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“Thanks for coming over.” Joyce fussed with the single blue-violet hydrangea bloom she’d chosen for a glass beaker as a centerpiece. “How’s the salmon?”
“Delicious, but what’s the occasion?”
“It’s nothing special. I’m just trying to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, and cooking does it for me. I could also use some advice.”
Catherine felt confident it would be related to Shane Shephard, and between bites of salad, she nodded to encourage her friend.
“I had the best time with Shane Sunday night. He came to get me in a Porsche. It’s from the sixties, but I’ve forgotten just which year. He restored it himself. It’s a pumpkin color and so pretty it looks new. He took me to a nice steak house, but I can’t even tell you where it was or what I ate. Isn’t that awful?”
“No, it simply sounds as though Shane is an extremely charming man.”
“Yes, he is, and he told such amusing stories that
my sides ached by the time he brought me home. I had absolutely no idea that growing up in Oxnard would provide such a wealth of ridiculous situations, but he appears to see everything in a humorous light.
“I invited him to come in, but he said he had to get up early Monday morning for a big job. He kissed me again, and my God, does he know how to kiss, but I sure didn’t want him to leave.”
Joyce paused for a quick sip of Chablis. “Then he told me if I really intended to incorporate plants in my interior design work, I ought to come up to Oxnard and tour his nursery.”
“Why not? Did he give you a specific time?”
“No, and that’s what worries me. I’m trying to believe that he’ll call, but get this, he said he wants me to meet his mother.”
“Don’t you regard that as a good sign?”
“I suppose it could be construed as such, but I’m sure she won’t like me. The problem is, if I refuse to visit the nursery, then Shane will think I don’t like him. What am I going to do? I’m dead if I go, and dead if I don’t. Then I keep wondering why he didn’t come in Sunday night. Do you suppose he waits for his mother’s approval before he sleeps with a woman?”
“That’s a little bizarre, don’t you think? He probably did have a job scheduled for early Monday morning and thought you deserved more than a quickie. As for his mother, he might want to show you off.”
“Oh yeah.” Joyce rolled her eyes. “She’ll surely notice I’m on the wrong side of thirty and convince Shane he can do a whole lot better.”
“Do you really believe that?” Catherine inquired softly.
Joyce raised her napkin to brush away the threat of tears. “Shane looks like a model. He owns his own successful business. He can tear apart a car and put it back together again. How many men do you know who can build anything, even a birdhouse, anymore? He doesn’t need an older woman.”
“Please, you’re not his grandmother’s age. Besides, I don’t really believe we can choose whom to love. But rather than rush things, try and take them one step at a time. When Shane calls, make plans to visit the nursery. Take a notebook and write down the names of the plants as though you had a place to put them next week. Then find one, of course.
“As for Shane’s mother, she may be delighted you have a career which dovetails so neatly with her son’s. You also have a natural style I doubt they see much in Oxnard, and she might be impressed with your artistic flare. At least give her the benefit of the doubt. If she’s nasty, then you wouldn’t want her for a mother-in-law anyway.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I could tolerate some pretty awful in-laws to have Shane,” Joyce mused wistfully.
“Relax and get to know him, Joyce. Give it at least a year before you start making wedding plans.”
Joyce appeared crushed by that prospect. “If I wait a year, I’ll be thirty-eight before we could marry. That means I probably wouldn’t have a baby before I was thirty-nine. I’d be forty or forty-one before I could have a second child.”
Joyce slumped back in her chair. “The years are just flying by, and what do I have to show for them? Nothing at all.”
“All that self-pity is beginning to annoy me,” Catherine warned. “You have a beautiful home. You’re a wonderful cook, a great friend, and a damn good interior designer. Now stop worrying about Shane, hurry up and eat something, and then I’ll help you with the dishes.”
Joyce sighed sadly. “You’re right, of course. That’s why I invited you over. Whatever happens will happen whether or not I cry myself to sleep, won’t it?”
“It sure will,” Catherine confirmed.
Joyce paused with her fork poised over her salmon. “So how are things with you and Luke?”
Catherine scarcely knew where to begin. “We butt heads so often that I’m reminded of the bumper cars they used to have at amusement parks.”
“I remember those,” Joyce cried. “In fact, I once dated a man who had one he’d bought from the Newport Beach Fun Zone. It made a nifty little couch in his bedroom.”
