Page 85 of Romance Languages

Mom’s face transformed into disgust. She whipped her head toward me. “Why are you so happy about this?”

I turned away, willing my smile to go away for a few moments. It was a tall order. I was swept up in a wave of pure joy.

An idea came to me. I rubbed her arm in an attempt to soothe her. “What about orange roses? They’re classic, but also colorful like sunflowers. It could be a good compromise.”

“I do love roses.”

“Could we do orange roses?” I asked the florist.

“Those I should have. Let me go check.” He went into the back, while Mom took a deep breath.

“Crisis averted,” I said.

“I’ll be relaxed when I have a glass of champagne in my hand on Saturday.” She heaved out a breath while checking her hair in the mirrored wall because that was the type of multitasking Elizabeth Bradford excelled at. “Is Seamus coming with you?”

The mention of his name made me break out in another ear-to-ear grin.

“Yep. I can’t wait for everyone to meet him.”

Mom studied me with a curious glint in her eye, as if the wheels were turning in her head for some inexplicable reason.

“Is that okay? I accounted for him in the guest list.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be okay? Heisyour boyfriend.” There was that unmistakable note in her tone, a blip of disbelief and condescension that had been honed over a lifetime of being the mean girl.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

The florist came back out and gave us the thumbs-up on our orange roses order. Mom went ahead and filled out the updated order form while I stood there in contemplative silence. I wished her words and tone didn’t get stuck in my head, but that was the power a mother wielded over her son.

She was in high spirits when we left the florist shop. We walked to the community lot where we had parked. She clicked her remote to unlock her car, while I hung back. This time, I was the one studying her.

“Did we forget something?” she asked.

“You think I’m lying,” I said.

“Lying about what?”

“Seamus being my boyfriend.”

“Don’t be preposterous. I saw you two together with my own eyes.”

The outside world might take her statement at face value. I was versed in her passive aggression, though. The look of utter surprise when I had introduced her to Seamus stuck in my head.

“Just come out and say what you’re thinking. How could a guy like that be into a guy like me? Why would he ever want to be with a fat piece of shit?”

“I never said that.”

“But you’re thinking it. Come on, Mom. You’re never one to hold back your opinions.”

“I enjoyed meeting him, and he seems to really like you. You got lucky.”

And there it was. Of course there it was. Like she would ever be able to help herself from slipping a comment in. Years of those comments boiled inside me, fire for my rage furnace.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that Seamus liked me. Perhaps it was the leftover confidence of being naked, but that was the moment when I was finally, one hundred percent over her shit.

“I got lucky? Lucky that a guy like Seamus is giving me a chance? Lucky that I landed someone with a great physique who can save me from being a fat, lonely loser?”

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