“Stella Suzanne, darling! How are you, sweet pea?”
Her voice carries that particular blend of warmth and expectation that I've been hearing my entire life. I can picture her exactly, probably sitting in the sunroom with her morning coffee and already dressed for whatever committee meeting or charity luncheon is on today's agenda.
“I'm good. Just getting settled at the office.” I glance around the agency, grateful that Blair's on maternity leave and can't overhear this conversation.
“Oh, good, you're not too busy, then. I wanted to catch you before your day gets away from you.” There's a pause, and I brace myself. “Honey, did you ever reach out to Patricia Wrigley's son? You remember, I texted you his number the otherday. He just moved out to Los Angeles for work. Such a lovely boy, just finished his MBA at Emory. I thought you could reach out, maybe show him around town, help him get settled.”
I close my eyes. Patricia Wrigley's son. Right. The latest in my mother's endless parade of “perfect matches” for me.
“I've been really swamped with work, Mama.”
“Stella, darling, work is wonderful, but it shouldn't consume your whole life. You're twenty-five. When I was your age, I was already married to your father and planning our family.”
Here we go.
I fidget with my pen, drawing little stars on my notepad.
“I know, but things are different nowadays. And I love what I do here.”
“And I'm proud of you, sugar; you know that. But this whole Hollywood thing…” She sighs dramatically. “I just worry you're missing out on what really matters. Building a life, a family. Finding a good man who can take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Of course you can, but why should you have to? And I'm still holding out hope that you'll move back home. You could join the Junior League with me like we always planned. I could get you on the hospital auxiliary board tomorrow.”
The familiar weight of obligation settles on my chest. In her mind, my life in LA is still just an extended vacation, a wild phase I'll eventually outgrow when I remember what really matters.
“Actually, Mama, I'm seeing someone.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
There's a beat of silence, then a sharp intake of breath. “You are? Oh, honey! Why didn't you tell me? Who is he? What does he do?”
“Still early days,” I say, hoping my voice sounds breezy instead of panicked. “I don't want to jinx it.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I'm so excited for you!” Her voice is practically glowing through the phone. “You know what? I'm going to go ahead and mark you down as having a plus-one for the summer charity gala. It would be the perfect opportunity for you to introduce him.”
I can hear the hope in her voice, the way she's already mentally planning introductions and probably picking out what she'll wear to meet my mystery boyfriend. Part of me feels guilty for the deception, but a bigger part feels relief at how this buys me some breathing room.
“That sounds lovely, Mama,” I say because it's easier than explaining that my dating life is currently a figment of my imagination.
“I just have such a good feeling about this, baby girl. I can tell in your voice that this one might be special.” She sighs happily. “I can't wait to see you happy and settled.”
“Let's not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Well, if it doesn't work out, I can make sure Patricia's son can escort you. I do think he'd be a good match for you, too.”
I hum something that could pass for agreement and let her enthusiasm wash over me. At least now I have a little time to figure out my life.
“Okay, Mama. I need to get back to work.”
We chat for a few more minutes about the luncheon she's headed to today and Daddy's golf game before she finally lets me go.
My pulse flutters wildly as the reality of what I told her hits me. I'm dating someone. My stomach churns with a nauseating mix of anxiety and regret as I realize the magnitude of the lie I just told.
I pull out my phone with shaking hands, my leg bouncing uncontrollably under my desk as I try to formulate a coherent cry for help. How do I even begin to explain this disaster? Myfingers hover over the keyboard, typing and deleting the same words three times before I finally manage to hit send on my SOS message to the Girl Gang.
Stella
Soooo. I have a little issue.
