We pulled up a few minutes later, just as my mom and Marcus simultaneously entered the enclosed patio. The second she saw us, Sharon Wood bypassed me and Amanda completely and went straight in for a huge hug, barreling into Marcus with the speed of a freight train. He caught her bracingly and wrapped his arms tentatively around her back. Over her head, he mouthed a wary, Is this your mom? I stifled my laugh and nodded quickly. As they made the proper, friendly introductions, I turned discreetly to Amanda.
“Well,” I murmured, “she’s certainly warmed to him, hasn’t she?”
Amanda snorted. “That’s because she uncovered his net worth on the flight over.”
I funneled my laughter into a delighted, “Hi, Mom!” as I joined their table.
The meal was short but comical. The three of us were incredibly hung over, and at every second’s gap in the conversation, my mom would inquire again how soon Marcus and I were having kids. Marcus handled her with the grace that I had now come to expect from him, charming and delighting her as I knew he would.
When it was time to leave, he reached for the check without a word and kissed her on the cheek as he led her out to the parking lot. I trailed along behind and gave her a goodbye hug as she slipped into the rental.
“Well, Bex, he’s better than I could have imagined. I don’t think you could have done any better!”
As I struggled to decide how to interpret this, I flashed her a small smile. “Thanks, I know. He’s really…” The image of him swaying his hips into the microphone stand made me suddenly loosen my collar. “Yeah, he’s really something.”
We hugged again briefly as she dry-sobbed into my hair.
“So, I haven’t even asked.” I took a step back as she started the engine. “How long will you be staying here, Mom?”
“I’m not sure yet.” She shrugged, dialing in her navigation to a nearby hotel. “Depends on how long it will take.”
I cast a nervous glance back at my two friends, keeping tabs on me from the patio. “How long what will take?”
“Oh honey,” she laughed as the car went flying backward. “I’m here to help you plan your wedding!”
Chapter 7
“This has gotten completely out of control!”
I narrowly avoided barreling straight through a kindergarten field trip. Their teacher pulled them to safety as I apologized profusely. Marcus followed along after me, smiling pleasantly and making my excuses.
“It’s all right kids,” he said comfortingly. “This is what happens when grownups drink too much coffee.” I continued walking down the dirt path, my mind flooded with thoughts.
We were at the park. Well, as close to a park as Los Angeles could come. It was a small, grassy clearing chock full of picnic tables, towering palm trees, and people discreetly edging each other out to claim their piece of the tiny nature preserve amidst the big city. My mother had gone straight back to the hotel to get some beauty sleep before our first “big day of planning.” Amanda had gone out for a date with Barry—promising that she was only a phone call away and that she’d be home right after their movie for moral support.
It was for the best. I needed some time with Marcus anyway. I hadn’t anticipated my mother moving in to help pick out tulips and doilies. We’d need to rethink our game plan.
“We will get through this,” Marcus assured me gently, guiding me to an astonishingly vacant picnic table right before it could get snatched up by a group of what looked like mimes.
I shot them a wary glance before shaking my head and rubbing my tired eyes. “You don’t know my mother. You have no idea what we’re in for.”
“I liked Sharon,” he said cheerfully. “She hugs well.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “She hugs well? What exactly does that mean?”
He shrugged and gazed out over the open field, smiling faintly at the rabid dogs dragging their owners through the grass as they chased after long-lost tennis balls. “She squeezed the life out of me—I loved it. She reminded me of my own mom.”
“Aww.”
I swung my hair down like a sheet between us, so I could watch him with relative anonymity. He was handling his hangover well. The eyes were slightly puffy but clear—the dark circles beneath them fading quickly back to his usual golden hue. He’d stuck to water at breakfast, as had the rest of us, but he didn’t display any of the normal “night after the party” tells. His hands were steady. The smile, genuine. Any and all wincing kept to a strict minimum.
Then again, that was his shtick. Marcus “handled” things. Who knew how he was really feeling? Was the smile genuine or had he grown up learning to pose?
We were sitting just twenty minutes from the facility where his mother had slowly wasted away. We’d just come from brunch with the unsuspecting “mother-in-law.”
But you’d never know it from his steady hands.
No, Marcus Taylor was not a man to show weakness. But perhaps it was possible to spot his damage through his strengths. I thought of the Diabetes Fundraiser Gala, secretly funding Westwood Hospice, even Mrs. Diaz’s funeral arrangements. For a man whose job it was to advertise and capitalize on every little thing, it was the things he kept quiet that I found most endearing. It was through those silent sacrifices that you saw the real Marcus Taylor.