“Yeah, it does. Thanks, Mom.”
It actually helps a lot. I know my parents said they would step in whenever I needed the help, but I’m stubborn, and a small part of me wants to prove I can succeed completely on my own. Besides, I’ve never wanted to bother them. But with the influx of business, I’m very grateful for the offered help. Not sure I would have asked for it, but I can’t ignore the relief flooding through me now that my mom has offered to step in.
“No need to thank me, sweetie. That’s what family’s for—to annoy you with cruise outfit questions and then come swooping in with all the help.”
“I’m glad I answered the phone this time.”
“Oooh, I knew you were ignoring my phone calls.”
I chuckle. “Not on purpose. It really was a busy day. The brides are gearing up for their summer weddings next year. Word of mouth is spreading, and we’re becoming a hot commodity, which means we are booking up fast—”
“Which means more tastings.”
“Exactly. I don’t mind working with the nice brides, the ones who are just happy to get married, but the other brides—”
“I believe society has deemed them bridezillas.”
“Yes, that type of bride—they are the absolute pits.”
Mom laughs. “I can only imagine how they’ve transformed over the years since I worked hand in hand with them. Well, have no fear. We’ll make sure you get some help when we get back—until then try to loosen up, have some fun. What are you doing tonight? Hanging out with Dealia, possibly?”
“No, she’s still acting a little weird. I’m at a bar . . . drinking a beer.”
“Sounds . . . earthy.”
“Earthy?” I ask with a laugh.
“Not sure that’s the right term, but it’s the only thing that I could think of. Are you by yourself?”
“Yes, but I prefer it that way. I’m decompressing.”
“You know, it might not hurt you to go talk to someone, you know, maybe—”
“Don’t say it, Mom.”
“Someone of the opposite sex.”
I groan. “I love you, but I’m not getting into this with you.”
“It never hurts to put yourself out there. Marge was telling me her daughter found a lovely man on a dating app. They’ve been on a few dates and things are looking promising. That could be you, Nora.”
“I don’t have time for a dating app. Nor do I want to be having this conversation with you . . . again.”
“I just don’t want to see you so alone all the time.”
I sigh heavily.
I swear, like clockwork, once a month, my mom gets into it about needing to find someone to spend my time with. First of all, what time? Second of all, why do I need someone in my life to spend time with? Why isn’t my company good enough? Why can’t I just enjoy being with myself? And why does the mere mention of a relationship throw me down a pit of rhetorical questions?
“What is it with your generation that thinks since we’re alone, we’re miserable? I don’t need a man in my life to be happy.”
“No, you don’t, but it might not hurt to have a companion. Just think about it. If perhaps some gentleman walks up to you tonight, before you turn him down, at least give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“Fine,” I lie, knowing I will do nothing of the sort.
“Thank you, sweetie. Now I’ll let you go, so you look free and available to talk to. Love you.”
“Love you, Mom.”
I hang up the phone and then pick up my beer so I can take a nice, long swig.
The last thing I need right now in life is a complication like a “companion.”
Chapter Three
COOPER
“Well, it’s rather cozy in here, isn’t it?” Mom looks around while she sets her purse down on the table.
Cozy is being kind. I’ve been here a few times, and there is nothing cozy about the place, besides the low ceilings and tight space. The maple wood floors are caked in grime, ranging from yesterday’s rainstorm to spilled drinks, and they offer a steadily sticky surface for any wobbly leg. The establishment lacks pretty much any character. The tables are generic four-person tops with metal chairs. The barstools’ black leather upholstery is cracked—some have busted open—and any free poster the owner has received from beer companies is plastered on the wall in a haphazard way, offering a kaleidoscope of bikini-clad models and dewy bottles as wallpaper. The Dirty Beaver holds true to its name.