Chapter Twenty-Three
Madison
“What?”I gasp. “You’re getting married? To whom? And… and when?”
My mom giggles and presses a white linen napkin to her lips, the fabric immediately stained with a bright-red lipstick stamp. Shoving her left hand across the table, she flaunts her engagement ring, wiggling her vibrant, painted nails.
“His name is Mike. He’s the lighting designer for our show. We met during tech week. Our relationship started as friends but escalated into something… more.”
I examine the tiny diamond before I drain my martini glass in two gulps. My mother swore up and down she wouldnevermarry again, her gypsy lifestyle a bold choice since she divorced my father. That Viola Adler had found another man who willingly put up with her outrageous ways left me speechless.
“He’s outside waiting for me to give him the all-clear.”
“Wait.What?”
“I told Mike I’d text him once I told you. Just give me a sec,” she says, pulling her cell phone out of her purse.
I grab my mother’s wrist. “Mom, wait. I’m not ready to meet him yet. I’d rather have dinner with you, just the two of us, so we can catch up. Mother and daughter. Is that okay?”
She pulls away from my grip and continues to type on her phone. “I want you to meet your future stepfather. I promise you’re gonnalovehim!”
The evening takes an unexpected turn once Mike enters the scene. The big, bearded man is nice enough, but the two lovebirds can’t stop discussing their wedding plans. They were granted permission to use part of the set during an off day (a garden). And they planned on saying their vows on stage in front of their touring peers of actors and tech crew.
I watch my mom come alive with joy as she dotes on Mike and how he focuses on her every word. I learned they’re the same age and that Mike is originally from New Jersey. Unlike Viola, he’d never been married and has no children.
“He’s my George Clooney, and I’m his Amal,” she gushes. She’s sitting so close to Mike that it looks like she’s in his lap.
“His Amal?” I question.
Mike speaks with confidence, and his Jersey accent is noticeable. “Amal is the gal who broke George Clooney of hisbachelor status. Viola is Amal, and I’m George. It’s a metaphor.” The way he pronounces the word ‘metaphor’ sounds like a mob boss in a crime movie.
“Oh, I get it.” I nod, forcing myself not to roll my eyes. Leave it to my mother to always have a celebrity correlation.
Our food arrives, and I pick at my salad, my appetite lost. It’s hard to watch the happy couple, my mind flashing with thoughts of my own George. Seeing my mother like this makes me realize there is hope for everyone.
Maybe even for me.
“You got a beau, honey?” my mom asks.
I look up and see the happy couple staring right at me. I knew this question would be asked at some point. I should’ve said no. But for some reason, I say yes, knowing my mother will approve and stop hounding me about being a single workaholic.
“I do.” I take a big bite of salad and wait for her shrieks to die down as other patrons look on.
“That’s fantastic! What’s his name? Where does he live? Is it serious?”
I swallow. “Um, believe it or not, his name is George.”
“Get out! You have a Georgie too? How incredible.” She turns toward Mike, squealing like a starstruck fanatic. “Isn’t that incredible?”
“Two George’s in the family. Pretty incredible. Just sayin’.”
“He lives about an hour and a half from Atlanta, Mom. He’s a, uh… He’s a creative person, much like you two.”
She claps her hands and snuggles closer to Mike, if that’s even possible. “What is his element, dear? Theater? Architecture? Oh, I’ve always envisioned you with a successful architect.”
“No, Mom. He’s not an architect. But he does work with his hands.”
“I like this game, don’t you, Mike?” She turns and rubs noses with him. “Let’s play.”
