Page 32 of Actually Yours

It’s the night of my big date, the first from my dating plan, and my hand is currently tucked under the fancy linen tablecloth, holding my phone and blindly typing the following message to any and all of my friends:

SOS! HELP!

I’ve been enduring this date for over an hour now and things are getting desperate.Where are my friends when I need them?

“Amelia? Are you listening?”

My head jolts towards Tom—aka, the accountant—and I send him what I hope is a conciliatory smile.

“Sorry, I missed that,” I say.

“He was just getting to the best part of his story.”

This sharp rebuke is the reason I’m frantically texting my friends under the table. Because the person who’s chastising me for not listening to the most boring of all boring stories is…Tom’s mother.

That’s right.His mother.

The date had started off well. I’d met Tom, the accountant, for a drink at a local bar close to where we both live. After getting my hair done in sexy, tousled waves, I’d gone home and settled on an outfit that is classic with a bit of an edge—a little black dress paired with black combat boots—and I’d arrived feeling positiveand ready. Tom had shown up looking handsome in a button-down blue shirt to match his eyes and black jeans, and he’d been…pleasant. So pleasant that when the time came to move forward with the date, to eat or not to eat, I’d seen no red flags urging me to walk away and so I’d followed him to the adjacent restaurant, to have dinner. To find his mother waiting for us.

At first, I’d thought she was just there in case our date had bombed; you know, to keep him company. To console him, perhaps. But then she stayed. And monopolised the entire conversation. And Tom just let her.

WHAT. IS. HAPPENING?

“Sorry, Mrs. Walker,” I mutter, hanging my head. Yes, she demanded I call her Mrs. Walker. “Please continue, Tom.”

Not needing any further encouragement, the accountant launches back into his story about filed taxes that went awry. I laugh along in all the appropriate places, following his mum’s cues, not wanting to risk another lecture.

“Isn’t he funny?” Tom’s mum asks in an eager tone the second her son’s story ends. “He’s so smart and funny. Any girl would be lucky to have him.”

I nod, too scared to do anything else, while scanning the room to catch the attention of the server. She’d seemed to pick up quite early what a train-wreck this date was and had been filling up my wine glass like clockwork. Last drop, top up.

“Will you excuse me?” I address the mother/son team in front of me. They’re even sitting on the same side of the booth; I feel like I’m on a job interview, for goodness’ sake. “I’m just going to use the restroom.”

Not waiting for an answer, I take off for the toilets, like the demons of hell are chasing me, only slowing down once the door of the bathroom has slammed shut behind me.

“Lilly, you are in so much trouble.” I dial her number, tapping my foot impatiently as I wait for her to pick up.

“Amelia?”

“I’m going to kill you!”

Only silence greets me and I check my phone to see if she’s hung up on me.

“Are you there?”

“We’re all here!” The voices of Lilly, Bella and Amy sound through the phone, bringing me instant comfort. “We’re having a wine night and waiting for you to call with an update. How’s it going?”

How’s it going? Shouldn’t they have gleaned this from my SOS text messages?

“It’s awful,” I whisper, my attention focused on the door in case Mrs. Walker follows me in here. “Why haven’t you rescued me?”

“Did she text you for help?” Lilly’s voice is faint, like she’s holding the phone away from her mouth and I hear a muttering of voices in response.

“Ladies!” I snap at them to get their attention back to me. “I texted you all,SOS!”

“Nope, I didn’t get it. I only got some random letters that I thought was a butt dial.” This is from Amy.

“Me too.”

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