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“Chase asked me to his mother’s birthday. It’s one of those”—I hooked my fingers— “big calendar events.”
She looked pleased, as though I’d been invited to meet the first lady. “I’m so glad you’re seeing him again. You’re very suited.”
Her contagious smile flushed anticipation through me for the first time as I followed her downstairs.
Mitch took a call and left us just as we entered the kitchen.
“Mitch is setting up a new venture. It’s really exciting,” my mother said.
“Oh really?”
“It’s a cruise for those seeking a holistic, alternative experience.”
“Like vegan cuisine, yoga, and Tantra?” I asked. “That might descend into a full-on orgy. Going on the random nature of that practice.”
“That’s a little over-the-top, sweetie,” my mother said, passing me a plate with a colorful dessert. I wasn’t sure what was in it. But anything with sugar, honey, or maple syrup always had my salivating approval.
Finishing his call, Mitch entered the kitchen again.
“Would you like some coconut yogurt, love?” she asked him.
Love? So soon?
He nodded. “Yes, please.”
As I studied Mitch, dressed in crossover yoga pants with that lowered crotch that gave the impression the wearer had pooped themselves, I wondered what I’d seen in him.
I thought about Chase in his snug designer jeans with the pretentious rips in all the right places. Who doesn’t like easy access to their boyfriend’s ass?
My mother passed Mitch his dessert and held up a bottle of vegan red wine. “Can I offer you some?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
“I was just telling Ivy about your new cruise idea.”
“Oh, right.” He flashed me a tight smile. “What do you think of Elysium for the company name?” He turned to my mother.
“I like that,” she said, glancing at me as though asking my opinion.
I shrugged. “Sure. Why not? It suits the customers you’re hoping to attract.”
“Ivy was joking earlier that the Tantra element of the cruise could descend into being Bacchanalian.”
His eyes lit up. “That would be fun.”
My attention slid from him to my mother. “You’re doing polyamory too?”
Mitchell shook his head. “No. It’s not my thing. Your mother knows that. It’s something we can offer as part of a package cruise. And I like the idea of a Bacchanalian festival.”
“What a lovely idea. You could get the makers of organic wine to sponsor it,” my mother said.
After Mitchell went off to take another call, she said with a lowered voice, “He’s so driven. A true Capricorn. I love that about him. He’s also working on a retirement village for the alternative market.”
“At his age?” I asked.
She smiled at my grimace. “It’s a niche market that needs filling, darling. There’s a large aging population of hippies.”
“I would have thought most of them were either dead or had fried their brains on acid and were roaming around somewhere in the desert quoting Kerouac.”
