he moved her slowly in circles. Adorable. His back was to me, but I was close enough to overhear him tell her, “You are a wonderful dancer.”
“Thank you,” the flower girl said but then wrinkled her nose. “You’re a little clunky.”
I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh. That girl was a walking truth bomb.
“Wow, thanks,” Robert said, acting hurt. “That’s because you’re stepping on my toes.” He reached down and picked her up as if the nine-year-old weighed nothing. Strong arms, I noticed. And it was sweet how he twirled her around.
“Are you going to ask that lady out on a date?” the girl asked him.
I ducked behind a pillar just as the pair moved closer to me.
“Do you think I should?” Robert asked the girl. I peeked around the column, not sure what I should do. My churning stomach told me fleeing was good. Yet, I wanted to hear what he’d say.
“You want to get married before you’re too old and crinkly, don’t you?”
“First off, you have to go on a couple of dates first and then you get married,” Robert told her. “That’s how it works.”
Sage advice.
“Well, you two are cute together. Especially when she tried to stab you with her fork. That was funny.”
“Funny?” Robert pretended to be upset. “Glad it made you laugh.”
I grinned, remembering the look of mock outrage on Robert’s face. He was a good sport, I had to give him that. I was not such a good sport when people tried to steal my dessert.
The girl cocked her head to one side. “You’d better ask her out before someone else does and she gets married.”
Robert put the girl down on the floor. “You, kiddo, are right,” he said, and my heart jumped a little. He knelt in front of the girl and tapped her softly on the nose. “You are so right. Wish me luck.” He moved away from her to cross the dance floor. “And thank you for my dance!”
I swallowed hard. I knew Robert and I flirted most of the night, but I never thought it might end in an actual date. After all, I had that thing Peter didn’t want to label going on. For two years! It meant something, even though I wasn’t sure what. Accepting a date with Robert would be wrong, wouldn’t it? But then, did I want to have to tell him and those intelligent dark eyes no?
Someone tapped the microphone onstage and then I saw Jim and Dana standing there, holding hands.
“And now, the time has come for the traditional throwing of the dead flowers,” he announced to the crowd as Dana elbowed him, a grin on his face. “Bouquet time! All you single ladies gather round—over by the DJ!”
As Dana stepped off the stage, smiling at me and pointing, I felt a bit of panic well up in my throat. Dana would no doubt aim that toxic bouquet at me. And then what? I’d go show Peter the flowers and tell him, “It’s our turn”? The thought made me light-headed and nauseated. And what about Robert? What would I tell him if he asked me out?
Ugh. This was my cue to leave. I glanced over at the coat check and raced to it, grabbing my jacket from the rack and slinging it on. I managed to run up to Dana just before she reached the DJ.
She saw my jacket, and a tiny worry line creased her temple. “You’re going?” she asked me. “But you’re not going to stay for the flowers?” She held up her bouquet, and the look of disappointment on her face told me all I needed to know: she had planned to launch them at me.
“Sorry, I just…” I glanced at Robert, who glanced around the room, most likely looking for me. “I can’t stay,” I said, shaking my head. “But you’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen. You and Jim are wonderful together, and I’m so very happy for you.”
The crush of bridesmaids and other singletons crowded impatiently over by the DJ, and I knew I couldn’t keep Dana a second longer.
“Congratulations again!” I said and hugged my assistant. She squeezed me back and then Jim swept her off to do her bridal-bouquet-tossing duties.
I stepped out into the cold fall air and sighed, my breath escaping in a white cloud as I headed to my car, parked in the lot around the corner. I thought again about Robert. I really should tell him good-bye.
Then again, no, I shouldn’t. Better me sneaking out than having to tell him no if he asked me out. But I knew things had already gone too far. I’d let them go too far. I picked up my pace and my heels clacked on the sidewalk as I zipped up my jacket and headed to my car.
Four
Mom, Nadia and I sat together at the coffee shop in the suburbs the next day, all staring appreciatively at the trio of delectable desserts we’d ordered to share. This was what we did on Sundays. Some families brunched, but we had coffee and dessert. Every Sunday. Or, really, as often as we could. Outside, the wall of the Rocky Mountains stood as our backdrop as we sat by the wood-burning fireplace in the nook, sharing double chocolate cake and peanut butter and marshmallow brownies, and a strawberry cheesecake.
I should’ve been having none of these, considering how much cake I ate at the wedding the night before, but when I was with Mom, there was no denying our mutual inner sweets monsters. Even Nadia, who was better at keeping the monster at bay than the two of us, indulged with unusual ferocity today. No doubt because she was having dessert for two.
Mom stabbed the double chocolate with her fork and took a hearty bite. “Mmmm,” she said, eyes closing as she enjoyed every dark, delicious morsel. “Good choice, honey,” she told me. She smiled, blue eyes warm, her hair a new color this month, with hints of red in her short bob. Mom looked amazing for sixty-four, and I hoped I’d inherited her aging-gracefully gene as well as her sweet tooth.
Part of it, I knew, had to do with the fact that Mom never slowed down. She and her girlfriends had a competition going about who could outdo the other on their Fitbits. Mom, the natural competitor, always won, even if that meant doing laps around her kitchen at night.
Mom swallowed her bite of chocolate cake. “Oh, I forgot to ask. How was Dana’s wedding?”
“Actually, it was more fun than I thought it would be,” I said. And that had everything to do with one Robert Zappia. Just the memory of his intelligent, teasing eyes made me feel a little bit warmer, like someone had just added a log to the fireplace nearby. “Nice ceremony, fun crowd.” Fun person, in particular. “And good cake.”
Now was usually the time Mom asked me about the cake—how many layers and whether or not there was filling—because cake was always the thing Mom most wanted to know about. Most moms want to know about the wedding dress first, but not my mom. She had her priorities straight.
“Did Peter have fun?” Mom threw me for a loop. Because I hadn’t been thinking about Peter at all. I was thinking about Robert—had been all morning, actually.
Nadia cleared her throat, hoping to signal to Mom it was a touchy subject, but Mom failed to take the hint. She stared at me, waiting for my answer.
“Peter didn’t go,” I admitted.
“He
