A Very Perry Wedding by Marie Landry
CHAPTER THREE
Needing an extra dose of humor and a hug after a long day, I head to my mom’s when I leave Cravings. I’m also hoping Mom will feed me dinner, despite the lunch leftovers Marisol insisted I take home with me.
My mom still lives in the house she and I moved into after my parents got divorced. The move happened at the beginning of the summer between elementary school and high school. Mom knew I was feeling the effects of the divorce, plus leaving the familiarity of my old school and having to move into a new house, so she took as much time off work that summer as she could to help me acclimate to our new life and home. When I think of the fact she was only thirty-two at the time—nearly three years younger than I am now—I wonder how she did it. We’ve had our differences over the years, but I’ve never for a second doubted her love or devotion to me, or forgotten all the things she’s done for me.
Which is why, when I arrive at the house and find her in a flurry of motion and a cloud of perfume, I swallow a sigh. She has a date. It’s Friday night—of course she has a date. I mentally wave goodbye to mother-daughter time and try not to think about the fact my fifty-four-year-old mother has more of a social life than I do.
“How’s my girl?” Mom asks, giving me a bone-crushing embrace. At least I got my hug. And bonus, now I smell like her fancy perfume I’ve never been able to afford. “Please tell me we didn’t have plans tonight and I forgot.”
“Nope, no plans, I just thought I’d drop by.”
When I first returned to Bellevue, I always texted before coming over because I personally hate when people show up at my door unannounced. That’s what cell phones are for, after all. Mom, however, insisted this was still my home even if I didn’t live here anymore, and said I should be able to come over whenever I want. Despite conceding, I draw the line at using my key to let myself in after the time I accidentally walked in on her and her date making out on the couch.
“Well, I’m glad you did. Now you can help me with something.” She motions for me to follow her to her bedroom, where she parts the sea of clothes on the bed to make room for me to sit. She rifles around in her closet and comes up holding two pairs of high heels. “Which shoes go better with this dress? I was thinking the black, but the silver are more FMPs, and I think that’s the vibe I’m going for.”
I try not to cringe. Not only does my mom have more of a social life than I do, she has more of a sex life too. She’s basically a modern day Blanche Devereux from Golden Girls, minus the selfishness, inappropriate comments, and fat-shaming. I’m extra grateful for that last one, considering I’ve been shopping in the plus-size section since I was twelve.
“Go with the silver then,” I tell her. “Who are you seeing tonight? Anyone I know?”
“Actually, yes. I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to jinx it, but this is my fifth date with Emilio. I really like him, Willow.” Her wide, almost girlish smile makes her hazel eyes glitter. She turns toward her vanity and picks through several tubes of lipstick before settling on one. “I’m going to talk to him tonight about being exclusive. I know I said I wasn’t really looking for that, but…”
“I think Emilio is a great choice,” I say, surprised to find I mean it. It took Mom nearly a decade to start dating after the divorce, despite the fact she was still young and beautiful, and had a successful career as an executive assistant at the biggest law firm in town. When she finally did start dating, I think she subconsciously set the bar too low because none of the guys were remotely right for her. Living in Toronto the last three years means I haven’t met many of Mom’s recent ‘paramours’ as she calls them, but I have met Emilio, who charmed me instantly. And not just because he bears a striking resemblance to Antonio Banderas, sexy Spanish accent and all.
Mom pauses in her lipstick application, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “You mean that?” At my nod, her broad smile returns. She finishes slicking on her lipstick—a bright red I can’t imagine attempting to pull off myself—and turns to me. “If things go well tonight, I’d like to make plans for the three of us to have dinner together.”
“I’m sure things will go great tonight. Emilio would be a fool not to want a woman like you in his life more permanently.” I rise from the bed and begin tidying the mess of clothes so she won’t have to do it when she gets back later. She shoos me away, but I still manage to get a few dresses on hangers before she ushers me from the room.
“What are your plans for tonight, my love?” she asks, steering me toward the kitchen. Maybe she’s going to feed me after all.
For a moment, I contemplate telling her about Jasper, but then I reconsider. She, like Gwen, thinks it’s time I start dating again. Even though they love me and they mean well, it starts to wear on my nerves after a while. If Mom knew a handsome man was spending the night on my couch, she’d likely suggest I light candles, put on mood music, and pour some wine.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” I say with a shrug.
“Sherlock or Doctor Who?”
Her deadpan question makes me laugh. I don’t know whether to appreciate the fact she knows me so well or hate that I’ve become so predictable. “Neither. I thought I’d watch a fall movie like Runaway Bride or You’ve Got Mail to get in the spirit for Gwen’s pre-wedding festivities.”
“Both great choices. Let’s have dinner together some night next week so you can tell me all about work and wedding prep, okay?” She glances at her watch and smoothes the skirt of her dark purple dress. “Emilio is picking me up in about ten minutes. Are you all set for dinner?”
“Yep, I’ve got leftovers from the café.”
Mom is always dropping hints about helping me financially, and she often ‘accidentally’ buys too many groceries and sends the surplus home with me. Like now, apparently, because she’s grabbing one of the cloth bags she keeps in a drawer, and filling it with things from the fridge. When I called her on it a few weeks ago, she asserted it’s a mother’s job to take care of her children, no matter how old or how independent those children are. It makes her happy and it keeps me from starving, so who am I to complain?
She disappears into the pantry and returns a minute later, setting the bag on the counter with a loud thunk.
“There’s a bottle of wine in there. You look like you could use it.”
“Thanks?” I say with an uncertain laugh. I peer into the bag. A few containers of leftovers, half a block of cheese, an assortment of canned soups and beans, and a bottle of pinot grigio. It’s like the adult version of trick-or-treating. I know where I’m coming next month on Halloween.
“You work too much, Willow.” Mom must sense me gearing up to argue—we’ve been over this: Cravings opened less than four months ago, of course I work too much—because she throws her arms around me and squeezes. “I know, I know, the café is your dream. I’m so proud of you I could absolutely burst. I hope you don’t doubt that. I just want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself and taking time for yourself.”
“I am. Or I will be, anyway. I’m taking time off for Gwen and Evan’s fall festivities over the next few weeks, plus the wedding itself. And the Village closes for Thanksgiving weekend, which is only a few weeks away. You don’t need to worry about me.”
Her scoff ruffles my hair as she pulls away, keeping hold of me with her hands on my shoulders. “I’ve been worrying about you since the day the plus sign appeared on the home pregnancy test thirty-five years ago.” She releases me, pressing a lingering kiss on my cheek. “I still can’t believe little Gwenny is getting married next month. I’m so glad you moved back in time to be part of all the celebrations. I’m so glad you moved back, period.”
Cloth bag in hand, I let Mom walk me to the front door, where we embrace again and I wish her luck with Emilio. As I head to my car, I turn back to see her standing in the doorway, date-ready in her dress and heels, her eyes alight with happiness and hope. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way myself, at least where a man was concerned. Sometimes I think TJ broke that part of me. And sometimes I wonder if I’m better off leaving it broken.