Page 23 of Just The Way You Aren't

“Mother, we talked about that at my wedding,” Cynthia pipes up. “I’m sure Damien doesn’t want pigeon poop everywhere during his wedding.”

My mother waves a hand, dismissing the objection. “It will be so lovely. Sunset. Flowing silks. White calla lilies.”

I’m now picturing dove handlers squeezing the piss out of doves before boxing them up for release. “Mother…”

“…and a pearl-beaded wedding dress. I do hope that will be all right with her. I’ve always thought they were so elegant,” my mother says dreamily.

I groan. There’s no stopping them now.

“You could use our venue,” Cynthia teases.

I glower at her. “Cynthia, really, there’s nothing?—”

My mother gasps loudly, her hands flying to her cheeks. “She could wear my dress!”

Cynthia places her hand atop our mother’s. “I wore your dress, Mother, remember?”

She nods. “Oh, yes. That’s right. What about the veil? Perhaps flowers and not a veil, if what you’re saying about her hair is true, Damien.”

“What I’m saying about her hair is true,” I sigh. “But we’re not?—”

My mother’s hands shake a little as she wiggles her engagement ring off her finger. “You must propose with this. It’s been in the family since your grandfather’s great-great-grandfather proposed to Mildred.”

For fuck’s sake. I can feel my eyes bugging out of my head. “Mother, no! It’s not?—”

She gets up and glides around the table, pressing the emerald, diamond-encrusted ring into my palm. “This was always meant to be for your beloved. I’m so glad I can give it to you now.”

The gesture brings her so much joy, I can see it in her watery eyes, that I can’t say no. I simply take the ring and wrap my much larger hands around her frail ones. “Thank you, Mother.”

She smiles and reaches up to pat my cheek. “I always knew you’d find her.”

Cynthia isn’t grinning anymore. She’s staring in shock and so is Martin.

“I’ll just pop off to powder my nose now,” Mother says amid sniffles. “Excuse me, please. I’ll be right back.” She wanders off to the bathroom.

Cynthia gives me a sharp look. “Did you see how happy you’ve made her? You had better marry that girl.”

“What? This isn’t my fault, it’s yours!” I burst out angrily. “I can’t believe what just happened.”

“Look at the life this has breathed back into her. She hasn’t been this lively since before Father died.” Cynthia stabs afinger in my direction. “You better make it work with this girl.”

I rub the bridge of my nose. “Her name is Willow. And I couldn’t possibly.”

“You can, possibly. And every dinner from now on, I want you shouting her praises from the rooftop, if only to be kind to our mother. Because she is finally looking healthy. And Lord knows we don’t want her following Father to the grave anytime soon,” Cynthia snaps. “She might be confused some days, but this might be just the thing she needs to ground herself.”

“Cynthia, I can’t just—” My phone rings and I growl at the caller ID. Great. Alfred the Asshole. “I have to take this. Please try to manage Mother’s expectations while I’m gone.”

“Fat chance, golden boy,” she mutters as I stand and walk to my office, putting my phone to my ear.

“Yes?” I ask in a clipped tone.

“Tetchy, tetchy, Damien. You’d think you didn’t like hearing from me,” Alfred responds. He’s happy. Too happy. Which can only mean one thing. Something is about to get very, very painful for me. Just fucking wonderful.

“I always love hearing from you, Al. It’s the highlight of my day,” I say with false sweetness.

I can just see him bristling at my use of a nickname he abhors. “I was just calling to ask when you were going to start volunteering,” he prods.

With a frown, I lean against my desk. “I have been volunteering. Haven’t you seen the changes in my schedule?”

---