Page 31

I chew my bread and don’t say a word. Lifting my spoon, I scoop it away from me into the soup and bring it to my lips. It’s something green and pale that looks a lot like what I was hurling up last night. I wince as the sickly taste hits my tongue and I swallow it down like it’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

“Mmm, isn’t this soup delicious?” I say with a toothy smile. My mother’s friends all nod in synchronization like a pack of nodding dogs.

I turn to glance at my mother as she gives me a look that lets me know that she approves.

“It’s so lovely you could join us, Gabriella. Your mother tells us how busy you are with city life in New York. You young ones, living life. I was married and on my second baby by your age. Is there anyone special in your life?” my mother's friend, Vanessa, asks with far too much interest for being casual. I’m all too familiar with that curiously disapproving tone, thanks to my mother.

Before I can speak, my mother places her hand over mine, letting me know she will take the lead here. “Gabriella has been seeing Janet’s son, Patrick, and I must say they look great together.”

Seeing is a bit of a stretch. I’ve had one date with him, and I’ve been avoiding his text messages.

“Speaking of… Patrick… over here,” my mother calls, waving. I follow her line of sight to where Patrick and a group of people, all wearing tennis attire, stand around the bar.

Oh, kill me now. The universe hates me today.

Patrick grins before making his way over to our table, and I want to shrink and hide.

“Hello, Mrs. Monroe,” he says, making my mother beam. “Good afternoon, ladies.” His eyes fall to me. “Gabriella.”

I give a weak smile. “Hello.”

“Oh, Patrick, please, call me Catharine,” my mother coos, and I nearly bring my bread roll and soup back up.

“Okay, Catharine. Gabriella, can I steal you for just for a minute?”

My mother takes my hand to haul me up out of my seat. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

Gabriella can speak for herself.

I glare at my mom, and she glares back at me with a look I know means ‘behave and do as you’re told’.

Pressing my lips together, I smile and follow Patrick toward the bar.

“Did you get my texts? I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me.” His tone is a little whiney and desperate and not at all appealing.

I let out a nervous laugh. God, I’m no good at this. “No, no, I’ve just been super busy. I was away, I’ve been working, and my friends got married yesterday so it’s been busy busy. I was going to text you,” I say, beginning to sweat.

“Well, good, because I was hoping to take you out again.”

An awkward silence falls between us. My gut tells me to say no, to stand up for myself, but I feel my mother’s eyes on my back, and with the pleading look Patrick gives me, I find myself caving. “Sure. When were you thinking?”

“Next week sometime? It’s Henry’s bachelor party tonight. We’re heading to New York.”

“Sounds good. You should try Aurora’s. They do great cocktails.”

Why did I say that? He doesn’t strike me as a cocktail man.

He does his familiar toothy smile and says, “I’ll check it out. So, I’ll call you later in the week and we can fix a date?”

I nod. “Sure.” Then, to my shock, he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s quick, and yet I didn’t recoil. Hmm, maybe I judged him too quickly last time. Maybe I am the problem. I write men off too quickly, and maybe I am being a little stubborn because it’s someone my mom set me up with. I may not have recoiled in disgust when he just kissed my cheek, but I know I didn’t feel the way I did when Brad held me last night, and for a fleeting moment, I thought he might kiss me. It’s all I’ve thought about this morning. The memory makes my stomach contract and flutter. I don’t have the time to wallow and think about my messed-up feelings towards my friend. I turn on my heel and head back to the table of waiting women. I take my seat and shuffle my chair in as I place my napkin over my lap, noticing all eyes on me.

“Is everyone okay?” I ask, confusion in my tone.

“Yes, darling. Just you and Patrick look so good together. What did he want?” my mother asks.

“Oh, he asked to take me out next week.” The table erupts into a chorus of pleased sounds.

“How lovely.” My purse hanging off the back of my chair begins to vibrate. My mom huffs. “Will you answer that. It keeps ringing. You should have turned it off, Gabriella. It’s very rude.”