Before entering the dining room, she takes a sharp right to exit the event. We find ourselves at the edge of the hotel’s lobby.
“Don’t you have to join your dinner table?” I ask, confused.
“Why did you do that? Why did you offer my mother something so extravagant?”
Despite asking such a loaded question, Elise’s expression is sweet and tender. Her eyes are glassy, lips impossibly supple, and body so damn soft. I, on the other hand…
“Randall.”
That jolts me out of my trance. I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “My agent is always bugging me about tax write-offs, so—”
“Bullshit,” she mumbles. It’s a harsh word, but she doesn’t look mad. Just curious.
I shrug because she’s right. The last thing I was thinking about when I made the bid was my agent or taxes. There was no intention beyond dropping off the Mavericks tickets tonight, but nothing could stop me once the opportunity presented itself.
Seeing the trip reminded me of Elise. I didn’t want anyone else to win a trip that perfectly fit her interests. In a split second, I resolved to win it. My bid reflected that intention. There was no plan beyond securing the prize. I figured there would be time to think about how to present the possibility.
Possibility of what? Fuck if I know.
However, when put on the spotlight with a room full of people, I remembered how Elise would want her mother to resume traveling. It’s amazing how much she thinks of Geraldine’s happiness and vice versa. I witnessed their closeness firsthand. It felt right to make both their wishes come true.
That impulse was compounded by another realization: my mother would have enjoyed London, I think. She was a simple, stay-at-home mom who lived for her boys, but she also had an adventurous streak.
“You talked about Geraldine missing out on her travels. I figured this is a nice kick start, yeah?”
“It’s too much, Randall. She got carried away by the moment, but I know her. When she gets home, she’ll feel bad about taking the trip from you. Then she’ll have questions about us and…” She pauses.
I have to remind myself to breathe. “And?”
“And what do I tell her?”
“That I’m a nice guy who likes to do things for his friends.”
“And his friends’ mothers? Really?”
I squeeze the hand entwined with mine. How do I express what has been percolating under the surface of my subconscious since they had me over for dinner last night?
Seeing Elise with her mother makes me miss Margaret Haughland something fierce.
“I never got to do anything extravagant for my mother, because she died before I collected my first NHL paycheck.”
Elise’s free hand flies to her gaping mouth. She makes a choking sound and her eyes well up.
“Oh, Randall.”
Her arms wrap around my waist, and she presses her ear against my heart. We embrace quietly for a while, everything falling away as I fill my senses with Elise’s pliant body, her womanly aroma, her red dress. When she looks up at me, her eyes are a somber hue of dark brown.
“Do you really have to leave?”
“I can’t stay for dinner, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye.”
“Then don’t. Let’s go for a drive.” I light up at the possibility of leaving with Elise. “I can’t be seen partying around town, but I can go for a drive with my friend,” I add to convince her. I don’t sound desperate at all.
“Great idea. Yeah, let’s do it. I’ll text my mom so they start dinner without me.”
“She won’t be mad because I took you away?” I say to be polite. Meanwhile, I’m cupping her elbow so I can lead her to the exit before she changes her mind.
