just...your work...it’s so unstable,” her mother said. “That’s all. I worry.”

      “I’ll eat an apple a day and keep the doctor away. Okay?”

      “You need more than an apple. Look at you.” Mom plucked at Effie’s sleeve. “Skin and bones.”

      “Men like skinny women.”

      It was a mistake, Effie knew that at once, but the words had hurtled out of her before she could stop them. Mom frowned and backed up, then turned, shoulders hunching. She went to the rack of cookies and began putting them into a plastic container. They couldn’t have been cool enough yet. They were going to mush and stick together.

      “Well,” Mom said. “I guess you’d know all about what men like. Wouldn’t you?”

      It made it hard to feel bad for her mother when she came back with a crack like that, even if Effie deserved it. Which she didn’t. Not really. At least, not anymore.

      “There’s nothing wrong with knowing what men like, Mom. You could try it yourself, you know. Then you wouldn’t have to sit around here alone all the time.”

      Mom didn’t turn. “Maybe I like being alone.”

      “Nobody really wants to be alone, Mom. C’mon. Dad’s been gone a long time...” Effie stopped. Her father had died of a heart attack, too young. She still missed him, and no doubt her mother did, too. “I’m just saying, there’s nothing wrong if you wanted to go out sometimes.”

      “I have plenty to keep me busy. I have no need to paint myself up and whore myself around, Felicity. I don’t believe my value as a person is reflected in whether or not a man wants to put his penis inside me.”

      “Liking sex doesn’t make me a whore,” Effie said.

      “No,” her mother said. “Letting them treat you like one does.”

      Effie’s fingers curled into fists that she forced herself to open. “It’s not the fifties, okay? If a woman wants to date a lot of different men, that’s her...that’s my choice.”

      Mom turned as she pressed the lid onto the plastic container. It shook a little as she gripped it in both hands. So did her voice. “What kind of example are you setting for Polly?”

      “That’s a shitty thing to say.” Even during the height of what Effie thought of as her “experimenting” phase, she’d never brought any of the men home. Nor had she brought around any of her thus-far lackluster LuvFinder dates. “You know I don’t expose her to strangers. What I do with my business as an adult person is just that. My business. Don’t you dare give me grief about Polly.”

      “No, no, you don’t expose her to strangers.” Her mother’s voice dripped with derision. “Just that one man. Probably the worst of them all. Him, you let slink around all the time, don’t you?”

      It was an old and tired argument. “Heath loves Polly like she’s his own. And she loves him. He’s good to her.”

      “He’s no good for you,” Mom snapped. “He’s the opposite of good, Effie. He’s horrible for you, and that means he’s no good for your daughter!”

      “I know you hate him,” Effie began and thought of more words but stopped herself before she could say them. They wouldn’t matter. All these years later, all the same words. Nothing she said would make a difference.

      “Of course I hate him,” Mom answered. “What I don’t understand is how you don’t.”

      For a moment, Effie sagged. It was too fucking hard to deal with her mother sometimes, even on the best days. With this old argument rearing its head, all she could do was hold up her hands like a surrender. She shook her head, silent.

      Her mother slapped the plastic container down on the counter. “You’re better than he is.”

      “Why? Because his parents split up when he was a kid or his mother wears her skirts too short and his dad works in a convenience store, or because he never went to college?”

      Those were all part of the reason, though she doubted her mother would ever admit to such snobbery. Effie ran a hand across her mouth, smearing her lipstick onto her palm. Now, shit, she would have to redo it. She rubbed the pink streaks into her skin.

      “I’m going to be late,” Effie said. “I’m just going to freshen up in the bathroom and then get going. I’ll pick Polly up tomorrow after school, if that’s still okay.”

      “And if I say no, I want you home tonight at a reasonable hour so you can pick up your own daughter and take her home so she can sleep in her own bed, where she belongs? If I tell you that, what would you say?”

      Effie gave her mom a steady, unflinching look. “I would say that your granddaughter loves spending time with you and sleeping over here is a treat for her, and you know it, and you taking her to school in the morning is an even bigger treat, because we both know you always take her to the doughnut shop on the way. She loves that. She loves being here. She loves you. And so do I, Mom.”

      Her mother picked up and put down the container of cookies on the counter hard enough to rattle them inside. “Who is he tonight?”

      “Someone I met online. Dating service. It’s just a date, okay?”

      “Have you seen him before?”

      “No.” Effie shook her head. “This is the first date. We’re going to dinner and possibly a movie. Totally bland and lame. He works with computers, wears glasses and doesn’t have any pets.”

      Mom sighed and rubbed at the spot between her eyes with her middle and third fingers, a habit she’d had for as long as Effie could recall. “What else do you know about him? Have you left his name and information somewhere, in case something...happens?”

      Mitchell’s dating profile had been witty, charming, detailed. He was seven years older than Effie. Divorced with no children, though he spoke warmly of nieces and nephews. He didn’t smoke or do drugs or even drink to excess, or if he did, he was both lying about it and very good at hiding any evidence of it.

      “He’s probably not a serial killer,” Effie said. Her mother didn’t laugh. “I get it, Mom. Okay? I get it. You worry.”

      When her mother didn’t reply, Effie took a step forward to hug her. Her mom didn’t yield at first but softened after a few seconds and rubbed Effie’s back. Her mother sighed.

      “I worry about you, Effie. I’m your mother. It’s what I do.”

      And had always done. Effie understood it, perhaps more so now that she had a daughter of her own. She squeezed harder, breathing in the familiar scent of laundry detergent and, fainter beneath, a hint of Wind Song. Her mom had grown thin herself, the ridges of her shoulder blades hard under Effie’s palms.

      For a moment, Effie thought about canceling her date with Mitchell. She could stay here, hang out with Mom and Polly. They could watch a movie together, something funny. Her mother had kept Effie’s old room pristine, exactly as it had been the day Effie left this house for good. A shrine to her mother’s inability to let things go.

      Effie could let go, though, and she did, putting some distance between them. “I’ll pick her up after school tomorrow. I already sent a note to the school that she’ll take the bus here.”

      Mom nodded stiffly. “Fine.”

      There