Angie resisted the eye roll she had perfected in puberty. “Mom, are we doing this again?”
“Just look here.” Kathleen took out her smartphone and showed Angie a Tinder profile she had made—for Angie.
“Mom! What are you doing?”
“Well, I was curious, that’s all. I saw something about Tinder on 20/20, and it looked promising.”
“Please, stop.”
“Just look for a second. It’s fun. It uses your location so you see people who are near you. You swipe right if you like them and left if you don’t. Couldn’t be any easier! Oh, he’s cute.” Kathleen swiped right.
“Mom. Mom! No. We do not need to do this.”
The phone made a ding sound. Kathleen looked, and her face lit up. “He thinks you’re cute, too! And he’s just three blocks away.”
“Mom!”
“Well, it’s true. You are cute.”
“Dad, don’t encourage her.” Angie didn’t have trouble getting dates. What she had trouble with was keeping relationships. Any guy in Angie’s life had to play second fiddle to the phone. Out to dinner and a case came in—sorry, gotta go. In bed after a lovely wine-and-dine and a kid runs—sorry, but gotta go. Some guys would put up with Angie’s unpredictable workday for a time, but none stuck it out for the long haul.
So just as with Match.com, and eHarmony, and every set-up Angie’s friends had arranged, some Tinder guy would invariably find her long legs, raven hair, and green eyes attractive. They’d come up with some tactful (or not) way to compliment her sculpted figure and commend her for rocking jeans and an evening gown with equal aplomb. They’d appreciate how she could tackle a teenager twice her size and then cry at the end of Pitch Perfect, a movie she’d watch any time it was on. But they’d always, always, get tired of her phone.
The right guy was out there. Angie didn’t think he was on Tinder.
“Well, I’ll e-mail you your username and password. Just give it a try.”
“Your mother means well,” her father said.
“I think I’m a little jaded because of the job,” Angie admitted. “It’s eye-opening to see how much bad there is in the world. Between divorce and fighting over children, infidelity and cheating left and right, it’s hard. And it hasn’t gotten easier.”
“Maybe change careers.”
“I can’t walk away. I love it.”
“You love what’s hurting you,” Kathleen said. “Sounds dysfunctional to me.”
“Yeah, Mom. Well, love hurts.”
“Whatever you do, we’ll support you, you know that,” her father said.
Kathleen took hold of Gabriel’s hand. The gesture warmed Angie’s heart. This was what she wanted for herself some day. She’d been raised in a traditional, old-fashioned family, and after thirty-seven-years of marriage, Angie’s parents still held hands. They were always touching, or laughing, or looking at each other in a loving way. They argued, of course, but not with the sort of rage common among Angie’s clients. Gabriel and Kathleen DeRose had pedestrian disagreements, but nothing that caused lasting bitterness or resentment. As with lupus, there could be flare-ups followed by long periods of calm.
“Let’s just change the subject. How about that?” Angie said.
“Well, then ask me about the Arlington County Fair because that’s another story entirely,” Kathleen said with a roll of the eyes.
“You’re still doing that? I thought you resigned from the board last year.”
“They begged me to come back. How could I say no?”
“And she’s still teaching swimming,” Gabriel said. “Organizing registration now for when the pool opens in May.”
Angie did not look at all surprised. Swimming was something her mother had done for years to help lessen certain lupus symptoms. But Kathleen being Kathleen, she couldn’t just swim on her own. She had to do something on a larger scale, so she volunteered to teach swimming to disadvantaged DC youth every summer at a city pool.
“Guess Dad’s not the only one I’m worried about. You sure you’re not doing too much, Mom? The Arlington Fair board has always been such a headache.”
“I’m fine, sweetheart. It’s just nobody can agree on a theme for this year’s competitive exhibits. I’ve suggested ‘Expanded Horizons’ to celebrate all the opportunities Arlington has to offer, but of course Bill Gibbons has to object to just about everything.”
“I’m just thinking that maybe you should slow down a bit, that’s all.”
Even with lupus in the picture, Angie was more concerned about her father’s health than her mother’s. Kathleen looked splendid and healthy, stylish in her short, graying haircut. Her skin had a radiant glow, with wrinkles that implied more wisdom than age. At sixty, Angie’s mother was still a strikingly beautiful woman, with a kind face and blue eyes the color of the sea.