And there it is. The all too familiar disappointment.
My mother’s all-time favorite bedtime story will always beHow Bridger Broke My Heart by Leaving the Company. As if her investment in intellectual properties is better than my investment in the intellect of my students.
Loren clears her throat. “Bridger’s done a lot you can be proud of, Margaret.”
“And I’m not even thirty yet,” I snark.
Loren shoots me a look. “Which reminds me, did Dex text you? About Saturday?” She’s clearly trying to steer the subject to something else, and I could kiss her for it, except my mother’s ears perk up.
“What’s Saturday?”
“My birthday,” I deadpan.
“Yes, dear. I was there.” She pushes a smile across her face. “One might even say I played a significant role in the proceedings.”
“I gotta tell you.” I cringe. “That’s not much better than you dropping the word naked.”
“Oh, don’t be so squeamish.” She waves my comment away. Then after a pause, she tips her chin. “As the one who gave birth to you, may I ask if Saturday is your surprise party?”
Loren flinches, but quickly recovers. “So Bridger told you?”
“About the surprise party that isn’t a surprise? Yes. In fact, he invited me.”
“Did I?”
“Indeed.”
Whoa. That whole conversation is a blur. Also, it took place before Loren came home and kissed me. The truth is, the thought that my mom might actually stick around observing usfor daysis a wrench in my intestines. We’d have to keep pretending. Even though we might not even be pretending anymore. But with my mom here, we’d have a hard time figuring that out.
“Well, who knows?” I hitch my shoulders. “Maybe you’ll be gone by then.”
Her smile stiffens. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Of course not.” I can’t afford to let her think we’ve got anything to hide. “I just figured you’d want to get back to the comfort of your home. You aren’t exactly a sleepover kind of gal.”
She lays her napkin on the table beside her plate. “I haven’t made any specific travel arrangements yet.”
“But don’t forget, you hate surprises,” I point out. Like that time my dad walked out to raise another family. Or when I announced I was leaving the company. Or the day I moved away to North Carolina.
On second thought, I can’t say I blame her for hating any of those things.
“As we’ve already established, this particular party is planned.” She hoists a brow in Loren’s direction. “Didn’t you just ask if Bridger had received a text message about Saturday?”
Loren pastes a miserable smile onto her face. “I sure did.”
“I must say, your generationisdifferent.Textingdetails about a birthday party rather than sending invitations. Or is this a practice unique toHarvest Hollow?” She tries to smile, but she looks more like she’s sucking a lemon, and I’m about ready to tell her she’s welcome to fly back to New York anytime, but Loren interjects.
“It’s just that our best friends are newlyweds, too,” she says. “And we’ve gotten so caught up spending time as individual couples, Bridger probably assumed I’d want to celebrate with just the four of us.”
“Well, do you?”
Loren looks like a deer in headlights. “Not at all. I just didn’t know you’d be with us this weekend.”
My mother shifts her lemony smile back over to me. “So tell me. What are these details your friend texted?”
“We’re meeting at a bar called Tequila Mockingbird.” Ilean back in my chair. “And the place really lives up to its name.”
Yep. That ought to do it.