Because hating yourself is the only acceptable option if the alternative is hating the person who was supposed to love you the most.
So no matter how much he might want to turn toward the light and let a kind and soft-hearted girl into his life, he’s not gonna let it happen without a fight.
Which I knew goin’ in.
Lucky for him, he’s got fairy godfather Dick on his side.
And I’m about to wave my magic wand and sprinkle a shitload of pixie dust all over the place.
17
Maddie
When I walk into the office on Monday morning, Auntie Waldine is already there, sitting behind the reception desk. She’s hunched over the phone with the intense concentration of a hostage negotiator.
“Uh-huh,” she says, sending me a distracted wave as she continues her conversation. “Goodness. I see. Honestly, I have to confess it doesn’t surprise me one bit.” A short pause is followed by a cryptic, “I have my ways.”
I bypass her desk and enter my office. As is her custom, my aunt has already poured me a mug of hot coffee. It waits for me, steaming, on my desk.
One of the benefits of sticking to an inflexible schedule is that others can always rely on you to arrive exactly on time.
As I get myself settled and fire up the computer, Auntie Waldine continues her conversation. Her answers are spaced with pauses as she listens to whomever is talking on the other end.
“I agree, but Lord knows, looks can be deceivin’. Mmhmm. Oh, no, she’d have a dyin’ duck fit.” A delighted cackle. “Land’s end, you’re so right!”
She’s gossiping with her best friend, Celia, no doubt. The two of them are thicker than thieves. When the other line rings, I pick it up so she can continue talking.
“Good morning, Perfect Pairings. This is Maddie speaking. How may I help?”
“Good morning, Madison,” says a male voice I recognize. “Did I catch you at a convenient time?”
I lean back in my office chair, pick up my mug of coffee, and blow across the surface. “You did. I just walked in. How are you, Bobby?”
“Excellent, thank you. Glorious weather we’re having, isn’t it? Perfect day for croquet.”
He tries, Lord knows he tries, but the man is hopeless.
“Yes, it is. How’s your mother?”
His bright tone falters. “There isn’t much the doctors can do except make her comfortable. She’s in hospice care now. At this point, it’s only a matter of time.”
I know how difficult this must be for him and feel terrible about it. He and his mother have always had a close relationship. She’s a sweet woman. And being an only child, he’s going through this alone.
At least I had my older brothers to lean on when my parents died. Bobby has no one.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I say gently. “Is there anything you need? Can I help with something?”
He clears his throat. “Actually, I was hoping we could have lunch together today. I’ve been at the hospital since right after church yesterday, and I could use a break.”
I was thinking more along the lines baking him a casserole, but lunch works, too. “Of course. Should we do Antonio’s? That’s near the hospital. About noon?”
“That would be so great,” he says warmly, relief echoing in his voice. “I’ll pick you up at your office.”
Picking me up sounds a little too close to a date for my liking. The last thing I want to do is give him the wrong idea, and Mason’s comment about Bobby being an addict and me being crack has stuck with me. “Oh. Um. Or I could meet you there?”
“Nonsense. I’ll see you at noon.”
He disconnects without waiting for my answer or saying goodbye, which isn’t like him. His manners are always impeccable. Then again, his mother is dying. He’s bound to be out of sorts.
“Who are you havin’ lunch with at Antonio’s?”
I jump at the sound of Auntie Waldine’s voice. When I look up, she’s hovering over my desk like a vulture.
“Bobby,” I say, taken aback at her sudden appearance. “Weren’t you just on the phone?”
She sails right past my question, perching on the edge of my desk to more comfortably continue the frontal assault. “So tell me all about brunch yesterday, child. Did Mason and Bettina hit it off?”
I put the phone down and take a sip of coffee before answering. “Believe it or not… no.”
“Really?” Wide-eyed, she ponders that for a moment. “And here I thought they’d be two peas in a pod.”
“You and me both. But for some bizarre reason, he wasn’t interested.”
When she stares at me like I’m as dense as a block of cement, I say, “What?”
She makes a motion with her hand like she’s swatting away a fly. “I had an idea about another candidate for him—”
“No,” I interrupt firmly. “No more of your ‘ideas’. Matchmaking is a delicate science, requiring considerable thought and a logical, methodical approach. You can’t just throw people together and see what sticks. And you definitely can’t rely on the superficial. You have to know what people really need, which isn’t necessarily what they say they want.”
“You’re saying you have to look beyond the surface to see what’s in people’s true hearts.”
“Exactly.”
Auntie Waldine’s smile is small and mysterious. “Sounds more like magic than science to me.”
I gaze at her sternly. “Don’t go there. I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”
She rises and heads back to her desk, saying over her shoulder, “One of these days, dear girl. One of these days.”
I call after her, “Whatever the heck that means!”
But she’s already picking up the phone again and dialing.
When Bobby arrives at my office at noon, he brings a bouquet of flowers with him. I try not to feel like it’s a bad omen.
“How thoughtful,” I say, taking the flowers from his hand. “Thank you.”
He stands in the reception area, looking like an ad for Brooks Brothers in a beautiful gray cashmere sweater with a dress shirt and tie underneath. A pair of black slacks and leather loafers complete the look. Though I suspect he must’ve come straight from the hospital, he doesn’t look like a man who’s been sitting in an uncomfortable chair beside his dying mother’s bedside for days on end.
If Bobby has any flaws, it’s vanity. He’s too concerned with appearances and what other people think. He wasn’t that way when he was younger, but I suppose a career in politics could bring out the inner narcissist in anyone.
“You’re welcome,” he says, smiling at me. Then he leans in and gives me a dry peck on the cheek.
Sitting at her desk, Auntie Waldine calls out, “Mornin’, Bobby!”
“Hello, Waldine,” says Bobby, turning to her. “How are you today?”
“Finer than frog’s hair,” she replies enthusiastically, grinning like a maniac.
I’m immediately suspicious. The last time she looked this happy, she’d been in contact with her great-grandmother’s ghost.