"When are you going to talk to your mother about what you want to do with your life?" Faye asks, stabbing her chicken with her folk.

Faye and I have been best friends since grade school. But, honestly, we've never agreed on anything except food. Her question is just one example of our usual disagreements.

Since Faye is paying, I chose a restaurant in downtown Columbus, Ohio, instead of the suburb where we live.

We sit by the restaurant window.

While I think about the answer to her question, I watch the rain hit the window.

Faye makes things sound so easy.

Talk to Mother?

I'd get a better conversation from a brick wall.

Sighing, I push my food around on my plate. Yes, maybe I am a Daddy's girl. However, I'm not spoiled.

"Mother's rude and spiteful and bitchy," I add, wearing a disgusted look, "and stuck in the nineteenth century. Who the h*ll wants their daughter to grow up to marry some assigned man and attend galas and dinners."

Faye leans forward with this wild-eyed look and excited expression and says, "just think, Winnie, you'll hang out with Puffy, Minzy and Agnes and discuss cute things like tablecloths and dollies. You just don't know what you're missing."

Although I try not to laugh, I fail. I let out a laugh that sounded somewhere between a giggle and a hack. I don't know. It's the laugh I've had my entire life.

I cover my mouth and slouch in my chair when some people in the restaurant look in my direction, which makes Faye bow her head and stifle a laugh.

"Could you imagine," I ask, ignoring lingering stares, "me doing that? I watched Mother obsess long enough about silly things like that to last me a lifetime. So, no, I'm not going into that world."

As I cut a portion of my chicken fillet, I glance at Faye. I frown.

Her expression changed to a sad one. She stares at her plate, looking lost in thought. Finally, Faye breaks the short silence and inquires, "what if some women don't mind that world? Maybe some women can understand your mother because she was poor when she married a wealthy man."

I lean back and study Faye. Is she talking about herself? Is that why she's always on Mother's side?

Yes, Faye and I come from two different worlds. She attended grade school on a scholarship, and she lived on Sunset.

I sigh, wrap my hair around my hand and tug on it. Then, slowly, I let my hair go. Growing up, my family lived in many places in Los Angeles because Mother strived to be the envy of all of her friends, such as Bel Air, Pacific Palisades and the Hollywood Hills, to name a few.

Please say you don't want to become one of them, Faye. Geez, you can do so much better.

I sigh.

I sigh again because I'm getting on my nerves sighing.

So, I shrug and say, "Well, okay, to each their own as they say—whomever they are."

Faye scoots her chair back. "I have to use the ladies room."

Before I can respond, she leaves.

Suddenly, I feel lonely in a crowded room. I use my palms to straighten out my emerald dress. No, there aren't any wrinkles.

A man walks by with brown hair and a muscular build. I gasp and hurriedly stand. When he turns to his left to greet a man, I slowly sit.

My shoulders slump.

I thought it was Chandler visiting me in Columbus.

I fish my phone out of my purse with a sigh and call Chandler.

He doesn't answer.

I frown.

I start to leave a message when my phone buzzes in my ear. So, I look at my text messages and smile.

Chandler texts:

"With a client. Blah, Blah, I'll call you in a few.

"Blah, blah," I say with a laugh.

As Faye approaches our table, my phone rings.

It's Chandler.

"What's up?"

I lean back as the sound of his voice makes my stomach flutter. "I was going to ask your opinion on something, but I'll wait until later."

"No panties."

"Huh?" I ask with a laugh.

"I figure the question is about clothes."

I laugh. "Not even close."

There's a short silence.

Faye returns to her seat. I can tell she's ear hustling because she's leaning forward with her head turned to the side.

"Do you think I should talk to my mother," I ask, "clear the air—or attempt to do so?"

"Hmm," he says, "is someone giving you this advice?"

"Yes."

"Male or female?" He dryly asks.

I gasp. The thought of Chandler being jealous excites me. "Come on, Mr. Cruze, I may assume you have a jealous streak."

He lets out a throaty laugh. "Protecting my interest."

I like the sound of that even more. So instead of telling him that, tell him, "My friend, Faye, she suggests that I do."

"Why?"

Faye answers her phone. Her expression goes from bored to excited. She nods even though the person can’t see her.

I pause for a moment, wanting to ask another question. However, I frown at Faye.

"Winsome?" He prods.

Relieved to end the conversation, I tell Chandler, "Let me call you back."

I know this because he yawns in my ear.

"Fine. I'm not happy with it," he chuckles. "Better yet, tell me when you're coming back to L.A."

Faye interrupts me, sounding giddy, "I did it."

After I pull the phone away from my ear and frown, I ask, "Did what?"

"I got the paralegal job at Whithers, Sanders and Whithers," Faye dances in her seat. "I start in two weeks."

I wave my hands, looking like I'm trying to stop a moving vehicle. Yes, I knew Faye had applied for jobs. We graduated a year ago, and we've been trying to start our careers. However, this is something different.

As I frown, I say, "the only Whithers, Sanders and Whithers law firm I know is in L.A."

Faye thrusts her fists in the air and says, "I'm going home."

I lean back, stunned. "Where am I going?"

"Home, too."

Slowly, I shake my head as I open my mouth to speak. However, no words come out. Instead, I hit “end” on my phone.

Did I hang up on Chandler?

"Look, Winnie, I came to Columbus to attend college. You followed me out here to get away from your mom's b*tching," she tells me, "now, it's time to return home."