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Maybe she thinks her new tan is going to get her a date. Although she had plenty of them before the tan.

  “Mother. If you get asked out for Saturday night tell him you’re dining here. Please?”

  She gives me that look again. I’m too tired and frustrated with my own problems to try and figure out my mother’s not-so-subtle looks.

  “Allison. I’ll be here Saturday night. But you and your Grandmother shouldn’t go to any trouble. It’s just another day. When you get my age you quit having birthdays.”

  “Mother. You’re turning fifty. But you don’t look it and you certainly aren’t acting it.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Not acting like it?”

  She probably has a point. Who knows how fifty-year olds are supposed to act now-a-days. She’s not even close to being a grandmother.

  Omigosh! She doesn’t even want to turn fifty, how would she handle telling people she is a grandmother. Good thing that isn’t in the near future. One less problem to worry about.

  “You’re acting fine,” I say. “I guess the mega-tan just threw me off. Has my brain saying things I don’t mean.”

  She frowns. “Are you okay? How’s that baseball pitching guy you’ve been seeing? Didn’t he travel with you this week?”

  She has picked a really bad time to become overly concerned about my life.

  “He’s fine. We’re not dating. And yes, he went on the mission trip.”

  Three questions. Three straight-forward answers. She doesn’t need to know any more. Actually, there’s not much more to tell.

  “With you and your grandmother both gone last week it gave me time to think. Reflect.”

  Oh, boy. I’m not in the mood to reflect. It hurts.

  I don’t drink alcoholic beverages, but are times when a nice stiff one might be helpful. I think this is one of those moments.

  Filling my glass with water, I take a seat at the kitchen table. “What’d you figure out?”

  “I realized being on my own isn’t so bad. It gives me time to do things for myself. Your father and I always played off each other. Finished each other’s sentences, were there for each other. I miss that. I miss him.”

  She’d lost the spark in her eyes when Daddy died. It really hasn’t ever come back, but maybe she’ll find a different kind of spark this time.

  “I miss him, too.”

  This is one of the reasons I had been reluctant to leave her alone for a whole week. I was afraid she’d start looking back, dwelling on the past. I don’t want my mother to be sad.

  “His death happened,” she says. “There’s nothing I can do about it, and I need to go on. I just wish we could have done some things differently, that’s all.”

  Have you ever heard of a golden opportunity? Well, here’s mine. I can ask my mother the question that has been running my life. Or ruining my life, maybe.

  “Do you regret the fact that Daddy traveled? That you were saving all the money and the time until retirement?”

  She joins me at the table. It has been ages since we have shared a moment like this. A pensive look crosses her face. Then a smile. “Who’s to say what’s going to happen? We had a good plan. Work hard up front, play later. Travel. See the world, spend time together. It didn’t work out, though.”

  “Because Daddy traveled, you two only spent the weekends together for most of your marriage. Do you regret that?”

  “Do you?”

  Has she turned the tables on me? If the truth be told it was hard watching Trent’s dad come home every night around six o’clock, knowing mine was in some strange city eating dinner alone, sleeping in another nameless hotel.

  “I don’t think I realized it then, but looking back, yes, I did miss Dad.”

  “You just never know, Allison. His job paid such good money. We were stashing it away left and right for your college and our retirement. Who knew?”

  Who knew that Dad would be in permanent retirement at fifty-two, Mother would be enjoying the fruits of his hard-earned labor, and that she and her confused daughter would be sitting here having this discussion.

  Who knew?

  “Staying here by myself this week had quite an impact on me,” she says. “I realized being alone is not a bad thing after all. I rather enjoyed it.”

  Is that her way of saying it was time I moved out again? I hope not. Nah. She wouldn’t kick Grandmother Fola out, so there’s no need for me to rush either.

  “I’m glad you had a good week.”

  And I am. Except for the mega-tan, she seems to be reverting back to the mother I’m used to. I just hope she doesn’t get too mad when she realizes we’ve thrown this huge party for her.

  If I could, I would change the theme from a birthday party to a coming out party. Since my mother seems to be coming out of the stupor she’s been in for the last three years, it seems only appropriate.

  Theme, schmeem. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we’re having a party, a really festive party and my mother has a new tan to wear to it.

  CHAPTER 23

  I roll my eyes at the gray walls of my office. Brad has summoned me, and he’s sounding very dramatic.

  Just what I need. My boss turning into a drama queen. We don’t need another one, already having Dave the receptionist, but Brad’s not normally the type, so I may be over reacting. I hope so.

  I walk into his office and he motions me to sit. Once I do, he stands, shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at me really hard. You know the look. The stare.

  It’s impossible for me to look away from him, so I don’t. But he doesn’t speak. So I figure he wants me to start.

  “Yes?” I ask.

  The right side of his lip scrunches into his nose which makes his right eye close. He looks like an indecisive clown trying to wink.

  “What did you say yes for?” he asks. “I haven’t asked you anything.”

  “It was not an answer. It was a polite way of asking what.”

  “Oh,” he says.

  I haven’t seen Brad like this in a long time. Not since Sienna-Rae brought her Chihuahua to work. Boy that did a number on him. Sienna-Rae said Reese Witherspoon looked so cute when she took her dog everywhere in Legally Blonde, so Sienna-Rae thought she’d try it.

  Brad told her this wasn’t a movie set and she needed to take her dog home immediately. She said she did, but she really didn’t and when I busted her on it she said she was only trying to make a point to Brad that the dog could be under her desk all day and no one would know.

  I told her she better not push it, and Sienna-Rae and her dog left at six o’clock with no one but the two of us and the dog of course, knowing.

  Brad perches himself on the corner of his desk, you know half on, half off. This action makes his one pant leg hike up and I can see his socks. They have Superman on them. Really.

  I avert my eyes, hoping he didn’t see me looking. I don’t even want an explanation for this.

  “Allison, I know you just got back from your Jesus vacation, but I need you to go to Cleveland.”

  Cleveland. Great. What goes on in Cleveland? And what exactly does he mean by ‘Jesus vacation?’

  Again, I’m not going there. He’s in too weird of a mood today. Maybe it’s the socks. I’m just going to go with the flow here.

  “Sure. When do you want me to leave? Next week?”

  “Tomorrow. Here’s your ticket.”

  Tomorrow? Is he kidding?

  He scoops an envelope off of a stack of papers on his desk and hands it to me. He actually shoves it at me, but in a nice, gentlemanly way.

  I don’t think he’s kidding.

  With trembling fingers I open said envelope. Kidding he is not. He’s got me booked on a seven a.m. flight. As in seven a.m. in the morning.

  Tomorrow morning.

  I search frantically for the return date.

  Friday. Night. Not even an afternoon flight. Friday night at five o’clock.

  At least I don’t have to worry about having a dat
e that night. But I do need to worry about having a party the next day.

  “I have one small problem,” I say.

  “What’s that?” Brad asks, his look returning to that puzzled, scrunched up combination of a few minutes ago.

  “I’m throwing my mother a surprise birthday party and it’s been planned for quite a while.”

  He looks deflated, dejected.

  “When’s the party?” he asks.

  “Saturday night.”

  Now his look tells me I’m crazy. “I don’t see the conflict. You’re flying back Friday night. Party Saturday night. Do I have that right?”

  No use in explaining to a man the conflicts of being gone the whole week before a huge party you’re hosting. “What’s going on, Brad? Why the rush?”

  “Eddie Richards is buying another company and he needs an asset audit done. Pronto.”

  I snap my mouth shut before I can say something I’m sure will get me fired. After all, I’m partial to food and shelter. I need my job.

  Unlike Ashton who’s not even working.

  Not a good time to think about Ashton.

  “Before you say anything,” Brad adds, “let me explain. Dave has taken on a new partner. A woman.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  “I don’t know her name. She’s in an executive position with the company and she doesn’t want Eddie doing the audit. She wants us. Which translates to you.”

  “Okay. I understand. But tomorrow?”

  “The buy-out is August first. We need to be done by then. Eddie thought he’d just do it, so he didn’t bother scheduling anything with us. But then she—”

  “She has a lot of influence,” I interrupt.

  “Don’t be spouting off those words when you’re around Eddie.”

  Like I’m going to be worried about Eddie.

  Well, this situation solves as many problems as it creates. I don’t have to worry about Ashton this week. Running into him. Talking to him.

  But what about my mother’s party? I hate to dump the whole thing on Velvet, but what choice do I have? Brad definitely doesn’t understand.

  Last minute RSVP’s and shopping. I guess Trent can help.

  “Besides it doesn’t matter what kind of influence she has,” Brad says. “You’re going. I appreciate your understanding.”

  Taking that as my dismissal, I say goodbye to Brad before making my way back to my office.

  Tomorrow morning. Seven a.m. That means up at four. Leave the house by five at the latest. Arrive at the airport by five-thirty. I think that’s early enough.

  I hope it’s early enough.

  This certainly throws a wrench into my week.

  Just as I pick up the office phone to call Velvet, my cell phone rings. I hang up the office receiver and look at the caller ID on my cell.

  Bubba Bob’s Barbecue.

  “Hello,” I say, mentally crossing off one of the phone calls I was going to make this week.

  “Allison Doll?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Bob from Bubba Bob’s barbecue. We’re calling to confirm your order for Sunday afternoon at three o’clock.

  Did he just say Sunday?

  “Three o’clock is correct, but it’s Saturday. Not Sunday.”

  There’s this really long pause. It’s so long that I know when Bubba Bob speaks it’s not going to be good.

  “Hold on please, Miss Doll.”

  The torture continues. He doesn’t push a button to put me on hold, therefore I can hear all the background noise.

  Someone is screaming at someone else. I don’t think it’s a mean scream, just a so-you-can-hear-me-scream.

  The screaming stops. All’s quiet on Bubba Bob’s western front. Or barbecue front.

  “Miss Doll?” Bubba Bob is back.

  “Yes.”

  “I have the receipt here in front of me. We have it written down Sunday. July twenty-ninth. And you signed the receipt.”

  Okay. His tone isn’t snippy or accusing or in any way negative sounding. But it is on my nerves.

  “Just a minute.”

  There’s no use pretending I can find anything in my purse at this point. I dump the contents on my desk. Certain items roll, some stick to other objects. It’s at this point I realize the lid to my Victoria’s Secret Lovespell lotion has partially come undone. I now have scented and gooey letters, hair ties, lip stick, pens and other items I’ll not mention.

  It takes me more than a minute. Almost five, I think, but I find it. My trusty receipt.

  Sunday. July twenty-ninth.

  How could I have made such a mistake?

  But wait. Something’s not right. Brad’s last minute trip to Cleveland has sent my brain helter-skelter.

  I look at my desk calendar where I find my saving grace.

  “Bob. The twenty-ninth is Saturday.”

  Silence.

  “But your receipt says Sunday,” Bob says.

  I take a deep breath.

  “My receipt says the twenty-ninth,” I counter.

  “That’s all well and good, Miss Doll, but the ticket also says Sunday. So we’ll be there Sunday.”

  I can’t picture myself arguing with a man named Bubba Bob. I really can’t. But I must.

  “I’m having my party Saturday. Today is Monday. This isn’t totally my fault. I mean my receipt does say the twenty-ninth.”

  “Miss Doll, we’re pretty simple folks around here at Bubba Bob’s. Saturday is Saturday and Sunday is Sunday. You scheduled your party for a Sunday.”

  I throw up my hands. Apparently there is no convincing Bubba Bob to change his mind. But he has to.

  “Can’t we work something out?” I ask, my one last attempt at salvaging the downward spiraling party.

  “Sorry, ma’am. I’m booked solid Saturday. Three parties and a wedding. There’s no way. Sunday I can do.”

  “Mr. Bob, I have one hundred people coming to a party Saturday at five o’clock. If you don’t deliver your famous barbecue, what am I going to feed them?”

  “I’m truly sorry, Miss Doll.”

  “Where’s the wedding you’re catering?”

  “The wedding?”

  “Yes. You said you had a wedding to cater. Where is it?”

  “It’s in the Duluth area. Do you know someone who’s getting married Saturday?”

  “No. I just thought if it was close by, I’d move my party to the wedding location where people could enjoy your world-famous barbecue that I ordered for a party on the twenty-ninth. Saturday.”

  “Miss Doll. Please don’t be unreasonable. Mistakes happen. What can I do to make you happy?”

  “You can deliver your barbecue on Saturday for my mother’s party.”

  “Other than that, what can I do? Would you like me to send you some coupons? Buy one entrée get one of equal or lesser value free.”

  Oh, brother. This is not happening. This can’t be happening.

  “I’d like my deposit back.”

  “Of course. We’ll mail a check tomorrow. Again, I apologize for the misunderstanding. Are you sure you can’t change your party to Sunday?”

  “No can do, Bubba Bob.”

  “Tell you what. You bring your family in one night and Bubba Bob will give you all a meal on the house. Deal?”

  What choice do I have? “Deal.”

  I can’t believe this is happening.

  I hang up the phone gaining only a free meal for mother, grandma and me. Yippee. Oh, and I did get my deposit back.

  I grab some tissue from the floral box on my desk and start wiping Lovespell off of the items that I must put back into my purse. I love the scent, but this much in such close proximity is giving me a headache. Or maybe Brad gave me the headache.

  Or it could have been Bob from Bubba Bob’s.

  No matter the cause, this is day is going from bad to worse pretty fast. Can anything else happen?

  I know the answer to my own question “can anything else happen?” the minute I p
ull into my driveway and see Ashton sitting on the front steps. Something else is about to happen. He looks so happy, and I know that doesn’t bode well for me. Pretty much his happiness is my sorrow.

  And that stinks.

  He jogs to my car and opens my door. “Hi, Allison. Did you have a good day at work?”

  I wish time would freeze right now. It doesn’t, so I freeze my mind, my thoughts to this scenario. What if this were my daily routine? Get up, go to work, come home to Ashton who is already at home, cooking, asking if I had a good day at work.

  This is so how I want my life to be. I don’t mean Ashton has to be here the minute I’m here, but I want this life of spending evenings together, eating dinner together, watching Home and Garden Television together.

  Okay, I know my little dream world has gone crazy at this point. We’d be fighting over what to watch or we’d be in separate rooms watching separate televisions and not hanging out together at all. Since this is such a negative thought, I’m going to leave it out of my dream world for now and pretend Ashton loves to watch David Bromstad, Candice Olson, and the rest of the HGTV regulars.

  Allison Doll, this is not your life. Ashton is not your husband, he’s not your boyfriend. You’re not even dating.

  You’re just friends, remember?

  Okay, the dream has ended. It was nice while it lasted.

  “You don’t really want to hear about my day,” I say.

  “Sure I do. That’s what friends are for.”

  Friends. What an awful word when it comes to guys who are cute, have a great smile, are extremely nice and used to call you their girl.

  Of course, it was my choice. I know this and am coming to terms with the fact that I’ve pretty much shot myself in the foot.

  “I have to go to Cleveland tomorrow,” I say. “Very early. Seven in the morning.”

  Ashton’s eyes widen and he looks surprised. “That’s interesting,” he says. “I may see you there.”

  “In Cleveland?”

  “Yeah. That’s what I came over to tell you. Three teams contacted my agent while we were on the trip. Cleveland, Seattle, and Florida. So I may be in any one of those cities before the week ends.”

  I’ve known him two months and this is the happiest I’ve heard him. Seen him. This is a man who truly loves his job.

  His travelling-I’ll-see-you-a-few-weeks-in-the-winter job.