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She doesn’t need you to rescue her from this boring conversation, Bishop. Don’t go over there.
On the other hand, after that phone call today, I feel the need to keep an eye on this man. He looks innocuous enough, sitting there scrolling and scrolling. But I know the truth. The truth about a person is how he makes someone feel. The way he made her feel is inexcusable. Wedding stress my ass; he’s a tool. He’s not coming back from that.
When I approach their table, Cherise’s eyes connect with mine for a brief moment. In her expression, I see a trapped, anxious girl.
As I come closer, she corrects herself. The happy mask slides back on, and my heart breaks.
She’s going to marry that complete dud, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Chapter Five
Cherise
“How is everyone’s dinner tonight? Good?”
Man, oh man. Bishop keeps popping up everywhere I go. Secretly, I don’t mind
at all. And I’m happy for a reprieve from my future mother-in-law, who will not shut up about today’s mishap with her driver. Oh, she does veer off into critiques of “this generation and their tattoos” whenever our server walks away. A server who happens to work with me and whom I know for a fact is a great person and a hard worker, but Myrtle’s not hearing me.
Never change, Myrtle, I think sarcastically, wishing my own mother would pop up unexpectedly.
Not realizing who Bishop is, Myrtle immediately starts in on how her pasta was too salty.
I bite my tongue at the urge to make official introductions. Which would be more satisfyingly petty: letting her find out organically or pointing out to her that she was talking to the owner of the place?
Not missing a beat, Bishop apologizes. “Madam, I am so sorry about that. I will let the kitchen know right away and have them cook up a replacement.”
She giggles. “Not necessary; I’ll just have the check.”
“Understood. I’ll let your server know.” And with that, he swoops down, grabs Myrtle’s plate, and sails off to the kitchen.
My esteem of Bishop went up twelve notches for that.
And then, my mood takes a tumble as soon as he’s gone.
I stare at my salmon and think, should I really start a marriage with petty thoughts about my mother-in-law? I decide to try to start over from scratch.
“All settled in your hotel room, Myrtle?”
The older woman snorts. “Almost as garish as that other place with the same name. To think that someone like me would ask to be dropped off at a burlesque show. I ask you, is that the kind of impression I make, that I belong at a place like that? Honestly, what is wrong with people in this city?”
I sip my wine and ask her, “What kind of people do belong at a burlesque club, Myrtle? I’m curious.”
“Miscreants. Deviants, obviously.”
I smile. “Interesting. I booked my bachelorette party there,” I say. So much for starting over.
I look over at Augie, and he’s glancing up from his phone just long enough to give me the side-eye. That’s his warning that I said the wrong thing to Myrtle.
I did say the wrong thing, and Myrtle reacts in typical Myrtle fashion. “For my bachelorette party, I had a pool party with the gals, and then we all went to bed early. Carry your bags to the honeymoon, not under your eyes at the wedding, I always say.”
I lean into it now, just happy not listening to her trash talk my coworkers anymore. “I even took advantage of a special package where they teach groups how to dance. I’ve heard it’s fun!”
Augie finally places his phone face down on the table and looks like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him. “What? It’s not that big of a deal; it’s not like we’ll be naked or anything,” I say.
“Thank god for that,” Myrtle says.
I don’t get angry at my fiancé’s mom for shooting her mouth off like this. But I do grow more incensed by the second that Augie isn’t sticking up for me. Not even a little bit. Waiting for Augie to defend me against the onslaught of his mother’s barbs is like being a fan of a losing team. I always hope for a win; I keep buying the merchandise, I watch the game with bated breath. But the other team’s offense is just too much for our side.
