Chasing Stanley by Deirdre Martin

drink.”
    â€œThank God.”
    Delilah fetched the milk from the fridge as she and her mother finally sat at the table. Only ten minutes had passed, and already Delilah felt exhausted. She’d have no problem falling asleep tonight.
    â€œHow’s work?” Delilah asked.
    â€œBusy. I could use an assistant, if you ever decide you want a real job.”
    Delilah’s mother was an interior designer in Roslyn on Long Island. She catered to clients much like herself: wealthy North Shore residents who turned their homes into showpieces. Their willingness to spare no expense had made Delilah’s mother a rich woman.
    Delilah’s voice was even as she buttered her bagel. “I have a real job, Mom. I run my own business, just like you.”
    â€œYou call cleaning up dog poop a business?” Her mother shook her head sadly. “I worry about you, Leelee. Truly.”
    Here it comes, Delilah thought. “Why’s that?” she made herself ask.
    â€œYou’re not getting any younger.”
    â€œI’m not even thirty, Mom.”
    â€œYou do nothing to capitalize on your assets.” Her mother reached across the table. Delilah swore she could see herself reflected in the high gloss of her mother’s red nails. “A little makeup wouldn’t kill you, you know. You have such beautiful eyes.”
    â€œI don’t like makeup. You know that. Besides, I don’t want anything chemical on my face in case one of the dogs licks me.”
    Delilah’s mother shuddered. “Don’t tell me any more, or I won’t be able to eat.” She ran her thumb back and forth over the top of Delilah’s hand. “If you wanted, I could pay to send you to a professional, someone who could show you the right makeup to buy and how to apply it.”
    â€œHow many times do I have to tell you?” Delilah was incredulous. “I don’t like makeup.”
    Her mother sighed. “How about you let me take you shopping, then? We could get some nice clothes for you.”
    â€œI have nice clothes, thank you.”
    â€œHow come I never see them?”
    â€œBecause no matter what I wear or say or do, it’s never good enough for you.”
    â€œThat’s not true. I just want the best for you.”
    â€œThen leave me alone about this stuff, okay?”
    Her mother withdrew her hand. “Fine. I will.”
    â€œGood.”
    Desperate to salvage what little chance of decent conversation was left, Delilah turned the subject back to her mother’s life. She got to hear all about her mother’s mahjongg group (the longest-running group in Roslyn!), her mother’s best friend Edie, her mother’s new white carpet, and her mother’s bid for the presidency of the temple board. But midway through her mother’s recitation, it dawned on Delilah that their conversation, if you could call it that, was strictly one-way. Not once did her mother ask about her business, her dogs, her friends, or even if Delilah was seeing anyone. Did she think Delilah was such a loser there was no point in asking?
    â€œYou know, things are going really well for me,” Delilah interrupted in the middle of her mother’s story about how Sandi Mintz’s son-in-law had made partner. (Delilah had no idea who Sandi Mintz was).
    â€œMmm?” Her mother sounded unconvinced as she spread a thin layer of whitefish salad on a hollowed-out bagel half.
    â€œMy business is thriving.”
    â€œThat’s nice, sweetheart.”
    â€œAnd I’m seeing someone.”
    Delilah knew she was digging a hole for herself, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted her mother’s attention. And judging by the expression of wide-eyed delight on her mother’s face, she had it.
    â€œOh, Leelee! Why did you wait so long to tell me?”
    â€œI was waiting for the right time,” Delilah mumbled. It was the worst possible thing she could have