Page 59 of Mom Com

Her eyes narrow. “Tell me you didn’t do this on purpose. Tell me it’s not Wilder—”

And that’s where I break. “Get out!” I shriek, surprising us both. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” My voice is so loud that I don’t know if she tries to say something to calm me down. But I don’t stop until she’s gone.

CHAPTER19

Loving Groom’s Cake—

gooey flourless chocolate cake with fresh raspberries, modest and simple and perfect

My mother is in a strangely good mood when I get home from the bakery. She has brunch prepared and she’s talking animatedly with Spence at the breakfast table in the kitchen about the horse-drawn sleigh rides Mr. Hamza orchestrates on Christmas Eve.

“We used to go every year,” I say, taking a seat with them. “It was my favorite holiday activity.”

“Can we go?” Spence asks, shoveling frittata into his mouth. “Can we do it again this year?”

I defer to my mom, aware of what it means to her. And even though she hesitates, she nods. “If you both want to.”

“We really do!” Spence says, all enthusiasm.

A small laugh escapes my mother’s lips. “Your grandfather would always dress up in a suit,” she says, remembering. “And I’d wear a red velvet dress. He said that when we were old enough and our hair was white, children would think we were Mr. and Mrs. Claus. It was a silly little thing, but we enjoyed it.”

I smile along with her. I always loved that ritual.

“Why did you dress up?” Spence asks, and I look at my mother.

“Your grandfather proposed to me on Christmas Eve,” she replies, her smile both happy and sad, and my heart clenches right along with her. “We were very young, mind you. And we’d only known each other a few months. I was just out of college when I met your grandfather, and on a weeklong skiing trip with my girlfriends. We were staying at a friend’s bungalow up in Vermont. And in the little mountain town we were situated in, there was the cutest Italian bakery you ever saw. I went there every day; their cannoli were that good. But if I’m telling the truth, I was more interested in the cute boy who was serving them.”

“Grandpa worked there?” Spence asks, and it makes me smile that he’s so interested.

“He did,” my mom says, sipping her tea. “It was actually his father’s bakery. In fact, your grandfather comes from a long line of bakers.”

“So, it’s in our genes,” he says, in hisI’m making adult conversationvoice.

“That’s right,” my mother replies, briefly looking at me.

“What happened next? Did Grandpa ask you out?”

She raises an amused eyebrow. “He did, and you know what he said?”

Spence shakes his head.

“After I’d come in the third day in a row, he brought us our pastries and coffees and then turned to my two girlfriends. He said, ‘Ladies, I’d be grateful if I could have a moment with Eleanor.’” She shakes her head. “And you can only imagine my surprise because I had no idea he knew my name. Not that my friends hadn’t said it many times during our visits, but I didn’t know he was paying attention. I was flattered.”

Spence leans forward. I, too, find myself gravitating toward her story, one I haven’t heard since I was around his age.

“Now of course my friends looked at me for approval, and I nodded. And even though I was never one to be shy, I remember being so nervous when they got up and he sat down. To make matters worse, he didn’t speak for the first minute.” She presses her lips together like she’s stifling a chuckle. “So, I lifted my chin and said, ‘Did you come over here just to stare at me?’ Well, that did it. He put his elbows on the table and smiled. And I swear on everything, that man could smile.”

My chest lifts a little, my breath catching.

“He said, ‘Eleanor, I’m not a talker. Never was. So, I don’t know how to do this other than just to tell you straight. I’d really like to take you out.’” She leans toward us, conspiratorially. “Now since I was raised in Boston, a city girl, it certainly wasn’t the first time a boy showed interest. I wanted more than that. ‘Give me one good reason I should say yes,’ I replied. But if I expected this country boy to falter, he did no such thing. He looked me right in the eye and said, ‘I’ve lived here all my life, and even though it’s a small place, I’ve seen thousands of tourists come and go, more pretty girls than you could ever imagine. But I’m telling you now that I’ve never seen one as beautiful as you. And while I understand that what you look like is only a fraction of who you are, I’d really like the opportunity to know the rest of you.’”

I find myself grinning, and Spence has actually stopped eating to listen.

“I laughed then, more surprised than anything. You see, it’s not that I was unattractive, I was pretty enough I suppose, but I was never the prettiest girl in the room. In fact, the girl whose bungalow I was staying at, the one who was no more than ten feet from where I sat that very moment? She was the type boys would lose their wits over, just crumble into a blubbering mess of flattery and roses right at her feet. And so, I said yes. Now that I think of it, I didn’t even know his name when I agreed.”

“And then he proposed?” Spence asks, sipping his orange juice.

Mom nods. “We dated for two months, almost no time at all, really. But we were crazy about each other. And when he took me on a sleigh ride in Boston on Christmas Eve, he didn’t even have a ring. He said later that he hadn’t meant to propose that night, but that when he saw me in my red dress, he knew he didn’t want to wait, that whatever life we had left he wanted to spend it together. We were married for thirty-three years.”