oatmeal relationship.
The doorbell rang again and Emma jerked the door open, ready to read her erstwhile ex-boyfriend the riot act. God! Did you call a man your ex-boyfriend when you’re almost thirty? But she froze in place when she saw her mother standing there, hair perfectly upswept, tailored blouse and slacks perfectly creased.
A stray thought burrowed its way into her brain. I wonder if the woman ever perspires .
She sucked in a breath and dug out a smile. “Hi, Mom. What brings you around today?”
Angela Blake stepped across the threshold. “Can’t I stop by to visit my daughter without an invitation?”
Emma peered around her but saw only her mother’s car in the driveway. She was alone, thank heavens. Of worse yet, Andrew could be skulking in the bushes.
“Of course, of course. Come on into the kitchen. I made some sweet tea earlier.”
When they were settled at the kitchen table with filled glasses, Emma looked at her mother expectantly. She could feel a lecture coming, and there was nothing she could do but to get through it.
Angela trailed a finger down the sweating glass. “It occurred to me that you have your thirtieth birthday coming up in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s right.” Emma sipped tea and waited. With Angela that was the best course of action, something she’d learned well over the years.
“That’s an important event in a woman’s life. I was just thinking we could celebrate with a small birthday dinner. That might be a good time for you and Andrew to announce your engagement.”
Emma wanted to bang her head on the table. Her mother was so transparent. Before last night, she would have dutifully agreed with the woman and pulled a notepad to begin making a list. Maybe even confessed her sins, thrown herself on her parent’s mercy, and begged forgiveness before regressing into Andrew’s little mouse.
But not the new Emma .
“You did?” She might have turned a corner in her personal life but her relationship with her parents wasn’t about to change that fast. “And should I ask if Andrew had anything to do with this suggestion?”
This was exactly the thing she was afraid of and it was so very Andrew—just like him to do an end run around her with her parents. Her mother often thought he should have been their son, and her, the odd woman out. He was perfectly suited for them. Emma laced her fingers together to keep her hands from trembling.
Angela touched her perfectly arranged hair and then took a ladylike sip of her tea. “He did happen to drop by and say he was a little worried about you.”
“Worried about me,” Emma repeated. Her stomach pitched at the thought of the discussion they probably had.
“He said the two of you had a little tiff last night, and he thought maybe if the two of you finally nailed down your plans, it would settle you down.”
“Settle me down.” Emma couldn’t stop herself from repeating everything, as if stuck in a bad rerun of parts of her life. She believed she and her mother had a good relationship, but it was all a sham. As long as she behaved like a clone of Angela Blake things were fine. But the minute she colored outside the lines, the disapproval rating was off the charts.
Oh, Mom, why can’t you listen to me? See me for who I am? Even more, for who I want to be .
“Well, honey, you’ve been together for two years. And in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re going to be thirty before you blink your eyes.”
Exactly the thought that had pushed her to rebel.
“And thank you so much for reminding me.”
Emma stood up and wandered to the little bay window where she’d stood when Andrew had been there. Two birds were dipping into the tiny birdbath she’d set up. Watching them gave her the opportunity to center herself, gather her frayed thoughts, and some measure of courage.
“Emma, it’s just the truth. There’s no getting around it.”
Poor Emma. Thirty and unmarried and on the outs with her boyfriend
The doorbell rang again and Emma jerked the door open, ready to read her erstwhile ex-boyfriend the riot act. God! Did you call a man your ex-boyfriend when you’re almost thirty? But she froze in place when she saw her mother standing there, hair perfectly upswept, tailored blouse and slacks perfectly creased.
A stray thought burrowed its way into her brain. I wonder if the woman ever perspires .
She sucked in a breath and dug out a smile. “Hi, Mom. What brings you around today?”
Angela Blake stepped across the threshold. “Can’t I stop by to visit my daughter without an invitation?”
Emma peered around her but saw only her mother’s car in the driveway. She was alone, thank heavens. Of worse yet, Andrew could be skulking in the bushes.
“Of course, of course. Come on into the kitchen. I made some sweet tea earlier.”
When they were settled at the kitchen table with filled glasses, Emma looked at her mother expectantly. She could feel a lecture coming, and there was nothing she could do but to get through it.
Angela trailed a finger down the sweating glass. “It occurred to me that you have your thirtieth birthday coming up in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s right.” Emma sipped tea and waited. With Angela that was the best course of action, something she’d learned well over the years.
“That’s an important event in a woman’s life. I was just thinking we could celebrate with a small birthday dinner. That might be a good time for you and Andrew to announce your engagement.”
Emma wanted to bang her head on the table. Her mother was so transparent. Before last night, she would have dutifully agreed with the woman and pulled a notepad to begin making a list. Maybe even confessed her sins, thrown herself on her parent’s mercy, and begged forgiveness before regressing into Andrew’s little mouse.
But not the new Emma .
“You did?” She might have turned a corner in her personal life but her relationship with her parents wasn’t about to change that fast. “And should I ask if Andrew had anything to do with this suggestion?”
This was exactly the thing she was afraid of and it was so very Andrew—just like him to do an end run around her with her parents. Her mother often thought he should have been their son, and her, the odd woman out. He was perfectly suited for them. Emma laced her fingers together to keep her hands from trembling.
Angela touched her perfectly arranged hair and then took a ladylike sip of her tea. “He did happen to drop by and say he was a little worried about you.”
“Worried about me,” Emma repeated. Her stomach pitched at the thought of the discussion they probably had.
“He said the two of you had a little tiff last night, and he thought maybe if the two of you finally nailed down your plans, it would settle you down.”
“Settle me down.” Emma couldn’t stop herself from repeating everything, as if stuck in a bad rerun of parts of her life. She believed she and her mother had a good relationship, but it was all a sham. As long as she behaved like a clone of Angela Blake things were fine. But the minute she colored outside the lines, the disapproval rating was off the charts.
Oh, Mom, why can’t you listen to me? See me for who I am? Even more, for who I want to be .
“Well, honey, you’ve been together for two years. And in case you hadn’t noticed, you’re going to be thirty before you blink your eyes.”
Exactly the thought that had pushed her to rebel.
“And thank you so much for reminding me.”
Emma stood up and wandered to the little bay window where she’d stood when Andrew had been there. Two birds were dipping into the tiny birdbath she’d set up. Watching them gave her the opportunity to center herself, gather her frayed thoughts, and some measure of courage.
“Emma, it’s just the truth. There’s no getting around it.”
Poor Emma. Thirty and unmarried and on the outs with her boyfriend
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