1. A seat at the table
"Sweetheart, thank you for dressing appropriately," my mother greeted me as I reached the table at the ridiculously fancy restaurant where we had agreed to meet.
She had something to announce, and apparently, that couldn’t be done over the phone—it had to be dramatic, in a luxurious setting. I smoothed the silky fabric of my dress. I'd found it buried deep in my closet, from my high school prom. Somehow, it still fit. The deep burgundy color was beautiful, but the cut wasn’t really me. Still, I wore it. My mom had been so excited about tonight—I didn’t want to disappoint her.
My long, straight, silver-dyed hair hung over my left shoulder—a small effort to cover the tattoos on my neck and shoulder. My mom hated them. According to her, I'd "ruined" my body.
"I did my best," I said with a weak smile. She kissed my cheek and motioned for me to sit across from her.
"So, what's the big news?" I asked. "Just a little patience," she laughed. "Not everyone is here yet."
I looked at her face, and suddenly I noticed how much older she looked. She had me when she was only eighteen. All my life she’d had that smooth, youthful glow. But now, the fine lines around her eyes were deeper. Her smile had changed—it seemed warmer somehow. Softer.
After my dad disappeared, something broke in her. She spent more time in bed than out. I used to pull her into the shower, hoping it would wake her up enough to make dinner. Those were tough years—emotionally and financially. Things only started to get better when she finally asked for help. I never blamed her for it. But it did shape me. While other kids played outside, I was checking if my mom had eaten.
Now, she looked like the poster woman for a glow-up. Elegant, radiant, self-assured. Her curves, which I inherited, filled out her dress perfectly. I had a soft, feminine face, just like hers, but that’s where the similarities ended. My style and personality couldn’t be more different.
"There you are!" she said brightly, standing up. I turned and saw a man walking toward us—dark hair, blue eyes, charming smile. Mark. I’d seen him before, a few times. The reason behind her new sparkle.
He kissed her cheek and held out his hand. I got up to greet him.
"You remember Mark, don’t you?" my mom asked, placing her perfectly manicured hand, full of rings, on his arm. "And this is his son, Jason."
Mark took his seat, and that’s when I saw the guy who’d been standing behind him.
"Hi," I said, a little surprised, reaching out my hand, my fingers brushing his just a moment longer than necessary.
Jason. Everyone knew his name—and his reputation. I’d caught glimpses of him before: dark brown hair, that messy pompadour, and those electric blue eyes that seemed to look right through you. His lips looked made for biting, and the faint stubble added a dangerous edge. His shirt hugged muscles I suddenly found hard to ignore, and the way his jeans fit... well, let’s just say, he carried himself like he knew exactly what he had.
"Hi," he said, his smile slow and deliberate as he shook my hand, fingers lingering with a teasing grip. "Let me guess, you have no idea what this is about either?" he said, eyes flicking to mine with a spark.
I bit my lip, shaking my head. "Not a clue." But my heart was suddenly racing.
My mom loved to drag things out. I didn’t. She launched into a long story about how she and Mark met, how they’d been seeing each other for a while now. She pointed out that Jason and I both went to the same university—he studied business, and I studied ancient civilizations and mythology. Of course, she couldn’t resist taking a jab at my major. She still didn’t understand how I’d ever find a job with it.
Jason and I barely got a word in. Most of the conversation was our parents talking at us.
By the time dessert was gone and coffee was on the table, my mom was visibly nervous. My patience was long gone. We’d been sitting there for nearly three hours.
"Okay, Mom, don’t you think it’s time you tell us why we’re really here?" I asked. It came out sharper than I intended.
"I raised you better than to be so rude, Helena," she snapped. Then she took Mark’s hand and gave him a reassuring look.
Mark cleared his throat. "Helena, Jason... I asked Regina to marry me. And she said yes."
My mom beamed at him, and then they both looked at us, waiting.
Jason spoke first. "Congratulations! That’s great news. Do you have a date yet?"
I stayed quiet. Not because I didn’t want this for her—I just hadn’t seen it coming. And before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out.
"Wait, you're getting married? How long have you even really known each other? I mean... I didn’t even know you were that serious. Or that Mark had a son."
"No offense," I added quickly, glancing at Jason.
He hid a grin behind his hand, clearly amused. At least he wasn’t offended. My mom, however, looked like she might explode. Before she could, Mark stepped in.
"You’re right, Helena. We haven’t been together for years. But when you're our age, you just know when someone is the one."
He sounded like a Hallmark card.
I leaned back in my chair with a heavy sigh, as if I were trying to blow imaginary hair out of my face.
My mom took a deep breath, calming herself. "I think that’s enough dinner for tonight. Helena, would you mind driving Jason back to campus? Otherwise Mark has to go way out of his way."
I nodded. "Sure."
Later, I leaned against my black 1967 Chevy Impala, cigarette in hand. The hem of my dress lifted just enough to show my Dr. Martens.
"Nice shoes," Jason said, voice low as he leaned just a little closer. "They actually make that dress even more interesting.”
