“I’dprefer ifnobodyplayed matchmaker, but Hollie…” I stop short of saying ‘Hollieat least knows my type’. It’s not that Fergus is necessarily mytype, but that’s not the point. Hollie only suggested inviting himas a buffer, and he was happy to oblige. He did his best on Monday,but even with him here, it didn’t stop Mom from thrusting everyeligible man in my direction.
“Fergusis more than welcome here anytime, but unless you’re actuallydating him, I have someone I’d like you to meet at the party,” Momsays, apparently not noticing how I trailed off mid-sentence. Orchoosing to ignore it, which is the more likely scenario. “His nameis Jonathan and he works with your father. He was here one nightfor a business dinner I was hosting for Dad, and he saw yourpicture and seemedquiteinterested. He’d be perfect for you, Evelyn. He’shandsome and smart and—”
“Enough, Mom!”
I’m not sure whichof us is more startled by my outburst. We stare at each other instunned silence for several beats. There’s no going back now, so Isuck in a deep breath and straighten my spine.
“It’snot that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Mom.Everything you do for me. But I’m about to be thirty-five, and I’vebeen a successful, independent woman for a long time now, whichmeans I don’t need you telling me how to live my life or what Ishould or shouldn’t do. I also don’t need you setting me up withrandom guys.”
“They’re hardly ‘randomguys’, Evelyn, they’re—”
“Mom.”I say it more gently this time, and she clamps her mouth shut. “Iknow you mean well. I really do. And I don’t ever want you to thinkI’m ungrateful for a single thing you and Dad have done for me mywhole life. But itismy life, and you need to let me live it the way I see fit.Which also means…” I suck in another deep breath because I’m on aroll and I might as well say it all now that I’ve started.“WhichalsomeansI’d like for this weekend’s party to be my last big birthdayparty.”
Mom’seyes go wide. I can practically see the thoughts floating over herhead like cartoon speech bubbles.But Ithought you loved these parties. What will our friends think? Howcan I make up for this yearly party with another big, showy eventthat reminds people how successful and influential weare?
Okay, that lastbit was all me, but still.
“Do youremember the parties you threw for me as a kid?” I ask.
She nods slowly.“I always wished I could do more. Take you places or throwextravagant parties. It was always just the four of you and a fewof your school friends at the house.”
“Yousay ‘at the house’ like it’s a bad thing. Whereyouremember a small party with a fewof my friends,Iremember sparkly decorations, a themed cake, and my closestfriends by my side. I remember trips to Blockbuster to pick outmovies, followed by epic slumber parties where we stayed up halfthe night watching movies, doing at-home spa treatments, and eatingunlimited junk food. I was surrounded by people I loved, doingthings I loved. Some of my best childhood memories are from thoseparties, Mom.”
By the time Ifinish speaking, her eyes are glistening with tears. She doesn’tblink them away like she did earlier. The sight makes my own eyestingle and my throat grow thick.
“I onlyever wanted you to have the best of everything,” she says quietly.“My own upbringing was…well, you know…” She waves a hand as ifbatting away unpleasant memories. In the rare instances she’sspoken to me about her childhood, I’ve developed a sense ofunhappy, strict parents who never had enough money and expectednear-perfection from their only daughter.
I take her handand grip it tightly, relieved at the small, affectionate smile thatblossoms on her face as she clasps my hand in both ofhers.
“I’dlike to say I did all of this for you, but I suppose that’s onlypartly true,” she says. “I wanted you to have everything I didn'thave growing up, and…andmaybeI wanted to show off. Just a smidge.”
“You?” I say, injecting the word withas much playful sarcasm as I can muster past the emotion stillclogging my throat. “Never.”
With a laugh, shefrees one of her hands to swat at my arm. She sobers quickly. “Ijust want you to be happy, Evie.”
“I knowyou do, Mom. I don’t need fancy parties or a man in my life to behappy, though.”
Her eyes dart awayfrom mine as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Iknow I’m probably not supposed to ask this since it’s oldfashioned, but don’t you want to get married? And maybe havechildren someday?”
Mom has asked methis a few times over the years. It’s irritated me every time,probably because it pokes at a hidden sore spot. I always thoughtI’d have that life by this age. Now I’m not so sure it’s even whatI want. My thoughts drift to Wesley and the little box ofComplicated Feelings stashed away in a secret corner of my heart.The lid popped off the moment I saw him again and heard my oldnickname spill from his lips. Having Wesley around has shown me Ihave some work to do to cram all those feelings back in and packthem up for good.
“Ihonestly don’t know about marriage and kids. I know I’d like tofind love, but I’m willing to wait for the right person, even ifthat takes a while.”
Sheponders over this for a long moment and then gives a decisive nod.“I never meant to pressure you. You and your father have alwaysbeen the greatest blessings in my life, and I want that for youtoo, but only if it’s whatyouwant. I can see I’ve done a poor job of lettingyou know how proud I am of you and how much I admire and respectyou. You’re so much smarter and braver than I ever was.”
“Iappreciate the sentiment, Mom, but you should give yourself morecredit. I learned a lot from you about being brave and smart, andgoing for the things I want.”
Despitethe non-committal sound she makes, she’s smiling again, and a touchof pink has flushed her cheeks. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’m afraidit’s too late to cancel your party for this year, but next yearwe’ll do something different. Somethingyouwant to do.”
Even though I havea whole year to think about it, an idea pops into my headimmediately. “You know how I said I loved the parties I had as akid? One of the things I remember is how Suzanne would come overand the two of you would have a little celebration of your own.You’d peek in on us every once in a while, and then you’d hang outin the den with wine and fancy finger foods.”
“I’dforgotten that.” Mom’s eyes haze over slightly, as if she’smentally going back in time. “Suzanne always said we deserved tocelebrate on our kids’ birthdays since we brought you into theworld. As you girls got older, we were tempted to crash yourparties and hang out with you, but we knew you’d all freakout.”
Ilaugh. “Good call. But how about next year, we have a nicedinner—the girls love getting dressed up, so I don’t want to takethat away from them completely—and then follow it up with a slumberparty. We can’t make a trip to Blockbuster, but we can surf Netflixand eat junk food and do some spa treatments. You’ll get toexperience the fun we always had at sleepovers, and we’ll get todrink winewithyou this time.”
Mom lets out adelighted giggle. “That sounds perfect.”
“Good,then it’s a date.”
