“See? You have plenty going on with your parents and the party to keep your head on straight after that guy kissed you into a freaking daydream.”
She had no idea. “All that was left in Alberta.”
“If that’s what you want me to believe, then I will.”
The call ended, and I let the phone slide into my lap. I hadn’t planned on hoping for anything, until we kissed. Then my mind started rearranging its priorities.
Outside, the sun had dipped behind the rooftops, leaving the parking lot dim and still. I leaned my head back against the seat, eyes closed. I wasn’t daydreaming, but kissing your brooding,hotshot boss only to find out he might not be single was a freaking off-the-cliff move.
By Saturday, as Mom and I wandered through the party section at the back of the store, I’d finally convinced myself I’d reclaimed my sanity and had successfully cleared the clutter from my head.
My shopping cart was a testament to my newfound focus: a list, a budget, and aisles stretching before me in a clear and uncluttered future. We browsed plastic cups, themed napkins, and discount balloon arches that could be inflated and deflated easily. I tossed a bag of gold streamers into the cart, humming to myself, while Mom debated paper plate sizes.
I turned to grab matching forks, but when I looked back, Mom was gone. Not lost, just misplaced. Without knowing how, I had an idea of where I’d find her.
Sure enough, she was in the not-affordable-in-our-budget aisle, holding a packet of lemon-tart-print cloth napkins. Around her, it was all crystal punch bowls, tiered cupcake stands, and champagne flutes that cost more per glass than my weekly grocery bill.
“Mom,” I said, clocking the display of $200 serving platters behind her, “this party has so many people. We can’t afford this level of luxury.”
“I know. I was only looking,” she said breezily.
“Look, I found some plates here with food design too.” I picked a packet up from the cart to show her.
“Oh, Vince used to like mini lemon tarts,” she chirped. “Maybe he still does?”
I froze. My decluttering alarm started to blare as I looked between her face and the packet of lemon-tart-print cloth napkins she held. “What?”
She gave me an innocent look. “Vince is in California visiting his parents. It just made sense to invite him to Sam’s graduation.”
My jaw dropped. “Youwhat?”
The sting hit sharp, a paper cut right where I’d finally stopped checking for damage. I stared at my mother, heart pounding, breath coming in fast. Heat rose at my neck. I needed space from her before I said something I couldn’t take back. Dropping the napkins back in the cart with a loudthud, I walked away. I pushed past the rainbow wall of overpriced table runners and headed for the exit.
The automatic doors hissed shut behind me as I stepped into the afternoon sun. My pulse was a full drumline, my hands shaking as I unlocked the car.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, the windshield blurred in front of me, focus gone, her voice clawing at the back of my head.
Last weekend’s car ride replayed in my mind. “Private plane full of sporty young men and you hadn’t snagged one?” she’d asked. I thought she was finally behaving like a mom should.
Heat burned in my chest. How could she be so spectacularly delusional? I’d heard enough of her comments to know that her version of “care” was appearances, what people thought of her unmarried daughter. But this pushed every boundary. Was it some kind of mental illness?
Ten minutes later, she appeared, sliding into the passenger seat as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I started the car, desperate to drop her off and untangle myself from the whole damn day.
After a beat, she piped up, “You’re still single. He’s still single. He’s doing well financially. There’s nothing wrong with two people giving it another try.”
Unbelievable. She said it in a perfect to-do list read.
“We’ve had this conversation, and you still think being in the same zip code is reason enough to get back together?” My voice came out in a hiss mirroring the hurricane swirling in me.
I’d never felt that much anger before.
“You wanted the same things; you were comfortable.”
I huffed. “Then where is he now? He dumped me for a maybe promotion.”
“Work was stressful, it was bad timing, after two years, he’s more mature. People change,” she added, still sounding perfectly reasonable.
Obviously for her, the emotional cost was just background noise.
