Page 133 of Too Old for This

Maybe there’s still time to work on it.

“Have you asked this same question at the other establishments?” Tom says.

“Yes.”

“I see.”

I have no doubt he does. Tom doesn’t say the wordsbidding war, but he understands that he’s in one. Maybe he wants to fill that room quick, or maybe he is willing to wait for someone who can pay full price.

“If you need to think about it, I can go and—”

“How much?” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“How much will you pay to have that unit and to be here at Oak Manor?”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

CHAPTER 72

Morgan’s wedding is like a big crystal ball. And I call itherwedding because Archie let her choose everything. It’s her first, and he wants it to be the last one for both of them.

My dress is pale yellow, as Morgan requested. The shoes are dyed to match, and they pinch my feet. I’m also wearing the diamond stud earrings that Archie bought for me when he became a partner at his law firm. My dress watch is a delicate thing, with a face so small I can no longer read the time.

The ceremony takes place out in the garden. The day is beautiful—sunny and cloudless—and a tent has been erected for the food and drinks.

I am the only family member on our side. Both Olive and Noah are in the wedding party. They’ve been at my house for the past few days. Olive has always been rather serious, the kind who worries more about her grades than friends or fashion. She is going away in the fall, and her college is a good eight-hour drive from where they live in California. Olive is more concerned about that than who her dad is marrying. When I asked how she felt about Morgan or the baby, she shrugged. I took her shopping for dorm room accessories.

Noah brought the video game I sent him for his birthday, along with the game console, and he tried to teach me how to play. I admit,Mutinyis a lot more addicting than it should be. I’m terrible at it, of course. Noah is too nice to say that.

Other than the game, his main concern in life is getting Olive out of the house so he can take over her bedroom. It’s bigger.

“Unless Mom lets me have the basement,” he said. “Which is basically like an apartment.”

I can understand why Stephanie won’t let him live in the basement. It has a separate entrance to the house.

The next generation of this family should be interesting. And we still have no idea what will pop out of Morgan. Or how many.

As Archie and Morgan exchange vows, my eyes are firmly on my son. I watched him the same way when he married Stephanie. They say mothers always know. But do we know everything? Do we really know if our adult children are in love, are committed, if they believe they’re doing the right thing? Or is that more nonsense from the mom-guilt industrial complex?

I don’t know. But when Archie tells Morgan he loves her, I believe it.

—

I stand under the tent, studying the food, some of which I can’t identify. Archie has come a long way since those bologna sandwiches.

He is wearing a grey morning suit with a yellow tie, and amatching kerchief in the breast pocket. No top hat, Morgan didn’t go that far. And I’m the only one at the wedding using a cane.

“How’s your hip?” he asks.

“I am not going to spend your wedding day talking about my hip.”

“Fair enough.”

Morgan is on the other side of the lawn, laughing at something her mother said. Both her parents and her sister are here; we all had dinner together last night after the rehearsal. They appeared to be very excited about this marriage. So did Stephanie’s family, way back when. We all have a lot of hope for new beginnings. No one more so than me. The chance to reinvent has never lost its allure.

With the sun reflecting off all those crystals and beads, Morgan is blinding. Now I see how clever she really is. All that sparkle hides her little baby bump; it won’t be noticeable in the wedding photos at all. Just as she wanted.