Page 8 of Silver Fake

"Angela's wedding."

"Who's Angela?"

My dad gives me a disapproving sigh. "Angela Reynolds. You know, the mayor's daughter. The mayor's wife came by the hotel earlier. She told your mom that you RSVP'd for Angela's wedding six months ago. They're looking forward to seeing you."

Shit. I let out a low groan as the memory resurfaces.

Last year, I ran into Angela's mother at the grocery store in Barton Beach. She was her usual chatty self, gushing about Angela's upcoming nuptials. Seeing that my parents have a lot of dealings with the mayor's office from their hotel business, I'd played along, showing polite interest and offering congratulations.

I hadn't expected it to end with me being invited to the wedding. I remember dismissing it lightly at the time, figuring it was one of those casual invites people toss out in conversation that don't really mean anything. When I got the formal invitation in the mail a few days later, I had tossed it aside without much thought.

But now I remember that I asked Lisa to RSVP for me. She always takes care of things like that for me when I'm too busy to bother with them myself.

"Right," I say with a grimace. "That wedding."

"She also said you were bringing a date."

I nearly choke. "A date?"

My dad doesn't seem to notice my shock. "I know the wedding is on Saturday," he continues. "But your mom and I hoped you would come down a few days earlier. It's been months since we've seen you. And we want to meet your girlfriend."

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples as I struggle to process this latest curveball.

In all of my forty-six years, I’ve never introduced a woman to my parents. I've dated women here and there, but a serious relationship has never been in the cards for me. It's just never seemed like the right time or the right person. My parents have never pushed the subject, always respecting my privacy and choices. But I know they worry.

"I'd love to come down earlier, Dad," I say, doing my best to sound casual. "But my girl has a demanding job. And it's already Wednesday. I'm not sure she can get away on such short notice. Let me discuss it with her and see what we can arrange. I'll keep you posted."

Hopefully, my vague response will put him off the topic.

My dad gives an amused snort. “Oh, I’m sure a persuasive lawyer like you can convince her. Remind her how beautiful the beaches are here this time of year.”

I scrub my hand across my jaw and exhale a silent sigh, my mind already churning with the beginning stages of a potential crisis. My parents never ask me for anything. And even though it's ridiculous that I'm even feeling stressed over this, I don't want to let them down.

"I'll see what I can do, Dad."

"That's my boy!" My dad responds, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "Can't wait to meet this special lady."

I scratch the back of my neck, a small smile pulling at the corners of my mouth as I lie through my teeth.

"She's looking forward to meeting you too. She's heard so much about you and Mom. She feels like she already knows you."

“That’s great, son,” he says. “Just be sure to call before you get here. You know how your Mom likes to have a meal ready when you come for a visit.”

"Sure thing, Dad," I respond. "I'll call you as soon as I have our itinerary sorted out. Love you both."

I end the call, setting my phone down on my desk as the weight of my predicament sinks in.

A date. Where am I supposed to find a date? My social life is practically non-existent, much less a dating life. I've always been a workaholic, but I never imagined it would come back to bite me this way.

My mind instinctively drifts towards Lisa. I can almost see her, sitting at her desk in her immaculate pencil skirt and blouse, her glasses perched on her nose as she efficiently manages my life.

When she RSVP'd for me, did she really think I had someone special to bring? Her trust in me is almost palpable, and I can't help but feel a pang of guilt. I've never shared anything about my personal life with her, yet she never hesitates to manage mine with such finesse.

With a sigh, I push back from my desk and get up to poke my head out my office door.

A few feet away, Lisa is sitting at her desk, her bandaged hand flying as she scribbles on top of Ethan's memo with one of her pink gel pens.

"Hey, Lisa?" I call out, my voice calm despite the storm brewing in my mind.

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