Grabbing hold of the beer, I chug the rest. I stare at Tony’s business card. I wonder if my mom is telling me the truth. That he gave it to her with the express purpose of my calling him.
Heart beating in my throat, I reach down along-side the bed for my jeans. My phone is still stuffed inside one of the pockets. Using my thumbprint, I unlock the device and go to the dialer icon and press it. My mouth goes more and more dry with each digit I dial. My stomach also grows tighter. What is this? Am I still in high school?
After plugging in the final number, I automatically punch the fire-engine red stop icon. I feel a quick wave of relief swim over me, followed immediately by a wave of shame.
“What the hell is the matter with you, Tanya?” I say aloud. “You’re forty-two years old.”
I don’t
