Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
A crystal chandelier hovers above us, casting a soft golden glow over the table, where a small vase of roses decorates the center, low enough that I can see my Mom, Dad, and Wyatt without leaning this way or that.
The sound of clinking silverware against porcelain fills the air.
I take a sip of wine, trying to savor the moment before what’s coming next.
“So,” Mom begins, eyes twinkling. “Been on any dates recently?”
She’s never been subtle in her attempt at prying into my love life, not that I blame her. Now that I’m a mother, I’m sure I will be the same way once Wyatt is old enough to be in a relationship.
“Ah, the perennial question.” I swirl the wine in my glass with a theatrical flourish, focusing on the red liquid inside simply to avoid answering the question. “You know, Mom, I’ve decided to focus on my career as a professional Wyatt wrangler. It’s very demanding.”
Wyatt titters, pleased that I’ve included her in my response.
Dad smiles patiently. He’s not as invested in my personal life as my mother but occasionally gets curious enough to raise his brows.
“Mom is on a dating app,” my daughter announces to the table, happy as you please.
She twirls her pasta on a fork and takes a bite, ignoring my gaze.
“Was that necessary?” I mutter. “Announcing it to the entire table?”
“Dating app?” Dad asks. “My buddy Roger is on a dating app.” He makes quick work of cutting the broccoli on his plate with his steak knife. “Probably not the same one, though, he’s in his seventies.”
Wyatt does her best to stifle a childlike giggle.
I chuckle nervously, exchanging a knowing glance with my mom—she’s the one who got us into this conversation. I had hoped to avoid it, not wanting to discuss men in front of my daughter.
“I don’t have my search set to anyone that old.” I lift a forkful of chicken to my lips. “But if I see Roger, I’ll let him know you say hello.”
“Margot!” Mom gasps. “You better not be swiping on old men!”
I can’t help but laugh at the expression on her face. She’s horrified at the possibility of me swiping on my father’s golf buddy? As if I would do that, even to say hello.
“Yup, it’s just me and a sea of men, swiping left, swiping right, hoping to find the one.” I wink at my dad. “Swipe, swipe, swipe.”
My father has had his eyebrows raised this entire time. “No luck?”
I hesitate for a moment, trying to choose my words carefully. “Well, let’s just say there have been a few interesting men.”
Wyatt smirks. “Interesting? Is that what we’re calling them now?”
I shoot her a playful glare, trying to deflect and change the subject. “How is it you’re only ten?”
She acts nineteen.
My mother leans forward, curiosity piqued. “But seriously, what’s it like? Do you ever worry about meeting someone dangerous?”
“Dangerous?” I shrug. “Sure, but not really. Everything carries a risk, Mom. But I like to think I have a pretty good radar for detecting red flags.”
As I’ve done with that Dex character.
What a douchebag that guy is!
I take a few mental jabs. Pow pow—take that, catfish!
Wyatt sits contentedly in her seat, nodding along. “Mom is like a dating app detective. She can spot a catfish from a mile away.”
Confession of a single parent: I may have shared that Dex story with my child at bedtime the other night—don’t judge me. I’m a single mom, and hey, sometimes entertaining stories are hard to come by!
Plus, Wyatt knows I’m trying to date, and it’s only fair that I keep her sort of informed.
Baby bits, anyway. She doesn’t need to know everything.
“I wouldn’t call myself a red flag detective, but I do smell bull poop from a mile away. That much is true.” I smile at my daughter. She’s too adorable. “I’m having fun at least. I’ve only pissed one man off so far!” I add. “But he deserved it.”
Mom puts her fork down on the plate; it clinks. “What do you mean? What happened?”
My shoulders move up and down in a shrug. “He was lying in his profile and using fake pictures, and I called him out on it. It’s not fair to women for men like that to prey on them.”
“You’re so brave.” My mother holds a hand to her heart dramatically.
“It must be strange meeting someone for the first time after chatting online.” My father wields the butter knife, waving it this way and that as he talks. “Do you ever worry about whether they’re like their profile?”
“Totally. That’s called a catfish—when people lie and use photos that don’t belong to them.”
“Ah,” he says. “I was wondering what that meant but didn’t want to ask.”
“You learn something new every day, Grandpa,” Wyatt chimes in with all the wisdom of her youth.
I sigh, feeling a twinge of vulnerability creep in. “I think I already have app fatigue.”