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My face heats, and I quickly cough over the end of her response, never knowing what will come out of her mouth.
“Listen to me, Poppy.” Agnes waves her arthritis-ridden finger at me. “You have a great opportunity ahead of you. Not many women get the chance to go after Mr. Right once they’re old enough to know what they really want. I say you find someone who makes you see stars.”
Instinctively, I raise my hand to my cheek to feel the warmth of my blush.
“All jokes aside. You’re a beautiful woman. You deserve to be treated that way. Forget the flowers and fancy dinners. Those men are a dime a dozen. You get yourself a real man. One who makes you feel like the sun won’t rise without you.”
I’m speechless. Agnes is always so witty and sarcastic, I never take much of what she says too seriously. Yet it’s like she’s speaking to my very soul. Thatiswhat I want. The fairytale. Perhaps she’s been reading the same romance novels I have.
As much as I loved Dan, he was always comfortable. Don’t get me wrong, I’d give anything for one more day with him. But our life wasn’t full of romance. It was safe. I loved him, and he loved me. That was it. Now I spend my nights with my latest book boyfriend. They’re all handsome, swoon worthy characters that leave me breathless in more ways than one. And the best part. A happily ever after is a requirement in romance novels.
So, the hero doesn’t die in the end.
“You’re absolutely right, Agnes. And once I find one, you’ll be the first to know.”
* * *
“Did you get enough to eat?” I ask, folding my napkin, placing it on the wrought iron table, and wincing when it touches the hot surface. These patio sets are beautiful but not made for the severe heat.
“What?” my mother yells.
“Are you done with your lunch?” I practically scream back at her.
“Yes. It was more than enough.” Looking over her plate, I determine she may have had three leaves of lettuce, half of a peach, and likely a tablespoon of cottage cheese. I guess that’s about average for her. But given she doesn’t burn any calories, she likely doesn’t need much more.
“How about you?”
“I had plenty. I was just glad it wasn’t the meatloaf,” I shout and quickly scan the area to ensure no employees are within earshot. Lifting my glass of water, I take a sip before my mother’s next words have me spraying it in my lap.
“You need to start dating, Poppy. If you want to have babies, you need to start dating.” She sounds adamant. As if ‘enough is enough already.’ Yet we haven’t had the baby conversation often. I expected it to happen, but when it didn’t, I was unclear if she was trying to be careful of my feelings or if dementia caused her to forget to harass me.
“I know. I date.”
A thin gray brow lifts in response.
“Okay, not often. But there really aren’t that many good prospects out there.”
She grows quiet for a minute, and I start to gather our things to return inside when she continues. “How about that Bumble Bee thing?”
My eyes dart about the gazebo on the chance I’ve misunderstood this conversation, and she’s referring to an insect.
“Agnes is forever messaging men on Bumble Bee.”
Holy crap.“For real?”
“Yes. She says there are some real lookers.”
“Maybe so. But Agnes is in her eighties.” I giggle. “Do they know they’d have to drop by Hanover Haven to pick her up?”
“Agnes is a beautiful woman. Those men would be lucky to take her out,” my mother scolds, her voice still raised.
“You’re right. But I think they might be too old for me.”
“Then try a different one. For younger men. You’re not getting any younger, Poppy.”
“Thanks, Mom.” As if I haven’t had the same thought myself.
“Your brother is coming for a visit next week,” she shouts. “Please try to spend some time with him. You two used to be so close.”
