“How are you not jaded after all these years?” I asked. Mom had been mostly single since my dad died when I was three. She insisted she didn’t want to remarry, but I knew she sought something more reliable from a male companion than what she was getting on OkCupid and Plenty of Fish.

We’d always been close, but now that we were both single city girls, we had more in common than ever. Even our dating pool overlapped sometimes, despite our twenty-three-year age difference. Twentysomething men flocked to my seasoned but very well-maintained forty-eight-year-old mother as often as middle-aged men messaged me. It should have been weird, but it wasn’t. To clarify, men my age wanting to bang my mom was weird. Swapping dating stories with her was not.

“Getting ghosted is nothing. Try losing your soulmate in a car crash at twenty-six.” Her cringe matched mine. “Never mind. Don’t try that.” She kissed the top of my head and pulled back. “Um, Adi. I hate to break it to you but—”

I shot up. “I smell. I know. I only had time for a five-minute shower after spin class to make it to the date that wasn’t. And it’s crazy humid.”

“You don’t smell. But you did have a Jolly Rancher stuck in your hair.”

“I had…” I touched my scalp. “What?”

She waved the hard candy in front of me—it was green apple—and stood to throw it out.

“Eww! Probably from some sticky child on the subway.” I shuddered and ran my fingers through my hair. What would I find next, a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup? “I’m done with this day. DONE.”

Mom returned to the couch and gave me an apologetic grin. “Sorry, Squirt,” she said, patting my leg.

“Tomorrow will be better.” I closed my eyes and breathed in positivity like I always urged in my cycling classes—inhale love, exhale stress. I’d have a good night’s sleep and start fresh in the morning.

Ping.

I opened my eyes, pulled my phone from my purse, and checked my Gmail. A second later, I wished I hadn’t.

Hi Adina,

Thanks for reaching out! Unfortunately, I didn’t get that WOW vibe over this pitch. I agree your role as a part-time barista could add a personal touch to a piece on a latte art competition, but the timing is off. Readers won’t care about a summer event in the fall. Feel free to nudge me about this after the New Year. In the meantime, please keep pitching. I’m a fan!

Derek