I had expected my mother’s wedding at 70 to be a simple, heartwarming affair—until she grabbed the microphone and announced an unexpected rule for whoever caught her bouquet. I stepped back, determined to avoid it. But fate had other plans—the bouquet landed right in my hands.
Standing in the kitchen, I watched as my mother flitted around the table, adjusting napkins, rearranging place cards, and fussing over color schemes as if the success of the entire universe depended on them. She was radiant, practically glowing with excitement, while I was still struggling to wrap my head around the fact that this was actually happening.
“Mom, are you serious? You’re seventy-nine and getting married?”
She barely looked up, a mischievous smile spreading across her face.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, darling. This isn’t the end of the world—it’s the start of a brand-new adventure!”
She looked exactly as she had in her twenties—eyes sparkling with that same reckless enthusiasm that made arguing with her completely 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 your disastrous marriage left you disillusioned with love, but I haven’t stopped believing in it. Harold makes me laugh. He makes me feel alive again.”
I sighed, watching her. She was fearless, determined, and impossibly stubborn. There was no changing her mind once it was made up.
“So, the wedding is already planned?”
“Guests invited, dress picked, menu finalized.”
“This is insane.”
“This is life, sweetheart,” she said with a sly smile. “And you should start living it instead of hiding behind your cynicism.”
I clenched my jaw. My mother had an uncanny ability to bring up my divorce at the worst moments.
I thought back to that day—the moment I walked through the door expecting nothing unusual, only to find my husband’s suitcases lined up by the entrance. He turned to me with a detached expression and announced he had fallen for someone else. Someone younger. Someone fun.
After that, love had seemed like an overpriced scam—a fairy tale designed to fool women into believing in happily-ever-afters, only for their so-called prince to grow bored and move on.
“You know,” my mother’s voice pulled me back, “I’ve planned something fun for my favorite girls at the wedding.”
“Girls?”
“You, my dear, and my lovely granddaughters.”
She beamed at me, eyes twinkling in a way that made me uneasy.
“Mom…”
“Trust me,” she said, waving a hand. “You’re going to love it.”
I highly doubted that.
The day of the wedding arrived, and life had its own way of reminding me that I wasn’t in control of anything.
On my way to the grand estate where the ceremony was being held, my tire went flat in the middle of nowhere. No gas stations. No passing cars. Just me, a useless phone signal, and my own terrible luck.
I stepped out, muttering a few choice words under my breath, just as a sleek pickup truck pulled up beside me.
“Need some help, lady?”
I rolled my eyes before even turning around.
The man standing beside the truck was tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and wearing a cocky grin that immediately irritated me.
“My tire’s flat,” I replied dryly.
“Oh, that’s an easy fix. Give me five minutes, and you’ll be on your way.”
“Are you a mechanic?”
“Nope, but you’re not really going to 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 could use a few,” he smirked, kneeling beside my car.
I exhaled sharply and turned away, only to hear a car door creak open.
“Are you serious, Nick?” came a sharp female voice.
I turned to see a tall, blonde woman leaning out from the passenger seat, looking thoroughly annoyed.
“Just a minute, Julie,” he called over his shoulder.
She shot me a glare—her irritation quickly shifting into something almost hostile. Then, with a huff, she sank back into her seat.
Typical. Just my luck. A man with his own tangled love story. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get to the wedding and put this day behind me.
The wedding was extravagant. My mother was glowing, Harold was grinning from ear to ear, and the guests were reveling in the celebration. Then, my mother stepped up to the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the bouquet toss!”
Cheers erupted. My nieces moved forward, already preparing for battle.
“And whoever catches it,” she announced, “will receive my cherished sapphire ring!”
A ripple of excitement swept through the crowd.
“But there’s one condition,” she added, raising a finger. “The winner must go on a date with someone of my choosing!”
Oh no.
I took a step back.
Then my mother turned, winked at me—yes, she actually winked—adjusted her stance… and tossed the bouquet. Directly. At. Me.
I didn’t react in time. The bouquet landed squarely in my hands. Silence. Then, an explosion of cheers.
I stood there, stunned, as my mother beamed. “Congratulations, sweetheart!”
“This is a joke,” I whispered.
“A deal is a deal,” she grinned.
“And… who exactly am I supposed to be going on a date with?”
Her grin widened. “Nick, dear, come on up!”
I turned sharply.
Of course.
Nick—Mr. Cocky Tire-Fixer himself—strode forward, looking entirely too amused. He raised an eyebrow. “Well, well. Looks like fate wants us to have dinner.”
Behind him, Julie let out a loud, outraged scoff.
I turned back to my mother. “Absolutely not.”
She took my arm, leaning in. “Please, sweetheart. Just this once. As a wedding gift to me.”
Before I could refuse, she waved Nick over and disappeared into the dancing crowd.
Nick smirked. “So, when’s our big date?”
I sighed. “Let’s just get this over with. One date. That’s it.”
“Perfect. Name the time and place, and I’ll be there.”
“Saturday. 7 p.m. Vincenzo’s downtown.”
“Fancy,” he teased. “I’m honored.”
I rolled my eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to pretend this never happened.”
As I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of Nick heading straight for Julie. She was still fuming, but he just grinned, said something in a low voice, and—much to my disbelief—took her by the hand and led her onto the dance floor.
I’d seen enough.
I skipped the wedding cake, grabbed my purse, and left. One thought played over and over in my mind—why on earth was my mother doing this to me?
The night of the date arrived. I sat at the café, fingers drumming on the table, determined to get this over with.
Right on time, Nick walked in. Dressed in a crisp button-down and dark jeans, he looked annoyingly put-together.
“Wow,” he said, sliding into the seat. “You actually showed up. Thought I’d get a ‘Dear John’ note instead.”
“Trust me, I considered it.”
He laughed. “See? That’s why I like you. Brutally honest. Refreshing.”
Just as I started thinking he wasn’t the worst company, his phone rang.
He barely glanced at the screen before declining. A minute later, it rang again. This time, he sighed and answered.
“Julie… yeah, I know. Just calm down, alright?”
I crossed my arms. Of course.
He hung up and gave me an apologetic look. “I have to go.”
“Let me guess—Julie?”
“Yeah.”
I smirked dryly. “Figures.”
As he walked out, I stared at my untouched coffee, shaking my head.
I knew my mother’s matchmaking was a bad idea—but even I hadn’t expected her to set me up with a man who couldn’t even get through a single date without ditching me for someone else.