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Authors: Susan Meissner
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toward the back entrance, to the little parking lot at the back of the building. Mom sidles up to me.
“Max?” she whispers.
“You said this wasn’t a date you fixed for me and that it wasn’t a big family to-do, so I figured no one would mind if Max joined us.”
She says nothing.
What can she say?
I catch Kellen’s glance and I quickly look away. His face is wrapped with mirth.
Thirteen
Dear Harriet,
I am feeling quite feisty tonight so don’t even think of messing with me. I don’t want advice. I just want to vent. So please do me a favor and just let me do it.
I’ve decided to write a book. I’m going to title it, Rules of Disengagement. It will be a how-to book on how to survive getting dumped by your fiancé. Here’s rule number one.
Don’t let people set you up on pity dates.
Okay. Maybe that won’t be rule number one. But it’ll be up there. Four, maybe.
My mother, and you know I love her, set me up tonight on a blind date without having the courage to call it that. She met a rich, single, never-been-married, Christian man at the golf course last week and she convinced him to join us for dinner tonight under the pretense of chatting stocks with Kellen. Even Kellen saw this for what it was, a chance for poor dateless Daisy to meet a decent man. A decent, single man. A decent, single man who drives a Jag.
She denied it of course—but you should have seen her face when I asked Max to join us. She knows there is nothing between Max and me, despite her desperate attempts to play Cupid there as well, but she was annoyed nonetheless that I asked Max to join us at the last minute. And yes I know I was using Max, but I told him I was and he came anyway.
Max was supposed to sit by me; that was my hasty plan to get out of making small talk with a rich man I’m sure I have nothing in common with. But somehow Mom got her way. Marshall Maxwell Mitchell Melville sat by me. She finagled the fates and got Kellen to sit on his other side so we could continue the ruse that the Rich Single Man had been invited to talk investments with my brother. But on Kellen’s other side was my mother, which meant when she wanted to pull Kellen’s attention away from the RSM, all she had to do was lay a hand on his arm and say, “Kellen, dear…”
And that’s not the worse thing that happened.
The worse thing is that Max ended up sitting by Mia. And they had a great time. Laughing and talking and her showing delight in Max’s ability to make half-dollars appear out of nowhere. I seriously doubt Mom had any intention of fixing Max up with her granddaughter. No, what happened between them was that monstrous thing called natural attraction. It was appalling. Give me a break. We’re talking Max. And Mia. They’re like polar opposites. She is elegant, sophisticated and brainy and he is disorganized, organic and un-cerebral. He’s also eight years older than she is. He’s too old. He’s too Max.
To be perfectly honest, I think Marshall was embarrassed to have been snookered into Mom’s little plan. He had, like, this mental list of topics to discuss, and when we had exhausted those, he turned to Kellen and asked him his opinion on OTC stocks. No joke. Here was his list:
1. So, you’ve lived in Minnesota your whole life?
2. So, you graduated from Bethel?
3. So, you go to church downtown?
4. So, you’ve had your boutique for six months?
5. So, your brother was born in Korea?
I was practically hyperventilating waiting for him to say, “So, you got dumped at the altar?”
Would she have told him that? Would she?
Don’t answer that.
I bet what he really wanted to know was why I needed help getting a date for a Friday night.
That’s what I wanted to know about him.
He seemed like a nice man. He’s obviously done well for himself. He plays a gentleman’s sport—golf. He was polite, kind, and tried to make small talk with me. He’s probably a little older than me—thirty-two or thirty-three.
He’s a
“Max?” she whispers.
“You said this wasn’t a date you fixed for me and that it wasn’t a big family to-do, so I figured no one would mind if Max joined us.”
She says nothing.
What can she say?
I catch Kellen’s glance and I quickly look away. His face is wrapped with mirth.
Thirteen
Dear Harriet,
I am feeling quite feisty tonight so don’t even think of messing with me. I don’t want advice. I just want to vent. So please do me a favor and just let me do it.
I’ve decided to write a book. I’m going to title it, Rules of Disengagement. It will be a how-to book on how to survive getting dumped by your fiancé. Here’s rule number one.
Don’t let people set you up on pity dates.
Okay. Maybe that won’t be rule number one. But it’ll be up there. Four, maybe.
My mother, and you know I love her, set me up tonight on a blind date without having the courage to call it that. She met a rich, single, never-been-married, Christian man at the golf course last week and she convinced him to join us for dinner tonight under the pretense of chatting stocks with Kellen. Even Kellen saw this for what it was, a chance for poor dateless Daisy to meet a decent man. A decent, single man. A decent, single man who drives a Jag.
She denied it of course—but you should have seen her face when I asked Max to join us. She knows there is nothing between Max and me, despite her desperate attempts to play Cupid there as well, but she was annoyed nonetheless that I asked Max to join us at the last minute. And yes I know I was using Max, but I told him I was and he came anyway.
Max was supposed to sit by me; that was my hasty plan to get out of making small talk with a rich man I’m sure I have nothing in common with. But somehow Mom got her way. Marshall Maxwell Mitchell Melville sat by me. She finagled the fates and got Kellen to sit on his other side so we could continue the ruse that the Rich Single Man had been invited to talk investments with my brother. But on Kellen’s other side was my mother, which meant when she wanted to pull Kellen’s attention away from the RSM, all she had to do was lay a hand on his arm and say, “Kellen, dear…”
And that’s not the worse thing that happened.
The worse thing is that Max ended up sitting by Mia. And they had a great time. Laughing and talking and her showing delight in Max’s ability to make half-dollars appear out of nowhere. I seriously doubt Mom had any intention of fixing Max up with her granddaughter. No, what happened between them was that monstrous thing called natural attraction. It was appalling. Give me a break. We’re talking Max. And Mia. They’re like polar opposites. She is elegant, sophisticated and brainy and he is disorganized, organic and un-cerebral. He’s also eight years older than she is. He’s too old. He’s too Max.
To be perfectly honest, I think Marshall was embarrassed to have been snookered into Mom’s little plan. He had, like, this mental list of topics to discuss, and when we had exhausted those, he turned to Kellen and asked him his opinion on OTC stocks. No joke. Here was his list:
1. So, you’ve lived in Minnesota your whole life?
2. So, you graduated from Bethel?
3. So, you go to church downtown?
4. So, you’ve had your boutique for six months?
5. So, your brother was born in Korea?
I was practically hyperventilating waiting for him to say, “So, you got dumped at the altar?”
Would she have told him that? Would she?
Don’t answer that.
I bet what he really wanted to know was why I needed help getting a date for a Friday night.
That’s what I wanted to know about him.
He seemed like a nice man. He’s obviously done well for himself. He plays a gentleman’s sport—golf. He was polite, kind, and tried to make small talk with me. He’s probably a little older than me—thirty-two or thirty-three.
He’s a
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