Love is a Battlefield (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #1) - Whitney Dineen Page 0,2
little bit.” Knowing where I fit in will only cement my mom’s intentions that I come to her friend’s rescue like some kind of decorating Wonder Woman sans the bullet repelling bangles on my wrists.
“She needs to make some renovations to the inn. Bookings have slowed down as new lodgings are opening all the time in their area. She has to do something to redirect interest back to her place.”
“She should throw a big party or get a Hollywood movie studio to film something there,” I suggest.
“Before she does anything like that, she needs to make sure everything looks its best. That’s where you come in.” And there it is, the other shoe dropping. Right on me.
“Have her call my office and talk to Chloe. I’ll see what I can do about scheduling a consultation with her sometime in the spring.”
“The spring will be too late, honey. She needs to be ready by Christmas.”
“Christmas? That’s completely unrealistic, Mom. It’s already the middle of August. If that’s her deadline, there’s no way I can help. I’m booked solid through March.”
“That’s not strictly true,” she says, gaining strength for her cause.
I hand her my phone. “Call Chloe and ask her. I promise she’ll verify the busyness of my schedule.” I shouldn’t have to point out how in-demand my skills are to my own mother.
“You’re taking a month off starting next week,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Yes, but I’m going to Grand Cayman with you, and when I come home, I’m going to have a couple of things done here at my apartment.” I’ve been putting off laying hardwood floors and updating the paint for over two years. I don’t want to wait two more years until I have the time to oversee it.
“Your apartment is perfect as is, and I’m sure your client will be happy to reschedule our trip when you tell him a family emergency has come up.”
Of all the nerve. “First of all, Mom, while I love Aunt Ruby, she isn’t family. Secondly, I’ve already explained that dire decorating emergencies don’t exist.”
“You yourself said that I don’t ask for favors,” she says. “But I’m asking now. Ruby is my dearest friend and when she calls me in tears needing help, I will move heaven and earth to come to her aid.”
When I don’t say anything, she hurries to add, “A lot of people die within a year after losing their spouse. I can’t bear to think about that happening to my best friend.”
I ignore her and pick up my phone. “Hey Google, what percentage of women die within a year of losing their spouse?”
“According to studies by the Bereavement Center for Mental Health, seventeen percent of women die within a year of losing a longtime spouse,” Google announces.
“Seventeen percent,” I reiterate. “And I’m willing to bet ninety-eight percent of those are a heck of a lot older than Aunt Ruby.”
“My friend needs me,” my mom states plainly.
Historically, once my mother has made up her mind, there’s no changing it. But I have to try. “Then you should definitely help her.”
“I don’t have the skills, but I intend to come along to offer moral support. That way we’ll still have our getaway together for my birthday.”
Oh, no, she didn’t. Playing the birthday card is the cherry on the guilt sundae she just served.
“What about the opening of Bainbridge Caribbean?” I practically whine. “I want to go on vacation.”
“There are plenty of fun things to do in Oregon when you’re not consulting on decorating.”
“Yeah, goat yoga and mushroom foraging,” I grumble. They’ve probably added a master class in how to macramé your own rain poncho. Oregon is not my idea of a vacation. The last time we were there, I was forced to fish for my dinner. I don’t like fishing, and I sure as heck don’t have any desire to do a downward dog next to an animal that’s liable to head-butt me into the next decade.
“Addison Marie Cooper, do you remember when I picked you up at the police station when you ran that red light and decided not to stop for the traffic cop?”
“I was sixteen!” I try to defend. “I was scared.”
“Yet, I picked you up and promised to never tell your dad. I never have, you know.”
I hand her my phone. “Go ahead and tell him.”
“That’s not how this is going to go down. You promised that day you owed me the mother of all favors. You can’t renege on that now.”