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professional challenges available in this town? My spinal titanium swelled again. When would they start giving me some credit?
    “I’ll find plenty of variety here, Mom. Aside from having lots of patients to see, there are other aspects of the practice that are incredibly rewarding. In fact, we’ve just partnered with an organization that arranges clinics in third world countries, doing cleft palate surgery, and one of my partners invited me to help with his research on melanoma in the local geriatric community. I won’t be bored. Far from it.”
    She nodded, but a crease had formed along her forehead. She plucked at the napkin some more. “That’s good. Of course. That all sounds wonderful. But I wasn’t just thinking of your work, necessarily. I was thinking of, you know . . . the social aspect.”
    My mother leaned closer, her gaze intense.
    I leaned back. I imagine my gaze was equally intense. I had no idea where this conversation was going. “The social aspect?”
    She glanced at my father.
    He looked down at his menu.
    Mother gave a little huff, as if frustrated I couldn’t intuit her meaning.
    “Yes, Evie. You’re thirty-five now. There can’t be many men for you to date in a town this size.”
    “Men?” She may as well have said hippopotamuses. Or ostriches. Or aliens.
    It was bad enough talking about this kind of thing with Hilary, but my mother and I hadn’t discussed men since I was fifteen and we’d had The Talk, which basically consisted of her warning me to avoid penises at all costs. Then she’d handed me a box of condoms, patted me on the shoulder, and said, “Good luck.” It was as close to a bonding moment as we’d ever had.
    For the most part, I had heeded her advice. I’d had a few boyfriends over the years. I’d enjoyed the benefits of a well-utilized penis now and again, and even the occasional foda pena . But I’d learned from her that love and professional achievement didn’t blend well. That for the most part, men were self-absorbed, maturity challenged, and not worth the trouble. Like Tyler Connelly, most of them were just one Jim Beam and Coke away from stealing a Jet Ski.
    “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Mom.”
    She looked at my father again, and for the first time in twenty years, I felt as if they were united, and I was the one on the outside. He cleared his throat and lifted his menu so I couldn’t see his face. I found myself wishing I had a case of monkey pox.
    My mother turned back to me. “Your father and I think we may have done you a disservice. That perhaps our animosity toward each other may have caused you to avoid forming a healthy relationship with someone special.”
    “Someone special?” Fly ball. Left field. Clunk in the cranium. I smoothed my napkin in my lap. “I haven’t avoided relationships, Mom. I’m just very selective. And I haven’t had time.”
    “Well, you should make time.” My mother reached out to pat my hand, and a flash of lightning caught my eye.
    No.
    Hang on a second.
    That wasn’t lightning. It was the high-powered wattage of a giant diamond ring flashing from her finger. The glare was like the beam from a lighthouse.
    “Wow!” A huff of surprised laughter escaped me, followed by the swirling sensation that life as I knew it was twirling off its axis. “That looks like an engagement ring, Mom.”
    She squeezed my wrist and leaned closer still. “It is an engagement ring.”
    Bungee jumping in the Grand Canyon could not have created a greater plummet in my gut.
    “You’re engaged?” When did my mother have time to date, much less fall in love? I glanced over at my father. He must be as shocked as I was.
    But he wasn’t. She must have told him on the drive. That’s why they rode together. He set down the menu and took a sip of scotch, as cool as Clint Eastwood had been before Clint Eastwood got old and curmudgeonly.
    “Engaged to whom?” I asked. Was it that nice widower who lived next door to her