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I started rambling while fat tears streamed down my face. “I swear, Mom… I didn’t want it to happen, but I can’t stop thinking about this other guy. I have these fantasies… Warren is the only man I’ve ever been with. So how can I be sure he’s the right one? I mean, I love chicken, and if I had only ever eaten chicken, I’d probably be happy because it’s good, you know? But steak is ridiculously delicious, and what if I never tried steak to realize I like it better than chicken? Does that mean the chicken is less good? Or would I spend the rest of my life bored with eating chicken? What if chicken isn’t enough for me to eat for the rest of my life?” I felt a little panicked. “Do I need to eat steak, Mom? Do I? You’d tell me if I did, right?”
Mom smiled and patted my hand. “I think what you’re asking is if it’s normal to fantasize about another man. Am I right, sweetheart? Because I like pork better than chicken or beef, so if that’s not what you’re asking, I think I might be even more confused than you are.”
I laughed and swiped at my wet cheeks. “I’ve been having these dreams about a guy here in New York. Is that normal?”
“Well, I sure hope so, because I’ve had a thing for George Clooney for years. Your father thinks I like when he wears a tuxedo because it means we’re going out somewhere fancy, but really, it’s because he reminds me of George.” My mom leaned closer and lowered her voice. “This one time, the news covered him going to a White House state dinner of some sort. I recorded the news and watched it a dozen times.”
But George Clooney didn’t live one thin wall away from my mother…
And George Clooney didn’t tell her how perfect her ass is…
And I was pretty certain she hadn’t slept in the same bed as him.
“I think some level of fantasy about other men is normal,” Mom continued.
Some level? But not twenty-four-seven obsessing, right? “How do you know when it’s too much, though?”
“I guess when real feelings become involved. I can stare at Mr. Clooney all day long, but I don’t have real feelings for him. There’s a difference between playful fantasy in our head and emotional cheating. You can’t feel guilty because you have a sexy dream or two about a handsome man. Thoughts are only thoughts, sweetheart. Unless you’re considering acting on them, you aren’t doing anything wrong.”
But I had acted on them, hadn’t I? Even if I hadn’t technically cheated, I’d run my toe right across the line on more than one occasion—sleeping in a bed with Holden, looking at him practically naked—letting him look at me. When it came down to it, that was the real reason I’d felt like shit putting on a pure white wedding dress today. It was a stark reminder of the impure thoughts I couldn’t seem to get out of my head about Holden lately.
“It’s normal to have pre-wedding jitters, sweetheart. Really, it is. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself for some innocent fantasies.”
The problem was, none of it was innocent. But I didn’t want to upset my mom or have her think less of me by telling her the full truth. So I nodded. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry if I ruined our shopping trip or put a damper on lunch. You’re right. I’m sure it’s just pre-wedding jitters.”
Luckily, I managed to not cry or break out in additional rashes for the rest of our lunch. But when we got off the elevator, I knew that was about to change.
Holden was pulling his apartment door shut.
My mom knew me so well, and she would be able to read what was going on in my head just from the way I looked at Holden. Yet there was no avoiding him. He turned, and Mom’s face lit up as she stepped off the elevator.
“Holden Catalano! How are you, honey?” She walked over and engulfed him in a big hug. She held onto his shoulders. “You look wonderful. Then again, you were always a handsome boy. How long has it been?”
Holden’s smile was genuine. “It’s been too long, Mrs. E. That’s how long it’s been.”
“It must be at least five years now?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure how that’s possible since you look younger than you did last time I saw you.”
Mom waved him off, but I could tell she enjoyed the compliment. Holden had that certain je ne sais quoi that charmed women from eight to eighty.
“Where are you running off to?” Mom asked. “I want to hear all about what’s going on with you.”
Holden pointed his eyes down to the toolbox I hadn’t noticed in his hand. “I was just going up to the fourth floor to fix a garbage disposal. There’s a set of kids in one of our units who are giving me a taste of what I was probably like at thirteen. Those unruly little brats live to amuse themselves. I wouldn’t be surprised if I get up there and a frog jumps out of the disposal.”
