Mid Life Love: At Last (Mid Life Love #2)(17)

“Not today.” I stood up and walked over to her. “She only does that when she’s really happy with me.”

“She is really happy with you.” She wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me. “I know our meeting isn’t scheduled until later, but can we cancel it? I want a different wedding planner.”

“You came here just to tell me that?”

“I came here because I’m on my lunch break. Speaking of which, if you’re going to continue sending my staff a catered lunch every day, they prefer sweet tea and lemonade over Coke.”

I smiled and kissed her neck. “I’ll have it changed by tomorrow. How many minutes do you have left on your break?”

“Ten.” She rolled her eyes and stepped back. “Is that a no to changing wedding planners?”

“It’s a maybe because this is your third wedding planner...Are you trying to stall marrying me?”

“What? Of course not... I just want our wedding to be perfect. And actually, I’ve been reading a few in-depth articles about huge weddings and most of them agree that the ideal planning period is six months to a year.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that I think you should re-consider the time limit you gave me because that’s not enough to even scrape the surface of everything I want to do...Since you claim you want nothing more than to make me happy, I think you should be a bit more generous when it comes to this—especially since this day is so important.”

“Claire...” I looked directly into her eyes. “I’m going to say this one last time and I’m never going to say it again. You have three months to plan this wedding. Three. Months. Period. I do want nothing more than to make you happy, and by the way you scream my name every night, I’m pretty sure I’m doing a damn good job. That said, I’m not waiting any longer than ninety days. And trust me, I’m being more than generous.”

“Jonathan—”

“If it had been up to me, I would’ve married you the day after I proposed. But since you insist on having a wedding, you need to figure out a way to plan it within that timeframe. If you have a problem with twelve weeks and an unlimited budget, or if you even try to push this wedding back by one f**king second, we’re getting married in a courthouse and you’ll be planning an after party.”

She narrowed her eyes at me and I pulled her back into my arms. “Why didn’t you tell me about your high school reunion being in California? Don’t you think that’s why Ryan would be in town?”

“I guess I wasn’t thinking about that...” She shook her head. “The reunion is always in California and he’s never bothered me before so...”

“You don’t want to go?”

“No. I never go.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to see him or her...I can’t handle being in the same room with either of them—ever.” She gave me one last kiss and untangled herself from my embrace. “I have to get back to work so I’ll see you at home. And before you ask—Yes, I’m redesigning the living room again this week. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“At six?”

“At six.” She smiled as she left my office, and I knew damn well she wasn’t going to be home by six. She never was.

After she left my office, I went back to examining Ryan’s files. Even though he was in San Francisco two weeks before the reunion, he wasn’t one of the “planning assistants” and he still hadn’t responded to the actual invitation—which meant he definitely wasn’t here for that.

He was here for something else...

“Okay. Jonathan, Denise, we’re in the closing minutes of this session.” Miss Tate looked over at my mother. “In all honesty, how do you think today went?”

I think we’re really making progress,” she said as she tied a scarf around her neck. “I feel like we’re getting somewhere.”

“We are.” I sighed. “If you keep behaving, I might invite you to the wedding.”

“Excuse me? What wedding?”

“My wedding.”

“You’re engaged?” Her eyes widened. “To Claire?”

“Is that a problem?”

Miss Tate tapped her notebook. “We can discuss that next time. No new conversation topics within the last ten minutes, remember?”

“Let me get this straight.” My mother ignored her. “You’re about to get married and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think you would care.”

“It’s been over eight months, Jonathan.” She sighed. “I’ve apologized to you, I’ve sent Claire god-knows how-many letters in the mail, and I would really like to have a functioning relationship with at least one of my children. I shouldn’t have to beg for that.” She looked over at Miss Tate. “Should I?”

There was silence. I didn’t feel like going into a deep conversation with her today. I was fine with the molasses-speed progress we were making and I had no desire to fully integrate her back into my life.

I stood up and shook Miss Tate’s hand. “As always, thank you for mediating these sessions, Miss Tate. Mother, Greg is downstairs waiting to take you home.”