“Beautiful!” Mia exclaims. “You’re soooo fancy, Nana!”
“You look nice, Mom,” Avery says.
“You’re gorgeous,” I admit. Pausing, I consider my next words carefully. “Are you sure you want to put all that effort in on a first date?”
“Honey,” Mom raises her pointer finger at me and wags it with each word. “Honey. Honey. Honey. Has it been that long? The first date is where you put in all the effort—aaaaaahhhllll the effort.” She punctuates that last line with a flourish of her hand waving up and down her body.
“PG, please,” I say.
“Nothin’ wrong with a woman teaching her granddaughter the finer points of dating.”
“Ewwwww,” Mia says. “No thank you, Nana.”
Mom breaks into a peal of laughter.
There’s a knock at the door.
We all still.
Mom lights up like a pinball machine. “Oooh! That’s him!” She walks toward the door and then she turns and looks over her shoulder. “Y’all behave.”
We are not the ones who need to worry about behaving.
I keep that thought to myself.
Mom opens the door and an older man is standing on the porch with a bouquet of flowers. He’s wearing jeans, boots and a plaid snap-up shirt.
Did I say a bouquet? What he’s holding—cradled in both arms—is more like a funeral arrangement. Or one of those high school flower shawls girls wear in Texas to their homecoming. Is he a florist? Did someone just die?
“Girls,” Mom says, “This is Buckshot.” Mom beams at us. “Buckshot, meet my girls, Mia, Avery and Hallie.”
“Nice to meetcha,” Buckshot says.
Buckshot? Our replacement for Dad might be namedBuckshot?
I smile past the weirdness.
“Let me take those for you,” I offer, standing to reach for the flowers.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Mom gushes. “Looks like you raided a garden!”
“How’d ya guess?” Buckshot asks. “Dontcha worry yerself none. I left some behind.”
Mom giggles—all schoolgirl giddiness. I think she thinks he’s joking. I honestly can’t tell. He sort of looks like the type of man to skip the florist and go all rogue with a pair of shears.
I take the life-sized bouquet from Buckshot and haul it down to the kitchen. We’re going to need four or five vases to hold all the flowers.
When I walk back into the living room, Mom’s slipping into her coat. Buckshot’s standing in the foyer, watching her with a big grin on his face. One of his front teeth is gold, like that bad guy inHome Alone.
“Mom, your phone is charged, right?” I ask.
“Of course, honey.” She turns her back to Buckshot and lowers her brows in a warning stare.
“Good. Can’t be safe enough. How about you, Buckshot? Your phone charged?” My voice is bright and airy.
“I don’t take much to carryin’ a phone ’round with me. Too distractin’. If someone wants me, they know where to find me.”
“Oh, isn’t that sweet and old-fashioned?” Mom smiles a delusional smile.
