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“You have to get it done a few days before a big event so the swelling has a chance to go down,” explained Evie.
“Oh,” I said. “Well, I’m sure you’ll look perfect, Mrs. Preston. But I already thought you did.” I reached for another sandwich and stuffed it into my mouth before I had to talk some more. I forgot all about being self-conscious—if Mrs. Preston could talk about filling her face up with pharmaceuticals, I could fill mine with food.
Besides, I could not handle these bitches on an empty stomach. They were being friendly, and it set off all my internal alarms.
“Isn’t she sweet?” Evie said and patted my hand. My back immediately stiffened. I took another sandwich and stuffed it into my mouth. I had the sinking feeling this was a set-up.
“You’re starving,” Mrs. Preston clucked. It looked as if she was trying to smile, but her face was too puffy to move. “Any chance you’re eating for two?”
I shook my head no, horrified. “Not a chance,” I croaked out, past my sandwich.
“But wouldn’t that be nice?” Evie said, still fake-smiling at me. I should have just told her to stop, she sucked at it so hard.
I swallowed my food. “Not for me,” I said. “But you’re another matter.” Now I showed her what a genuine fake smile looked like and turned the tables, making the conversation all about Evie. “You could get pregnant on the honeymoon…wouldn’t that be exciting? Another little Preston?”
“It would be wonderful,” Evie said reverently. It sounded as though the idea made her salivate. But Evie didn’t strike me as all that maternal. I wondered just how much of a trust fund little Baby Preston would have.
“I expect a grandchild,” Mrs. Preston said to Evie. It looked as if she was trying to arch an eyebrow for emphasis, but nothing was really moving.
She turned to me. “But not from you,” she said.
I held up my hands, as if to surrender. “Don’t worry about it,” I said, “’cause it’s not happening.”
She and Evie looked at each other for a beat and then refocused on me. I grabbed yet another sandwich and looked around desperately for a waiter so I could order some wine.
“What exactly is going on with you and my son?” Mrs. Preston asked.
I sighed. “Mrs. Preston, we just talked about this yesterday. We’re dating and having fun. That’s it,” I said. “It’s not serious. You and I both know he’s out of my league.”
I looked at Evie. “You know it, too.”
She shrugged and nodded in agreement. “You’re right. He’s totally too good for you.”
“Thanks,” I said flatly.
“But Audrey—even though you said it isn’t serious, James told Todd that you went to the Red Sox yesterday. And that you had a great time,” Evie said.
“So?”
“And he told him you went on the swan boats,” she said accusatorially. It was as if she was presenting a particularly damning piece of evidence against me. Mrs. Preston leaned forward, waiting to hear my response.
I rolled my eyes at both of them. “That was my idea,” I said, even though it totally wasn’t. “Ladies, James is a great guy, and I like him a lot, but I can’t imagine he’d ever be serious about me.”
“Are you serious about him?” Mrs. Preston asked, not skipping a beat.
“Only as serious as you can be about something with an expiration date,” I said. I grabbed another finger sandwich and cursed the existence of finger sandwiches—why couldn’t they just make full-size ones? Then I wouldn’t have to keep grabbing them and feeling like a cow stuck in a herd of flamingoes.
I looked up to find Mrs. Preston studying my face.
Evie nudged me. “You two seem like you’re having a good time, though, which makes my life a lot easier.” She sounded as if she was apologizing to me. “If James was being an as**shole like usual, these two weeks would be a total cluster f**k.”
“I agree,” Mrs. Preston said. A waiter approached, and she ordered a vodka gimlet.
I raised my hand. “May I please have a glass of wine?” I asked.
“Bring the bottle,” Mrs. Preston commanded, and I settled in for what I knew was going to be a very long afternoon.
James came through the door at exactly four o’clock, resplendent in another steel-colored suit. I practically sprinted to him.
“I’m pretty sure your mother was trying to get me drunk so she could interrogate me,” I told him once we were safely in the car.
“Are you drunk?” James asked. He almost sounded hopeful.
