“I know you’ve never approved of my relationship with Barry, but he does love me.”
Does he? More importantly, does Mum love him?
She’s a serial romantic who flits from one relationship to another, leaving a trail of broken hearts. She’s never got married before, though, so maybe—just maybe—it’s different this time. But did she have to be half the reason a marriage ended to get to her happy ending? Barry bears just as much responsibility as she does. It takes two to tango and all that. He was married. She knew he was married. They hooked up anyway.
I’ve never met Barry. I try not to meet her man of the moment. What’s the point? They’ll be gone before I can blink. But now she’s married to Barry and is planning a huge party. Will anyone come at such short notice?
“Barry’s son will do a best man’s speech at the reception.”
Barry has a son? Mum never mentioned that.
What has she told me about him?
Barry’s sixty-five, so twenty-eight years her senior. He owns his business, which, according to Mum, is lucrative. She sayshe’s kind, generous, and makes her happy. Apparently, he makes her feel like a princess, which is too much information.
“I’ve been trying to rack my brain for something special for you to do,” she says.
I wave my hands. “There’s no need.”
She gives me a hurt look. “I want you to be part of it.”
“I will be by being there. I don’t need to do anything else.”
“Are you happy for me?”
I want to be. “Yes.”
She beams. “Do you think it would be too much if I wore a wedding dress to the reception?”
“I—don’t know.”
“Itisa wedding reception.”
“What did you wear to get married?”
“Oh, a knee-length, lace dress I picked up in Vegas. White, of course. I even found a little veil and silk flowers to put in my hair. We had pictures taken. Let me show you.” She takes her phone out of her clutch purse and scrolls through the pictures.
“Why Vegas?”
“We were there. He asked me to marry him. I said yes, of course, and we thought, ‘why wait?’”
“I didn’t know Barry had gone with you.”
She purses her lips and shifts in her chair. “It was a last-minute decision. Sorry I didn’t tell you. Ah, here we are.” She hands me her phone.
I half-heartedly look through the photos. Mum is beaming in every one of them. Her dress was nice.
“There was an Elvis impersonator?”
She nods. “Barry is a huge fan. Huge.” She waves her arm like a dancer in a West End show.
I return the phone.
“Are you sure you don’t want to do something special at the reception?” she asks.
“Positive.”
“You will wear a suit, won’t you?”
