Page 33 of The Pumpkin Spice Proposal
“Stupid, ancient, piece of absolute—Mario!” She looked up, flustered. Her hair was doing that thing where it escaped from her ponytail in little spirals that made my fingers itch to smooth them back. “What are you doing here?”
“We have a problem,” I said at the same moment she said, “We have a situation.”
“You first,” we said in unison.
“June,” we both said, then stared at each other.
“She got to you too?” Lily groaned, dropping her head to the counter with a thunk. “Let me guess—engagement rings?”
“Anelli di fidanzamento,” I muttered, scrubbing a hand over my face. “June practically announced it over the hardware store loudspeaker.”
Lily lifted her head, giving me a weary look. “You only switch languages when you’re really wound up. Which tells me June was worse than usual.”
“Worse?Peggio di un interrogatorio della polizia.”Worse than a police interrogation.
Her mouth twitched. “Did she get as far as the dove release?”
“Flash mob,” I said grimly. “And church bookings. Possibly doves.”
“Doves?” She looked up, horrified. “She mentioned doves?”
“I might be inferring the doves, but knowing June?—”
The bell chimed again. Mrs. Sage swept in carrying what looked like—no. No, it couldn’t be.
“Mom,” Lily said slowly, “why are you holding bridal magazines?”
“Oh, these?” Margaret Sage tried for innocent and missed by approximately one solar system. “I was just at the dentist, and they had extras. Thought you might want to browse. You know. Casually.”
“Mother.”
“What? A mother can’t share reading material with her daughter?” She set the stack—and it was a stack, at least fifteen magazines—on the counter with a thud. “I’ve marked some venues. Very subtly.”
I could see Post-it notes sticking out like a rainbow of maternal determination.
“December is a lovely time for a wedding,” she continued, not making eye contact with either of us. “Or spring, if you prefer. I’m flexible.”
“Mom, we’re not?—”
“Oh! Mario, perfect. Your mother called me.”
The blood drained from my face. “My mother? Called you?”Dannazione.
“Well, I called her first. Found her on Facebook. Lovely woman. Very enthusiastic.”
She pulled out her phone.
“She wants to FaceTime about traditional Italian wedding customs.”
“No,” I said immediately. “Absolutely not. There’s no wedding to discuss.”
“Of course not, dear.” She patted my cheek with the gentle condescension of someone who definitely didn’t believe me. “But just in case, you should know she’s already planning the menu. Something about seven courses?”
“Mamma mia,” I muttered.
“That’s what she said! So cute how you both do that.”
The door chimed again. This time it was Olivia, still in her school clothes, backpack bouncing as she ran in.
