Page 54 of Checking Mr. Wrong
Neesha and Fiona laugh, but before they can say anything, a familiar voice pierces the air.
“Five thousand dollars!”
I spin toward the sound, horrified to see my mother standing and waving her paddle like she’s at a Sotheby’s auction.
“Oh. My. God,” I whisper, my stomach dropping.
Neesha doubles over in laughter, and Fiona claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. My line of sight connects with Ashlyn, who is staring at me with equal parts horror and laughter as she accepts Mom’s bid. Nice. Very neighborly of you, Ashlyn,I’ll have to return the favor.
“This,” Neesha gasps, “is going to beso good.”
Ashlyn’s voice booms over the microphone. “We’ve got five thousand dollars from Mary-Ellen McCluskey! Do I hear five thousand five hundred?”
A hand shoots up from the corner—there’s a girl sitting at the Seattle table wearing a low-cut gown with more confidence than fabric. “Six thousand!” she calls, her voice dripping with the kind of sugary enthusiasm that makes my teeth hurt.
“Oh no,” I mutter, sinking a little lower where I’m standing.
Neesha is practically wheezing with laughter beside me. “Your mom has competition.Seriouscompetition.”
“Serious and from Seattle,” Fiona adds to the jokey-jokey pile-on. Aren’t they supposed to be on my side?
Mom, undeterred, waves her paddle again. “Seven thousand!”
“Seven thousand five hundred!” the gown-clad girl counters, leaning forward and practically spilling out of her dress.
“Eight thousand!” Mom’s voice is firm, commanding. She looks like she’s about to march down to the stage and claim Asher herself.
“Why is this happening?” I whisper, covering my face with my hands.
Fiona pats my arm in mock sympathy. “Oh, Mabel, you know why. This is a mother’s love. She sees something shiny and she’s going to get it for her baby. No matter what it takes.”
“That ‘shiny thing’ is a grown man,” I say with a groan.
“Eight thousand five hundred!” another voice shouts, coming from the back of the room.
The crowd gasps, heads swiveling to find the new bidder. I peek through my fingers and catch a glimpse of a guy in a cowboy hat, his wife standing beside him, jumping up and down. “You’re my wife’s favorite player!”
“Okay, now this is getting ridiculous,” I mutter as my mother’s head almost spins off her neck.
“Nine thousand!”
“Nine thousand two hundred and fifty!”
“Nine thousand five hundred!”
“Ten thousand,” the man’s wife screams, snatching the paddle out of his hand.
“This is hilarious.” Neesha can barely contain herself. “I’ve never seen your mom this determined. She’s like a heat-seeking missile.”
As if to prove her point, Mom steps up her game. She climbs onto her chair, paddle held high, her face flushed with determination.
“Eleven thousand dollars!” she screams, loud enough to silence the room.
Ashlyn blinks, clearly stunned. “Eleven thousand dollars? Are you sure, Mary-Ellen?”
“Positive,” she says, waving her paddle at the couple. “Are you going to counter?”
The man’s hand starts to go up, but his wife shakes her head.
