Page 21 of The Match

I hear the door to the venue open, and I look up with a grin on my face that immediately falls away at the sight of my caterer walking beside my mom, as buddy-buddy as I’ve ever seen two people. They are laughing about something, and Mom gives the caterer a playful smack across the arm. “Monica, you’re so bad. I had no idea that you were capable of being so conniving.”

The woman beams at Mom. “That’s only because you’ve never harassed my servers and then tried to get out of paying me for my services.”

What in the actual hell is my mom doing here with my caterer?

I don’t even bother trying to hide the scowl on my face as I stand. “Mom, what are you doing here?”

“Now, is that any way to greet your mother?” She’s smiling like she does when she’s trying to fool everyone around us into thinking we’re a happy, do-anything-for-each-other family. We’re not. And I’m so done pretending.

I cross my arms. “How do you two know each other?”

Poor Monica sees my face and starts looking worried. She backs up a small step to let my mother take the lead. “Did you not know? I’ve been using Monica’s catering company for years. She provides the most delicious food for all of the Powder Society’s functions.”

I want to groan. Of course I picked the one caterer in town who is tied to Melony Jones.

“I think it’s safe to say that I did not know that.” Or else I would not have used her. “But how did you know we were meeting today?”

Mom smiles a syrupy-sweet smile at Monica over her shoulder. “Will you give us a minute, Mon?” Mon! Bleh. Excuse me while I go fire my caterer immediately.

Monica leaves my mom and me alone together. I spot the fire alarm only a few feet away, and I consider pulling it.

“Now, Evelyn Grace, can you please try, for one moment, to not treat me like some sort of almighty tormenter in front of my caterer?”

“My caterer! She’s my caterer today! I’m just trying to figure out what the hell you’re doing here.” I’m as close as cat’s breath to purposely spilling my coffee all over my mom’s pink linen dress.

She sticks her nose in the air a little higher. “If you must know, Monica and I were together yesterday, discussing the menu for an upcoming Powder Society meeting, and she mentioned that she was meeting with a client today by the name of Jones and wondered if I was related to an Evie.” Oh, yeah . . . Monica’s got to go. “I told her you were my daughter, and she mentioned your fundraiser. Imagine my embarrassment when I had to pretend like I knew what she was talking about! My own daughter not inviting me to a fundraiser she is hosting!” She’s shaking her head, and that pity card she’s trying to fly in front of my face is looking pretty flimsy these days.

“Mom, you have made it perfectly clear that you do not support my decision to work for Southern Service Paws. So, excuse me if I didn’t think it would interest you to be invited.”

“We are the Joneses, Evelyn Grace! We go to every fundraiser in town. Imagine how it would look if word got out that I wasn’t even invited to my own daughter’s event?”

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the mother that raised me. She is putting up a big fight, not because she’s hurt that I didn’t want her at the fundraiser but because she’s afraid of what people would think. This is so classic Melony Jones. It’s how she’s acted every single day of my life.

Maybe I should move to a new town. Somewhere far away where the Jones name means nothing.

But I relent because I don’t have the time to go eighteen rounds with her. “Fine, Mom. Consider this your official invitation. It’s on the—”

Mom holds up her hand and then starts rifling through her purse. “Don’t bother. I already have all the details on this laser-printed invitation I took off Deborah’s fridge.” She levels me with a frosty scowl. “Because Deborah and her family received one.”

I knew she would mention something about the printing. Mom is the queen of event planning. She would rather saw off her arm to pay for the finest engraved linen invitations than have to settle for mere laser printing.

I gesture toward the invite. “So, apparently you didn’t have to do too much acting when Monica told you about the event since you had already stolen that invitation from one of your friends. Remind me, do they teach theft in cotillion? It’s been so long I don’t remember.”

Mom’s eyes narrow dangerously. “That’s enough sass from you, young lady. Like it or not, your dad and I will be at the benefit.” She tucks her stolen invite back into her Coach purse.

She turns away and swings her hips as she walks toward the door, and without looking back, she gets one final punch in. “By the way, I already talked with Monica, and the drumsticks you originally ordered will never work for a black-tie event. I had her change the menu to salmon and chicken cutlets. If you want people to give like millionaires, don’t expect them to eat with their fingers like cavemen.”

I’m looking around for something I can throw at this woman, but because of my own bad luck, there’s nothing nearby.

She pauses with her hand on the door. “Oh, and I expect you to send a proper invitation to Tyler and his parents.”

“Sure. I’ll get right on that as soon as pigs fly.”

Mom swivels her lazy frown back at me. “Don’t act like a backwoods bumpkin. This is proof you’ve been spending too much time with that Joanna woman.”

I watch her disappear through the door and hear her chuckle with Monica on the other side of it. I wonder if this is how the rest of my life is going to be. Will I ever be outside of my mom’s reach in this town? Is there anyone who works within the state of South Carolina who hasn’t worked for Melony Jones in some fashion?

Southern Service Paws is usually my safe haven, but now it feels like Mom has wiggled her way in the back door somehow.

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