I thought my mom’s wedding at 70 would be a sweet, simple event until she grabbed the mic and announced a rule for whoever caught her bouquet. I stepped back, avoiding it. But then it landed… right in my hands.
I stood in the kitchen, watching my mother flit around the table, rearranging place cards, adjusting napkins, and muttering about color schemes as if the fate of the universe depended on them.
She looked radiant, practically glowing. Meanwhile, I was still trying to understand how this was happening.
“Mom, are you serious? You’re seventy-nine years old, and you’re getting married?”
She glanced up, completely unfazed by my tone, flashing a mischievous smile.
“Oh, don’t make that face, darling. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s the beginning of a brand-new life!”
She looked exactly as she had in her twenties, with that same sparkle in her eyes, the same reckless enthusiasm that made arguing with her absolutely pointless.
“Mom, why? You live perfectly fine on your own!”
“And who said I want to live alone?”
My mother had always done exactly what she wanted.
“I know that after your disaster of a marriage, you’ve stopped believing in love, but I haven’t. Harold is perfect for me. He makes me laugh. And I feel alive again.”
I sighed, watching her. She was strong-willed, fearless, and hopelessly stubborn. If she had made up her mind, there was no talking her out of it.
“So, the wedding is already planned?”
“Guests are invited, the dress is picked, the menu is finalized.”
“This is life, sweetheart,” she smiled slyly. “And you should start living it again instead of hiding behind your cynicism.”
I clenched my jaw. My mother had an infuriating way of bringing up my divorce at the worst possible moments.
I thought back to the day my husband left. I had come home expecting nothing unusual, only to find suitcases lined up by the door. He’d just announced that he was in love with someone younger. Someone fun.
After that, love had felt like an overpriced scam, a fairy tale sold to naive women who didn’t realize that the prince would eventually get bored and find someone else.
I had spent years rebuilding myself, brick by brick, convincing myself that I was better off. That I didn’t need love.
“You know,” my mother’s voice pulled me back, “I’ve planned something fun for my favorite girls at the wedding.”
“You, my dear, and my lovely granddaughters.”
She beamed at me. There was a twinkle in her eyes that I did not like.
“Trust me,” she waved. “You’re going to love it.”
I doubted that.
***
On the day of the wedding, on the way to the grand estate where the ceremony was being held, life decided to remind me that I was not in control of anything.
My tire went flat in the middle of nowhere. No gas stations. No passing cars. Just me, a useless phone signal, and my own bad luck.
I stepped out of the car, cursed under my breath, and was just about to call for roadside assistance when a shiny new pickup pulled over next to me.
I rolled my eyes before even turning around.
The man standing beside the truck was tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and wearing a grin that immediately irritated me.
“My tire’s flat,” I said dryly.
“Oh, that’s an easy fix. Give me five minutes, and you’ll be good to go.”
“Nope, but you’re not gonna ask for my credentials while I’m fixing your tire, are you?”
I glared at him. “Listen, Mister…”
“Nick.”
“Listen, Nick, I’m not in the mood for jokes.”
“Sounds like you need a few jokes,” he smirked, kneeling by my car.
I let out a long breath and turned away, only to hear the car door creak open.