Page 49 of The Love Hoax
Remarkably, Evie and I have kept all the facts straight. The days of practice have paid off. My mother is sold on our engagement. After what amounted to the third degree, Evie—or Ronna as she's reliably responding to—went to rest. From being laid off to meeting my whirlwind of a mother, it’s clear she’s drained.
When I thought Evie was ready to leave and go back to New York to save her job, I knew I had to think fast. Those moments when I had no idea what was going on in that beautiful head of hers were grueling. And telling.
My reaction was visceral. I needed to stop her from leaving. Not in a creepy, hanger-on sort of way. But in a ‘things won’t ever be the same if she leaves’ sort of way.
I'm falling. Hard.
But now she’s tucked away in the guest room, probably asleep. She’s going to the wedding. And I'm overjoyed.
I’ve never felt anything remotely similar. I need to make sense of my fierce feelings for Evie.
Maybe it’s infatuation.
The thought doesn't give me peace.
With my mother’s piercing gaze locked on me, now is not the time for analysis paralysis.
I place my mother’s glass in the dishwasher. “I’m happy you like her, Mom.”
Mom seems to be considering whether to speak up. Then she says, “It’s obvious why you were keeping her from us but it wasn't necessary.”
Seeing the confusion on my face, she adds, “We would have come around in time.”
“Mom, subtlety isn’t your strong suit. What are you talking about?”
“Ronna is beautiful and intelligent. Clearly an accomplished woman.”
“But?”
Mom turns away, opening the fridge, pulling out a bag of carrot sticks, eyeing it like it's a toxic substance. “No but. Just?—”
“Mom.”
“You never once mentioned the age discrepancy.”
I sigh. “I’m not discussing this now, Mom.”
“Okay, okay.”
Mom looks like she’s going to implode. She drums her pointy nails on the countertop. “What is she, like ten years older than you?”
My irritation flares but I keep my tone in check. “Why does that matter? Wasn’t Grandma older than Grandpa?”
Mom seems to consider my words. “Yes . . . by four years, not ten.”
No point in telling her it is actually thirteen. Or that Evie has grown children.
“It’s obvious you’re head over heels.” She takes my hand in hers. “Which is what every mother wants to see.”
I feel a wave of relief and warmth for my wild and crazy mom. Even as the thought creeps into my head,Does Evie think I’m too young for her?
Mom pulls her phone from her jacket. “Let’s get Stephanie on the line. She’s going to be overjoyed.”
Before I can decline, my sister’s face is filling the screen, furrows of wrinkles lining her forehead. Who says all brides are happy?
Steph blows out a breath of frustration, then smiles, unconvincingly. “Hey, Adam. How’s your phantom fiancée?”
It doesn’t seem to matter that we’re in our thirties. Or that my sister is about to be a married woman. Some things, like sibling rivalry, remain the same.
