Before I Called You Mine - Nicole Deese Page 0,1

conference table. “Maybe.”

“I thought we agreed you were gonna let all this go for a while. Take a breather. Live your life and enjoy the season you’re in right now. I swear you were present for that conversation, because it happened less than a week ago. In your living room.” Her eyes softened to a sympathetic plea. “You have to stop trying to make it happen. You’ll hear something when you’re meant to.”

I grabbed her caffeine offering and tried, once again, to accept her advice like a tear-off daily proverb. Immediately an image of King Solomon wearing Prada ankle boots and sipping on a skinny Americano materialized in my mind.

Jenna blew at the steam swirling out of the tiny spout in her latte lid. “Speaking of living your life, how did the recital go Saturday night with your sister? I nearly died at that pic you sent of little Iris! She had to be the prettiest ballerina on that stage.”

I smiled at the memory of my niece in her pale pink tutu and tight auburn bun, fully aware of Jenna’s tried-and-true diversion tactic. Bring up my niece, and I melt faster than butter on a toaster waffle. “She really was. She’s making plans to spend the night at my place soon so she can have a dance-off with Skye and me again—only she made sure to tell me she won’t be wearing her nice tights to my house ever again, since last time Skye’s nails snagged them during their twirling routine.”

My cocker spaniel had been named by the democracy system of my first-grade class last fall, a debate that had lasted nearly two weeks. My students had divided themselves into three potential name categories—Shopkins, PAW Patrol, and, of course, Marvel superheroes. But in the end, Skye from PAW Patrol had beaten out Black Panther and Twinky Winks. A victory as far as I was concerned. Even the most confident of women would falter at scolding a Twinky Winks in a public setting.

“S-e-r-i-o-u-s-l-y.” Jenna drew out the word with all the dramatics currently available to a thirty-two-year-old. “That kid is so adorable. I can’t believe she’ll be in kindergarten next year.”

My heart lurched to my throat as I brought the latte to my lips for the first time. “I know. She’s growing up so quickly.” How did that happen? Hadn’t I only been rocking her in that swanky delivery room less than a year ago? Because five years seemed like a mathematical impossibility.

I didn’t miss the way Jenna’s eyes brewed with questions as she watched me take another careful sip of my coffee. “So . . . did you get a moment to talk to your sister after the performance like you’d hoped?”

Instantly, my sentimental bubble deflated. “If by talking you mean Lisa pointing out every available—or nearly available—man at the recital to me.” I shook my head and set my cup down, fighting the urge to pace. “She does this horrible flirty thing with her voice when she does it, too, like she’s talking through a cloud of helium.” It was the voice she used every time she slapped on her self-appointed matchmaker badge in my presence. “I’m not joking when I say she must have introduced me to six different men over the course of two hours. And she knows I’ve taken a break from the dating scene. We’ve discussed it numerous times, but like usual, my sister only hears what she wants to hear.”

I reached to tug another wipe from the dispenser just in time for Jenna to slide off the desk and snatch it out of my hand.

“Stop with the scrubbing already. I’m pretty sure my husband could perform surgery on your conference table.”

I huffed a sigh and plopped down on little Amelia Lakier’s desk, touching the scuffed toe of my navy Converse to the linoleum floor like a pointe ballerina. Ballet had been my sister’s hobby, however, never mine. Just one of a thousand ways the two of us were nothing alike.

Jenna didn’t need to state the obvious conclusion she’d drawn from my tirade about my sister. I could practically hear her brain connecting the dots. “So it was your frustration over Lisa that prompted you to send out another email asking for an update. . . .” And her assumption wouldn’t be all wrong, either. Lisa might be the younger sister in our sibling duo, but she was by far the more dominant, which often left me grasping for some semblance of control whenever we