Page 7 of Big Daddy to Go

“Yeah, but he’s older than you!” I protest. “That’sancient!”

She huffs, mortally offended.

“Are you calling me old, Lexi? For your information, it’s how old you feel inside that counts.”

Oh god. Talking with my mother about the aging process is bound to be depressing, so I change the subject as fast as possible.

“No, no, you look great,” I say quickly. “Oh my gosh, is that our meal?”

As if on cue, the waiter comes over with the food. I immediately take a bite of my sandwich as Mom sets up her salad the way she wants it. Tomatoes kicked to the side. Dressing drizzled lightly around the edges of the bowl. Finally, she gives it a mix with her fork and takes a bite.

“Have you spoken to Jason about the honeymoon?” she asks.

Ugh. I don’t want to talk about Jason or the wedding or dieting or dating. I fucking want to eat my grilled cheese sandwich in peace! For once in my life, I wish my mother would just comfort me like a real mom would. But that’s hoping too much for Renee. Never in my life has she been anything but uppity, and clearly, me getting dumped on my ass is not going to change that.

To make things worse, Jason’s already changed his Facebook status to “single” and posted something about Bora Bora on-line. What? That’s where we were supposed to go for our honeymoon! I guess he decided to not waste his plane ticket or hotel reservation.

Plus, all of our pictures as a couple were deleted from his account, although there were only two of them. It’s like I never existed in his perfect life.

The new Bora Bora post got a few hundred likes, and seeing that, I decided I couldn’t deal with social media with everything going on. I didn’t want to see Jason’s activities or be asked about what had happened. I deleted all of my social media profiles and the gossip that came along with them.

To be sure, my ex-fiancédidreach out via text before he left. He apologized with a simple one-word “sorry.” No explanation offered, and I’m sure no real remorse either. I didn’t even bother to reply. After realizing just how unhappy I was with Jason Peckham, I didn’t need to hear his bullshit excuses.

At least he offered to let me keep the hideous engagement ring, which I will be happy to hock at a pawn shop for some serious cash. That ornate bauble never suited my tastes, even if it cost a wad of money.

“Jason is in Bora Bora right now, on our honeymoon without me,” I explain to my mother in a tight voice.

“Oh, we can go sometime as a mother-daughter vacation,” she soothes. “Don’t be down.”

I smile wanly. Renee continues.

“When we go together, we can snag some hot guys and post photos on social media for Jason to see,” she says as she winks.

I chuckle, but visions of my mother and I picking up “hot guys” doesn’t sound exciting. I guess she hasn’t noticed that I’ve deleted my accounts yet. No doubt she’ll resort to playing matchmaker on Facebook. She’s the type of person to fall for those fake friend requests from Nigeria.

“It’s a shame you have to send all of those wedding gifts back,” Mom sighs. “Some of the crystal was really nice.”

I almost take my sunglasses off just so she can see the shade I’m throwing at her with my eyes.

“Can wepleasedrop all talk of the wedding and guys and my weight?” I ask. “This isn’t exactly fun, you know.”

Renee sniffs.

“Okay. How’s work? Are they still paying you that awful salary?”

And there it is! Renee just cannot be nice, even given the tragedy that’s just struck. I slam my glass down, and Mom pretends to be surprised by my reaction.

“Mom, either shape up or ship out,” I say grimly while gritting my teeth.

Renee sniffs again.

“So touchy! But fine, Lexi. Have it your way.”

We turn back to the food, and I eat as fast as possible. After finishing in record speed, I make my excuses and leave. I’m emotionally drained. I head home to sleep away my sorrow like I’ve been doing since the wedding that didn’t happen. By the time I wake up, it’s dark outside.

My stomach grumbles, but I’m craving more than just food. I need a drink. My nerves are shot, and I figure shots of vodka are the only thing that can calm them down.

I walk past some cardboard boxes, ignoring them. Before the wedding, I’d been planning on moving into Jason’s apartment, but clearly, that’s not happening anymore. I stub my toe, almost tripping over one of the half-filled boxes.Fuck! I’m going to have to unpack them at some point. It’s just another post-wedding gift Jason left me to take care of. Just like the bill for the caterer that his parents didn’t pay and the gifts I will be responsible for sending back.