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Mrs. Baxter makes her way over. The whole town will hear about Mason and me catching up.
He gives the woman a fake grin. I know every one of his smiles. This is the I-don’t-want-to-talk-to-you-but-my-mom-raised-me-to-have-manners smile.
“How is your gran, dear?” Mrs. Baxter tilts her head. “I haven’t seen her come to craft nights for months.” Had she heard us whispering about Gran?
“She doesn’t like the cold. Her old bones lock up.”
I raise a brow in his direction. Doesn’t the town know his grandmother is sick? Mrs. Baxter would be the first to make meals or something if they did. She has tabs on everyone.
“Send my love to her, will you?” Mrs. Baxter remains in line, holding two boxes of chocolates and a small bunch of flowers.
“I will.” Mason nods.
When he says nothing more, she trills, “Carry on. Don’t mind me.” A sly grin lifts her cheeks.
I paste on a grin for Mason. “That’ll be twelve dollars.”
He probably senses our conversation needs to end. He hands me his gold credit card, and I tap the machine. The transaction beep fills the silence, and I return his card.
“Enjoy the rest of your day,” I say coolly.
“Thanks.” He collects the flowers, and his mouth flatlines.
My stomach hits the floor, and my lungs tighten as I freefall. I don’t want to say goodbye either. We didn’t end our engagement because we argued. Mason was a kind boyfriend and an even more amazing fiancé. I only had to mention a hankering for food, and he’d cook my favorite meal—no matter the hour of day.
But as time went on, he got busier and busier. When we spent time together, he talked only about work. How boring. And I even told him so.
I like adventure and freedom—the opposite of Mason’s hamster wheel comfort zone. People say opposites attract, but we’re too different. He’s serious and deadline-driven, and I aim to enjoy life. What’s the point of earning all that money and not having the time or space to spend it?
“I’ll visit Gran next week. I promise.”
“You have a heart of gold. Thanks, Lauren.” His lips curve. “You’re the best.”
My heart skips a beat. Mason’s great at compliments and generous with praise. And super romantic. A real sweetheart. I take in a deep breath and let it release slowly. Pity, it didn’t work out. We had so much going for us. But no point in being married if you hardly see each other. Talk about a failure waiting to happen.
“Bye,” I say, all chipper as I turn to Mrs. Baxter. She’ll sour the flutters I have going on. A good dose of Mrs. Baxter always does the trick.
I ring the nervousness from my fingers. One white lie for a little old lady. Apparently, it gives Gran peace knowing her grandson is settling down, so I’ll keep the conversation in the right direction.
Gran seems to notice my fidgeting, and her face crinkles. Her complexion would resemble crumpled tinfoil if she had more lines bracketing her mouth and lining her forehead. “Where’s your engagement ring, dear?”
“Mason has it,” I blurt and cringe. Another lie. How to keep these to a minimum? “He’s having it cleaned.” Did he still have my ring? He should clean it before giving it to anyone else. The idea makes me squirm more than lying to an old lady.
Gran runs a tongue over her stained yellow teeth. Sure doesn’t look as though she brushed twice a day and flossed. How did she keep her original teeth? Can you stain dentures? “Why would it need cleaning when it’s sparkling new?”
It takes me a moment to realize she’s not talking about her teeth. Nope, she’s onto my story about the ring. Gran wasn’t born yesterday. “It didn’t fit right. If we’re going to be married for the next fifty years, he needs to make sure it fits perfectly.” Ugh. Can I be more pathetic? All for a good cause, right?
“Perfectly?” Gran leans back into her chair. “You can’t have everything perfect in marriage, sweetheart. Even a successful one will have its flaws.”
I don’t like the direction of this conversation. I’m not a perfectionist. Mason works too hard. Other than that, yes, he’s perfect. The perfect gentleman. A perfect kisser. The perfect romantic. It’s hard enough with the whole breakup thing. But it had to happen. The last month we were together, I barely saw him for two weeks. I went to Denver for the weekend to save him a drive. We went out on a Saturday, and he kept getting business calls. We didn’t have a decent conversation, and my mood had long surpassed foul. I asked him if this was what it would be like in the future. Mason told me he needed to be honest and upfront. His workload wouldn’t change when we got married.
I gave the relationship another month, reluctant to split up. I fought a reaction to his statement but not much changed. Mason chose Brooker and Son over me and his future family.
I smile at Gran. “It sounds like you had a wonderful marriage. Tell me one of your favorite memories of your late husband.” It’s better to direct the conversation toward herself. Gran loves to tell a good yarn.
I’m not here for premarital counseling. If I continue to visit Gran, it needs to be about improving Gran’s last days in some small way. I hope when I’m old, people won’t forget about me.
Gran gazes at the ceiling rose, and a dreamy look overtakes her features. She loved her husband. Gran fiddles with her loose wedding ring on her frail, bony fingers. “My favorite memory? There are so many. How long do you have, dear?”
