My eyes shift to the floor as I try to remind myself that she means well. That she’s somehow blind to the fact that her pep talks feel more like sharp digs I’m never able to dodge.

“I’m perfectly happy, Mom. And I don’t think I’m destined for a nunnery just because I don’t love my arms.” My answer sounds rehearsed because it is. We’ve had this conversation a billion times.

“All I’m saying is that if you invest time and energy into healthy self-care, it will do wonders for your self-esteem.”

“But what makes you feel good about yourself isn’t necessarily the same for me,” I argue. “You may not believe it, but every time I read a new book while wearing pajamas, I physically get a runner’s high.”

“That’s not possible.”

“I know my truth.”

My mom sits back with a sigh. “I realize that this is probably a sensitive topic, but I still don’t understand why you and Mark broke up. He had a great job and he was nice.”

Of course, it’s easier to rank a man’s profession before his personality when you’re not the one marrying him.

“Yes, Mark was nice, but he and I weren’t right for each other.”

“And why was that, Kara? Because he didn’t ride in on horseback and ravish you like one of the characters in your novels?”

“Mark and I didn’t work out because we didn’t have the chemistry needed to sustain a lifelong relationship, on top of our other issues.” I then add, “Plus he always flossed in front of me and it made me want to vomit.”

“He was a dentist! There’s nothing wrong with him practicing sensible dental hygiene.”

“Okay, enough.” My voice is even but firm. “Mark and I are not getting back together and I’m very satisfied with both my physical and mental health, so you need to relax and let me live.” I then turn to Jen, not giving my mom a chance to respond. “Now, where was I?”

“The party,” she says, popping a saltine in her mouth from a travel-sized box she’s hiding in her lap.

“Yes, the party.” I’m about to elaborate when my phone vibrates in my sweater pocket. I pick it up and see a text message from an unknown number. “One second.” I type in my security code and the message pops open on the screen.

Just giving you a heads-up, I snore louder than Duke.

My stomach flips. I know I told Cristina to give Ryan my number but him texting me right now feels too strange to be real. I grip my phone with both hands and type, Not surprising. Guess I’ll have to break out that new sound machine after all.