And that, folks, is my relationship with my mother perfectly summed up.She can’t come wedding dress shopping for her only child, but she wishes me well.
“Oh.”
Baron’s thumb strokes across the back of my hand. A kind, affectionate gesture. He can tell how much that news affects me. I’ve had my entire life to get over the fact that I’ll never be close to my parents, but even so, it hurts to be dismissed like that.
Jefferson announces dinner, and we move into the formal dining room. I’m distracted throughout the meal, something Cordelia definitely notices. But I can’t help it. I’ve felt like I’m on a runaway train for a while now. Like my life is not entirely my own. I’m living it for someone else, not me. And planning this wedding, to this man, has turned up the speed on the train to dizzying levels.
Thankfully, we leave shortly after dessert is cleared away. Baron has a car arriving here to take him straight to the airport for a trip to Ontario to work on some merger or something.
After saying goodbye to his parents, we move outside. He walks me to his car since he insisted on picking me up tonight, despite the fact that he wouldn’t be driving me home. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except he lives a lot closer to his parents than I do. So now I have to drive back to his house, drop off his car, then make my way home.
“If you’d moved in with me already, this wouldn’t be anissue,” he reminded me earlier when I questioned him about coming to pick me up. And he’s not wrong. I’ve been dragging my heels on moving in with him for several reasons.
None of which I wanted to get into with him tonight, especially right before dinner with his parents.
At his car, he leans down and pecks my cheek. “Have fun with Mother. I’m sure everything will be great.”
I stare at him, debating whether or not to point out the obvious — that everything will absolutelynotbe great.
His mother is going to take over completely and plan the wedding she wants us to have with no consideration for what either of us might want. How he can’t see that is beyond me. But as always, he’s oblivious.
“Baron, I really don’t think —”
“Listen, babe, can this wait? I gotta go, I’m meeting the guys from the office for a preflight drink and I don’t want to be late.”
I bite down on my tongue so hard I worry I’ll draw blood. Drinks with his coworkers apparently trumps my attempt to have a conversation about our freaking wedding.
“Yeah. Sure. I hope your trip goes well.” My voice sounds hollow to my ears, but Baron doesn’t seem to notice.
Instead, all I get is a brief nod as a car pulls up. “Great. We’ll talk soon. I’ll email once I land in Toronto.”
He’ll email. Wonderful. Guess the days of phone sex and constant text messages are over. Oh, who am I kidding? They have been for a while.
He slides into the back seat without another word. No kiss, no hug, nothing.
For a woman who’s meant to be in love, meant to becommitting her life to the man driving away from her, I can’t help but feel very, very alone.
Chapter three
Monty
The drive out to Meadowvale, the small town I grew up in, takes just over an hour. Tucked away in a small pocket of the valley outside of Vancouver, it’s a beautiful place to live, even if, as a kid, I resented how far away from everything it seemed.
Now, I love coming here. The quiet streets and slow pace of this sleepy little town instantly make me feel peaceful. I pull up outside of the store my parents have owned for decades. The closest thing to a grocery store in these parts, they sell a little bit of everything. As soon as I was old enough, I was helping out, sweeping floors, stocking shelves, packing bags. The bell over the door that jingles when I walk in brings a wave of nostalgia, but it’s the grey-haired woman walking over with her arms wide open that has me grinning.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, gently folding her much-smaller frame into mine for a hug.
“Twenty seconds, young man.” She says the same thing every time we hug. Gotta hold on for twenty seconds to get the maximum mood boost. As a teenager, I cringed, and insisted on only hugging her in private. But now, as a grown-ass man, I lovehugging. Not just my mom, even though hers are the best, but everyone.
Hey, I’m an affectionate dude, and hugs are awesome.
When we eventually let go, she holds onto my arms with a grip that hasn’t weakened one bit since I was a kid.
“Now. Your dad is in the back unloading the produce order. Have you had lunch?”
“Mom, it’s 10 am. I don’t need lunch.” I glance to the back of the store. “Should I go help Dad? Those apple boxes get heavy.”
“Honey, your father might be seventy-two, but he’s not dead yet. He can handle some apple boxes. If you don’t want lunch, how about a snack? We got some new treats from Delores for the bakery case. She made these croissant-donut things. Cronuts, she called them.”
