AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Wait, did she say fiancé? I zeroed in on Grandma’s left hand, where a tasteful diamond engagement ring twinkled.
“You’re engaged?” I gasped. “Again?”
Sensing the shift in the room, Mama poked her head into the living room. “Jane, honey, can I see you for a minute?”
Jaw unhinged, I followed Mama into the kitchen, where a wealth of Tupperware was carefully laid out in the traditional Jameson post-Christmas smorgasbord formation on the countertop. I clamped my hand over my nose when confronted with Mama’s reheated “fancy” cheese grits, made with gouda and bacon and an obscene amount of garlic.
“Is she crazy?” I demanded around my hand. “Is he crazy?”
Mama shrugged. “Well, I will admit that the mourning period was a little short.”
“She brought a date to the burial,” I hissed, removing my hand from my face and concentrating on talking instead of smelling. (Stupid instinctual breathing!)
“At the time, he was just a friend, trying to help her through a difficult time,” Mama said in what could only be described as her “denial” voice. I simply watched her, expressionless, prompting Mama to say, “Your grandma isn’t like you, Jane. She’s from a different time. She’s the kind of woman who needs a man in her life.”
“For a brief time, before her evil curse kills them in a terribly ironic way,” I said, which made Mama’s face pucker. “You know, this never would have happened if you had taken my advice and put up those ‘Warning—Black Widow—Do Not Marry’ posters with Grandma’s picture down at the senior center.”
“Honey, you know I don’t like it when you talk that way.”
“I don’t like having a grandma with a four-volume wedding album. We all have our burdens to bear.”
The tiniest eye twinkle under the veneer of annoyance told me Mama was trying not to laugh.
“When’s the wedding?” I asked.
“They haven’t set a date yet,” Mama said. “But you know how she likes to get married in the fall—” Mama caught herself. “See? Now you have me doing it.”
I pressed my lips together to suppress the smirk.
“Wilbur seems like a very nice man,” Mama told me in her “Don’t argue” voice. “He treats Grandma how gentlemen used to treat ladies. He opens doors for her. He carries heavy bags. He orders for her in restaurants.”
“So he’s like a concierge,” I said.
Mama was not amused.
“Mama, she’s going to kill another one!” I moaned. “This has got to stop. Hasn’t she had all the husbands she needs?”
“Shh, they’re going to hear you,” Mama said, sending furtive looks at the door.
“Oh, they can’t hear anything.” I rolled my eyes.
In an obvious ploy to redirect the conversation, Mama looked furtively toward the door and said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, but I didn’t want to in front of your daddy. How are things going with your Gabriel?”
“Fine.” I jerked my shoulders.
“Fine?” she asked. “Just fine?”
I nodded, my lips pressed tightly together, narrowing my gaze as Mama shot me a canary-devouring feline smile. She said, “You’ll never guess who was asking about you at prayer meeting the other night.”
“You’re right. I won’t.”
“Adam Morrow, you remember, you used to have such a big crush on him in high school. I used to find his name doodled all over your notebooks. Adam Morrow. Mrs. Adam Morrow. Jane Jameson-Morrow, Jane E. Morrow. Jane and Adam Morr—”
“I got it. I remember.”
She smiled. “Well, he has been asking about you at church. And I thought, why not ask him over for dinner sometime? A poor single boy who works as hard as he does knows how to appreciate a good home-cooked meal.”
“Mama, please don’t.”
