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Martinis and Mums with Ulterior Motives
Nora Cooper, San Felipe, Santa Valentina Island
It isa truth universally acknowledged that a single woman with no romantic attachments must be in want of advice.
However little known the feelings or views of such a woman may be when she first enters her auntie’s house, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of her relatives that her non-existent love life is considered the rightful property of her entire family.
At least that’s how it is in my family anyway. Aunt Beth is about to prove it before I can even get my sandals off. In fact, if my sister Kat had ridden over to the party with me, we’d have made a bet in the car about the first thing that would be said to me upon entering Aunt Beth and Uncle Dan’s house.
Kat, who’s much kinder in her opinion of human nature than me, would say that someone will tell me how nice I look in this dress. I’d go double or nothing that I’ll be grilled about my dating status straight out of the gate (and that it’ll be at least an hour before anyone mentions my appearance). As I’ve lost fifteen pounds since the last time I saw the extended family, making that bet is a testament to my lack of faith in humanity. I’m a bit of a skeptic, but years in the service industry tends to do that to a person, whereas my sister has yet to join the workforce in any capacity. She’ll learn. Not tonight, when I’m immediately asked if I have a boyfriend yet, but someday…
Honestly, I hate how much focus the world puts on love and marriage. I have so many more interesting things to discuss than bagging a man (which I have no intention of doing—swiped right, got the dick pics, and am done with dating, thanks). For example, my career. There’s a huge event happening at work, and when I tell them about it, maybe, if I’m really lucky, they’ll be impressed enough to forget all about my relationship status for a few months. Okay, minutes, but it would be the most exquisite few minutes of my life.
When I walk into the house, the party is already in full-swing. The scent of perfumes and aftershaves fills the air, and multiple conversations compete with the sounds of Simon and Garfunkel’sCecilia.
“Nora, my dear,” Auntie Beth says, her martini sloshing on the hardwood as she makes a beeline for me. “Are you seeing anyone lately?” She mops up the liquid with her stocking-clad foot, smiles at me, and adjusts the “Birthday Girl” tiara on her head.
I don’t even bother to open my mouth, because if there’s one thing Aunt Beth won’t do, it’s wait for an answer.
Yanking the toothpick out of her drink, she aims her olives at me, spraying me with gin and vermouth. “Because if you aren’t, have I got a young man for you.”
Of course she does.
“My insurance broker, Bill. Two kids, so you know he can make ’em. Recently divorced, so he’s ripe for the picking,” Beth says, her voice loud.
Wow. Tempting. This time I do open my mouth, only to be interrupted by her husband, Uncle Dan. “I hope you don’t mean Bill Larkin,” he calls across the crowded living room, which stops everyone mid-conversation.
Spinning around, Beth loses the last half of her drink to the potted palm next to her. “What’s so wrong with Bill?”
“He’s too old for Nora.”
“Nora’s not exactly a spring chicken,” she whisper-yells.
I’m twenty-eight, a fact that for no good reason is causing my cheeks to run hot at the moment.
Uncle Bill counters with, “He’s going bald, for Christ’s sake.”
Swatting her free hand in his direction, she turns back to me. “Never mind that. Bill’s mum told me he’s saving up for hair plugs, so you’ll want to get in there now. Competition is going to be a lot stiffer after.” She offers me a wink, then lifts her glass to her lips, only to appear mystified to find it empty.
“Right, well, thanks for the heads up,” I tell her, turning so she can get a better look at my new physique.
Nope. She’s maintaining eye contact. Sort of. She’s also swaying a little at the same time.
“I’ll just take my shoes off and grab a drink while I think it over.” I slide out of my sandals, hand her the bouquet of pink roses I picked up on the way over, and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Happy birthday, by the way. You look lovely.”
“Thanks! I always thought sixty was so old, but now that I’m here, I’m just thrilled to have all that other stuff over with.”
“What stuff?” I ask, following her to the kitchen.
“You know… everything that happens before menopause.”
Life?
“Finding a man, getting him to propose, having babies, raising them…”
“Oh, you mean all the stuff you’ve been trying to talk me into doing.” We stop in front of an impressive assortment of booze on the counter.
