“Great! See you soon!”

               “Bye.” I hang up and smile at Jacob, who puts down the book he is flipping through. “Sorry” I say shyly, “that was my mom.”

               “Hey no problem. When Mom calls you have to answer. I know I'd get in trouble for ignoring my mom’s calls.”

               “What? You still live at home?” I tease. “I thought you were a free man.”

               “Hey, give me a break - I just graduated,” Jacob protests. “Besides, if I moved out I would probably starve.”

               “Can’t manage Kraft dinner?” I laugh at his expression. When he wrinkles his nose like that he is definitely cute.

               “Oh, and I suppose you’re a master chief?” He retaliates.

               “Actually, I cook quite often since my dad’s idea of gourmet is hot dogs.”

               Jacob’s face falls at little. “Divorced parents, huh? Me too.”

               “Yeah...Actually, I just found my mom though. It’s pretty overwhelming,” I say.

               Jacob hesitates, “Found her? You mean you didn’t know where she was?”

               “She left dad and me when I was about two, and my dad is really...um, sort of irrational about it. He refused to let her even write to me.”

                “I guess he must have been pretty mad. That’s not fair to you though.”

               “No it’s not.” I grimace. “Here I was thinking that mom didn’t want to have anything to do with me. “

               “So how did you finally meet her?”

                “Really weird story...”

               “That’s the best kind of story.”

               “True.  You know Legend Art?” I continue when he nods, " I go there all the time and my mom actually put some of her paintings there for sale. I saw her name.”

               Jacob’s eyes bulge out a little bit, and I laugh at his expression. “You’re mom is an artist? That is so cool!”

               “I know.” I can't help feeling a little proud. “She actually has art in galleries around the world, too.”

               “Impressive! My dad’s a sewage treatment worker,” Jacob offers.

               I giggle. “That’s almost as good.”

               “It’s not exactly a form of art, but what can you do? But hey...” he glances at his watch, “...you just told your mom you’d be over in a few minutes and I’m keeping you. You better get over there.”

               “Yeah ... guess.” I hesitate. I'm reluctant to go.

               “Hey, um...” Jacob runs his fingers through his curls in a nervous gesture, making them stand on end. “Look, can I walk you to her place... if it’s just down the street from here?”

               “That would be great!”

               As we walk downstairs to the checkout I mentally berate myself for sounding too eager. Honestly, what if I sound desperate?  I've never had a guy act this interested in me: I don’t want to blow it.  As I pay for my books I try to look at him subtly, out of the corner of my eye.  I never thought I'd go for a comic book nerd, even if he isn't my idea of a proper one.  But then, I never picture myself with anyone. Who wants the girl that sits in the corner scribbling in notebooks all day?

               I land back on earth when the clerk asks me if I want my receipt in the bag.

               “Yes, thanks.”

               I clutch my brown paper bag of books, waiting for Jacob to pay for his.

My stomach is doing flips again, thinking about what he might do when we get to Mom’s apartment building. Will he get my number? Will it be awkward? Or worse, what if he doesn't get my number?

               “Okay, let’s go.” Jacob jams his paper bag underneath his arm and heads for the doors.  On the way down the sidewalk, I shuffle my feet a bit, trying to go slow.

               “Do you go to Chapters often?” Jacob asks, than he suddenly smacks his forehead with the palm of one hand. “Yuck, that sounded like the worst pickup line ever.”

               I smile at him. “It’s a bit late for pickup lines.”

               “What would be a good bookstore pickup line?” Jacob muses as we walk along. “How about...Hey, I was looking at a book on angels and you were in it.”

               I make a face at him. “That’s terrible!”

               “I’m hurt. Are you saying you wouldn’t have talked to me if I said that?”

               “I probably would have thought you were crazy.”

               “Everyone is a little crazy,” Jacob grins. “There’s just different types of crazy.”

               “Mom says all artists and writers are a bit crazy. So what type of crazy are you?”

               Jacob pretends to ponder this. “Hmm...I don’t know.  I’ll have to figure that out and get back to you.”

               I stop, recognizing the big grey building’s double glass doors, right across from Legend Art Gallery. “Well, we’re here.”

               “Have fun with your mom.” Jacob sticks his hands in his pockets.

               I wrack my brain for something to say.  Why doesn't he get my number?  What has this all been about if he isn't going to get my number?

“It was nice meeting you,” I say. “Let me know when you find out what sort of crazy you are, okay?”

               Jacob grins. “I will.”

               I hesitate, stomach dropping. “Well, I guess I better go. Mom probably already wonders where I am.” I turn around, disappointed.

               “Oh! Sam...hold on.”

               I spin around with my hand on the door handle. “What?”

               “I...uh...” he is running his fingers through his curls again. “Do you think... can I get a phone number?”

               I let the door thunk shut and walk back over to him, feeling hyperactive butterflies in my stomach. “Sure.”

               Jacob fishes around in his pocket and tugs out his cell phone.

“Okay go.”

               I tell him the digits. He punches them in, then stuffs his phone back into his jeans pocket and flashes me his crooked grin.

“Awesome.  I’ll drop you a text and maybe we can search the bookstore together again. You’ll need someone to keep your book buying under control.”

               I wondered if my grin looks as huge and goofy as it feels.

“That'd be great. Well, call me.”

               “Bye, Sam.”

               I go into the building, half turning around to wave and the heavy door swings shut and clonks me on the heel.

               “Ow! Crap.” I can feel my face turn red and I see Jacob mouth through the glass.

               “You okay?”

               I nod and flee for the elevators.

   “Tea's on.” Mom ushers me in the front door excitedly, her hair up in a sloppy bun, honey-coloured strands escaping to fall around her face. She's wearing another floor length colourful dress. “Just throw your jacket any old place. How was Chapters? Get anything good?”

               I show her the paper bag crammed with books. “I got three books. I always read about four series as the same time.”

               Mom laughs. “Things never get dull that way. Come on, let’s go sit in the living room until the tea is ready.”

               I follow her into the living room and we sit down on the squishy armchairs while I survey the ceiling scarves and the smiling Buddha on the table again.

The living room is made bright by light reflecting off the shards of mirrors stuck to her wall. You can only describe the décor as “eccentric”, and even though it might give some interior designer a heart attack, I like it. It's original, it's crazy, it is definitely an artist’s room.  The canvas in the middle of the room has paint on it this time, streaks of dark blue.

               “I hope you don’t mind that I called you so soon,” she says.

               “I’m glad you did.” I play with the dark red cover on the armrest, kneading the fabric between my thumb and index finger.

               “How was work yesterday? I remember you saying you worked the weekend.”

               “It was lousy. I hate work.” I don't even like talking about it.

               “Why so lousy?”

               “Mostly because my boss is the female embodiment of evil.”

               Mom laughs. “Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that.  I had plenty of horrid bosses when I was your age.”

               “How did you deal with them?”

               “I quit,” she says simply. “I kept trying different things hoping to find something I liked.”

               “And you did.”

               “Oh, I knew I liked painting. I always wanted to paint.”

               “But Dad wouldn’t let you?”

               “That’s right, so I quit my job, quit the relationship and left the country.” She frowns. “I was a quitter.”

               “Or you were just brave,” I mutter. “I wish I could quit my job, and quit living with Dad and move out on my own.”

               Mom smiles. “Well, it isn’t easy.”

               “Yeah I know. I’m way too scared. I can’t quit the muffin job; Dad would call me irresponsible and ground me for the rest of my life.”

               “Is he still really that bad? I was hoping he’d mellow a bit with age.”

   “Hah.” I know I sound bitter at this point. “No way. If you’re hoping to talk to him you can forget it. He’s still just as angry all the time, and there's no mentioning you in the house still. You’re a forbidden subject.”

               Mom’s mouth firms into a straight line, she doesn't frown, but she looks irritated.“No doubt he would ground you forever if he knew you were visiting me?”

               “Only after yelling himself hoarse, yes. You’re still officially “the library”.”

               “I don’t mind. You can call me that if you like.” We laugh, and I suddenly want to talk about something happy, something that will keep us laughing.

               “So, something kind of exciting happened today.”

               Mom leans forward eagerly. “Yes?”

               “I met someone in the bookstore.”

               Mom’s eyes sparkle and she actually claps her hands together. “Oh my goodness! Dish the dirt! Tell me all the juicy details! What does he look like, how old is he, what’s his name?”

               I laugh. “Slow down! I’ll tell you everything. Is the tea ready?”

               Mom throws up her hands in mock aggravation and shrieks, “Tea! How can you speak of tea when I want to hear about this man!”

               I grin mischeviously; she bounces off the couch and shoots into the kitchen, yelling back at me as she goes, “Fine! I’ll get the tea, you start telling the story. Come on!” I can't help laughing at her excitement as I follow her into the kitchen.

               “Well, I guess my story begins in the fantasy section of the bookstore.”

               “Ah.” Mom pours hot water into our teacups. “What a perfect place for a story to start!”

               “I was in the fantasy section and he was in the comic section.” I take the teacup from her. “Thanks.”

               “You're welcome. And?”

               “And let’s go sit in the living room.”

               Mom trails after me. “Keep talking!”

               “Well I dropped my books, since I had collected quite a few of them, and he helped pick them up.”

               “Oh!” Mom sits down beside me on the couch and grabs one of my hands. “That is so cute! What did he say?”

               “Just asked me if I bit off more than I could chew. We talked for a minute and then he asked if I wanted to read one of his comic books.” I wrinkle my nose. “I didn’t think it was so great, but he was cute, so I pretended.”

               She laughs. “Smart girl!”

               “We went and sat in the Starbucks part and talked for a bit, than he walked me over here and got my phone number.” I can feel myself blush a little, leaving out the part where I get clobbered by the door as I’m walking away. 

               Mom squeals, “Oh my goodness! Now tell me what he looks like!”

               I smile thinking about him, imagining the details in my head. “He’s tall and skinny, and he has brown curly hair that looks like he needs a haircut, glasses, but not dorky glasses, and blue eyes.”

               “He sounds adorable,” Mom gushes.

               “He kind of is.” There are those butterflies again. I wonder if Jacob will actually phone me. The steam rising from the teacup in my hand catches my eye, and I remember to take a sip. “Mm, peppermint this time.”

               She nods and smiles. “Peppermint calms the stomach.” I look at her and she gives me a knowing wink.

               “How did you know?” I take a second mouthful of warm tea, enjoying the sound of her laughter. 

               Could it be I am actually engaging in girl talk with my mom?  I feel ridiculously happy.  I love that I can make her laugh, that she's comfortable enough around me to do so. She seems perfectly at ease.  So maybe, I tell myself, you can relax too. She’s not going anywhere, right?

               “So, you said you’re staying in Victoria now, right?” The question just sort of slips off my tongue and escapes between my lips before I can catch it.  I feel my cheeks glow at how needy that sounds.

               Mom doesn't look like she notices my desperation, or how abruptly I changed the subject, “Yes, I like it in Victoria. Now I can afford to stay here I’m stubbornly refusing to move again.  Aside from the occasional art show abroad, I’m not moving my butt from this place.”  She smiles and puts her mug down on the coffee table, a ruby red pair of lip prints mark the rim.

               “That’s good.” I know I sound pathetically relieved, but I can't help it.

               “I like it here.” She gives me what is almost a shy look out from beneath her lashes. “Besides, there’s a certain someone I don’t think I can tear myself away from again now that we’ve been reunited.”

               My smile must light up my face because she reaches an arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze.

               “I know it may take some time to trust that I won’t run off on you again, “ she says solemnly, “And I don’t blame you in the slightest. I can only hope to prove myself to you over time.”

               I nod, sure that if I try to speak now I will tear up and embarrass myself. Finally I manage to get out, “What time is it now?”

               Mom glances down at her watch. “Oh, it’s nearly nine.”

               “Library closes at eight,” I groan. “I’m going to have to say I went somewhere else.”

               Mom shrugs. “Tell him the truth maybe?”

               “No way! Not unless you never want to see me again. He'd ground me if he knew I went to the art gallery, never mind come and visit you.”

 “Before you go...I’ve been meaning to say something to you. I was going to wait until we’d seen one another a few more times, till you knew that I’m not leaving here again, but I can’t wait.  Sam, I want you to know that, in the future, if you ever want to live with me instead of your dad, my home is open to you.”

            I stare at her uncomprehendingly, unsure I've translated that correctly.

            Luckily she doesn't wait for me to say something. “I know you might think I’m crazy to offer this, since we’ve only really just met, but I know it would work with us.”  She leans forward and grabs my hand. “I don’t want you to be unhappy, Sam. You don’t have to say anything now, just think about it.”

            I nod, my head spinning.

            “You should hop on a bus and go home now though.” She pats my hand and then releases it, “If the library closes we don’t want you to get in trouble with your dad.”

            “Okay.” I stand and she walks me to the door.

            “Just think about it,” she tells me. “You don’t have to make a decision any time soon. Just know that it’s available to you.”