“She’ll be here,” Micah said.
“Who will be here?” Andrew asked, walking by at that moment with his phone in hand. Ugh.
“Sophie’s mom.”
“Speaking of moms, yours is trying to get me to eat with her because you can’t,” Andrew said to Micah.
“Don’t fall under her spell. Sophie can never resist my mom.”
“It’s true,” I said. “Mrs. Williams has power over me.”
“That’s because she loves you,” Micah said.
“And here I thought I was special,” Andrew said, putting his hand on his chest.
“Nope,” I answered back.
Micah waved her hand through the air. “She loves you too, Andrew, don’t worry.” Then Micah hoisted her pitcher and left.
“Mrs. Williams loves everyone,” I assured Andrew.
“You know, you really should be the one refilling glasses with orange juice.”
“You already made one swipe at the skirt today. Get some new material.”
His eyes lit up with amusement. Had he found me funny for the second time today? I didn’t like this change. I liked the shot-back insults better. I avoided his gaze and scanned the parking lot again.
“You should just text her,” Andrew said.
“What?” I asked, then realized he knew who I was looking for. “Shouldn’t you be taking pictures?”
He held up his phone and snapped one of me, then smiled and left. I scowled at his retreating form.
It was time to distract myself with work. I found Caroline standing under a tree, scrolling through her tablet. “Should I get the game started?” I asked her.
She looked up. “No, not yet. Gloria and her daughter are going to sing for us again this year. Will you go and see if they’re ready?”
“Yes. Um … Did they bring a keyboard or some music?” I had suggested both at our pre-event meeting. It wasn’t that Gloria and her daughter weren’t good singers … Well, it was sort of that. They were decent. They could definitely carry a tune. But I knew they’d sound better with some background music.
“I think they’re going a cappella again. But the guests seem to love it. I always get positive feedback. They’re sweet.”
“Okay, I’ll go talk to them. If they’re ready, you want them to go on now?”
“Yes. Thank you, Sophie. And tell your mother I said hi.”
My mom? I turned just in time to see her car pull into a parking space. She stepped out wearing tight jeans, a black T-shirt, and heels. Not what she’d worn to work that day, but obviously not the dress I’d bought her either. Her long, bleached-blond hair was down and straightened.
I took a deep breath and went to find Gloria. She was sitting at a table and waved when I approached. “Hi, Sophie, good to see you!” she called. “I just adore the flowers this year.”
“Thank you,” I said. They weren’t my design or preference, but I supposed I had put them into their holders so there was that. “Are you ready to sing?”
“Nearly,” she said.
“Okay, just head on up when you are.” I pointed to the microphone set up by the big tree.
Gloria nodded happily.
I looked over and saw that my mom was approaching. I hurried to meet her halfway.
“Hey, honey,” she said. “Sorry I’m late.”
I gave her a hug. “It’s okay. I’m glad you made it.”
“Well, don’t you look colorful today,” she said.
“Yes. I do.” I looked down at my outfit then back up at my mom. “Did you get my present?”
“Yes, it was so cute. Thank you.”
I swallowed. “I thought you could wear it today.”
“Oh! Well, you know I don’t really wear dresses to casual events.”
She was right, I did know that. I wasn’t sure why I’d gotten her one at all. I should’ve gotten her a pair of cute shoes … or a gift card. A gift card was safe and didn’t take my taste into account at all.
“Maybe I can wear it around the house,” Mom added.
I nodded, as if I didn’t care. “Well, come eat,” I said. “There’s lots of food.”
She looped her arm through mine and we continued across the grass. “Is Jett Hart here?” she whispered.
“Yes, he is.”
“Will you introduce us? I’ve always wanted to meet someone famous.”
“I don’t really know him, Mom.” Or rather, he didn’t know me except as the girl who always got in his way. “And he’s not really famous.”
She let out a puff of air to disagree, then said, “You’ve worked two events with him and you haven’t introduced yourself? Why are you so antisocial?”
“I’m not antisocial.”
“You are. You know if you practice more, you’ll get better at interacting with people.”
“I’m fine at interacting with people.” At least, the ones I liked.
“I guess I’ll just have to introduce myself. Is that him?” She pointed to Jett Hart, still standing like a sentinel by the food.
“Mom, just wave or something. He’s really busy.”
“He doesn’t look busy.”
“Let’s dish up our food and then we can tell him how nice it looks when we get to the end of the line.”
She didn’t listen. While I retrieved a plate, my mom marched straight up to Jett, her hand extended.
“The Jett Hart,” she said. “We’re so honored to have you in our little town.”
He shook her hand and presented her with the first smile I’d seen him give. “Happy to meet you.”
“I hear you’re trying to bring us culture with fancy food.”
I cringed. “Mom, I have your plate,” I called.
She didn’t budge.
“I’m trying to bring you variety with bold flavors,” he said, like he was suddenly in a commercial for international coffee or something. So this was where Andrew got his speaking skills from.
Speaking of variety and bold flavors, I was now staring at what looked to be green peppers cut in half and filled with cooked egg. I glanced down the row of dishes to see if there was a different egg dish. I saw a very colorful quiche and wondered what was in it.
“I like bold,” I heard my mom say. I could tell Jett was done with her. He’d crossed his arms and was looking over her head. I thought about dragging my mom back to the food line, but the less attention I drew to myself in this moment, the better.
Finally, Jett rescued himself. “Excuse me, I need to go check on something.”
Mom came to my side and picked up a plate. “He’s not nearly as bad as you made him out to be,” she said.
“Shh,” I responded.
She looked around. “Who are we worried about hearing?” Then her gaze landed on Andrew Hart. “Who’s that?”
“Who?” I knew exactly who she was talking about so I didn’t know why I was putting on an act.
“Broad shoulders, great hair, and handsome as all get-out, that’s who.”
“Mom, he’s seventeen.”
“I wasn’t lookin’ to date him, child. I just asked who he was while appreciating his finer qualities.”