Page 78 of Then There Was You
The woman in front of me is flipping through her copy when I lean over her shoulder, eyeing the dedication she’s reading. “I read an early copy,” I whisper as his biggest hype-woman. “It’s as good as you’ve heard. He’s an incredible storyteller.”
Angling to include me in her circle of one, her smile is so welcoming that I just want to hug her. But my fear of being considered obnoxious keeps me firmly in place. Some people just aren’t huggers. Those people don’t include me, but I can respect boundaries. Closing the book, she tucks it behind her arms, leans in, and whispers, “He’s my son.”
“Keats?” I sound like a dummy, but I add, “Keats Matthews?” She’s younger than I would have imagined, but so little has been shared, mainly highlights from the past few months of them having dinner here and there. The line moves forward toward the door, taking us with it.
My instincts tell me she really is his mom by the pride I find reflected in her eyes. “I’m Sosie?—”
“Keats’s fiancée.” Marvel highlights the golden centers around the pupils, which is a direct match to Keats’s coloring. She doesn’t seem shy about how her gaze bounces so unabashedly from my face to my hair to the book I’m cuddling in my arms. “He’s told me about you. I should have recognized you from the photos, but I must admit you’re even more beautiful in person. You make a beautiful couple.”
My heart feels tight from her sweet compliment. But it’s the other part she mentions that most interests me. “He’s shown you photos of me?”
Her laughter is so genuine, with a little bellow from her throat as she taps her chest. “Don’t get me wrong. I love seeing all of them, but Keats is enamored and over the moon in love with you. So I’ve seen lots of pictures of the two of you and the ones he has of you on his phone.” Touching my arm, she says, “I’ve also seen some of the photos you’ve taken. You have such an artistic eye for capturing the world.”
“I think you’re my favorite person right after your son.” Seems my Romeo is off telling the world about me, as if he could be anymore charming. I wish I knew more about her, though. Keats treats their relationship as new and developing. It’s become something he’s enjoying, and he looks forward to their get-togethers. “He’s going to be so happy you’re here.”
The doors are open before us, and when we’re ushered to the first employee, our books are marked as paid as we’re shifted inside the store. I can’t see him until I stand on my tiptoes, and then just barely because someone decided to wear a giant sun hat indoors. Patience may be a virtue, but it’s not one of mine.
With the line flowing, I spy Professor Johns already seated toward the front with his copy of the book on his lap. He waves, making me roll my eyes at myself. Here I thought I was more covert. Apparently, I’m not at all.
I wanted to sneak up on Keats. I was evasive today and have tried to be the perfect ninja for this surprise. But as soon as I pass a bookcase taming the line, the intensity of his eyes reaches mine. And then every other part of my body is enticed by his attention as if he verbally commanded it.
All while standing with his mother. So naughty it almost makes me feel guilty.Almost.
And then his eyes land on the woman next to me. The swift close of his lids isn’t lost. Neither is the smile that follows. When we’re finally standing in front of his table, I let his mom go first. I’m excited to see him, but I get him to myself later.
Their sweet interaction has me missing my own mom. The last time I saw her felt like an olive branch, the Paddington story something that bound us together. She even remembered who Winifred was after reading the note. I was given a glimpse into who she might be underneath the Stansbury title and the mother I always wanted. Neither has contacted the other. Did I let the circumstances make me think there was an opportunity? I don’t know, and it’s easier to get caught up in the life I’m living and the wedding we’re planning.
One of the pieces that ties us together is something I can’t wait to get rid of. Sosie Matthews has a much better ring to it.
I’m brought back to Keats’s big moment by a kiss to the head, and him murmuring that I didn’t have to wait in line to see him. As much as a part of me feels empty without my mom, I’m glad he has his again, so he doesn’t have to live with that void any longer. I reply, “I wouldn’t have met your mother if I hadn’t.”
It’s two worlds colliding when he looks between us, and the grin displayed on his face only confirms my theory. He deserves to feel whole. So do I, but hopefully that will come in time. “I’m glad you’ve met,” he says. “The three of us should have dinner next time.”
Giving my wrist a gentle squeeze, his mom says, “That’s a great idea.”
I won’t argue with having more family. If he’s happy, I am. “I’d like that, Ms. Matthews.”
“Call me Lori.”
Life is busy. Too busy, but the final wedding to-dos on my list are being checked off with the help of Marcy. Keats finished his list last week.It wasn’t a competition . . .
Being in a headspace I wanted to protect, I didn’t ask my mom to come dress shopping. I kept that for Marcy and me. But I was missing her leading up to the final fitting. I just didn’t know how to break the ice since months have passed since we saw each other. A text out of the blue seemed impersonal, and an email would be even more so. A call felt too in her face like I was putting her on the spot and guilting her into it.Ugh.
This should be fun, and the added pressure would ruin it. Keats is right. I’ll know when it feels right. If I’ve learned anything, timing is everything.
So I asked Lori to join us. She’s been a dream to spend time with, although not at all helpful with choosing which dress to wear for the ceremony and which for the small reception we’re hosting at one of our favorite places. She loves them all. I swear I could say I’m wearing my Doc Martens, and she’d tell me to go for it. She loves anything I toss out there. I even tested her by throwing a curveball and saying I could dye one of the dresses dark purple. Without missing a beat and failing the test entirely, she suggested purple stripes in my hair to match. I couldn’t even be mad at her. We’ve bonded like we’re related.And soon we will be.
But Marcy’s been my saving grace, my calm through the storm of this wedding chaos who pulls me back from monster bride behavior when Keats couldn’t be there for me. Like now, helping me with the dresses. Our friendship has only grown, and although she once asked if I knew any guys for her, there’s noneI would set her up with. She deserves someone special and her very own poet.
With my dresses bagged and draped over my arms, I walk out of the bridal salon on cloud nine. “The combat boots would be a fun toss back, but I was thinking shoes that are pretty, sparkly, even sex?—”
My mom looks as shocked as I am. Both of us stopped on a dime and stood frozen to the spot. The encounter brings a wave of guilt and shame as I stand in front of the woman who should have been here with me.
She spots Marcy and Lori and then tracks to the diamond sparkling on my finger before I can hide it. But I can’t hide the dresses hanging neatly in the black bags that clash against the white dress I chose to wear for the occasion despite it being after Labor Day. When words evade me, she says, “Sosie, it’s good to see you again.”
I’m too quiet, making myself uncomfortable. I straighten my spine and steady my voice. This shouldn’t be that difficult. We’re not starting from scratch. The conversation at the hospital was nice, but do we start over like it never happened? “Hi. It’s good to see you, too. I’ve been thinking about you.”
Her expression eases into a smile as if that was something she needed to hear. “I’ve thought about you so much, sweetie.” It’s been so long since I’ve heard that nickname. I don’t know if it’s wise, but hope fills my chest. “How are you doing?”
