With This Fling (Summersweet Island 5)

As a professional athlete, Palmer definitely has the bigger guest list and the more impressive one. There will be a bunch of other professional athletes here on the island for the wedding, a few ESPN reporters who will be here as friends instead of in a professional capacity, Curtis Rockwell, one of my favorite celebrity chefs from the show Chef to Go on the Adventure Channel, three Hollywood actors, as well as the small team of people who work for Palmer. It’s all very exciting, and I fully understand Birdie’s need to panic, even though she has absolutely nothing to worry about.

Palmer’s family is sadly not a part of his life and won’t be attending the wedding, because they’re selfish jerks. But thankfully, he has more than enough people who do love and support him, who will be here for their big day. And those people don’t care one bit if every single thing isn’t perfect.

Regardless, Birdie has still been a little on edge, making sure the wedding guests will enjoy their time here. She put together little welcome baskets for everyone that will be waiting for them in their rooms at the Summersweet Island Hotel when they arrive sporadically over the next week. She set up golf cart rentals for all of them to get around the island, and she organized a bunch of activities leading up to the wedding. All of that on top of the last-minute preparations for the actual wedding. Thankfully, today was her last day working at the golf course for the next few weeks, and she has one less thing to worry about. We’ve all tried to help Birdie as much as possible, but she’s a stubborn one and prefers to handle things on her own.

She definitely gets that from me.

“I will stop by Birdie and Palmer’s cottage on my way home from work and kindly tell her to calm the fuck down,” I reassure Wren, always willing to do whatever I can to help my kids when they need it. Even if that means telling one daughter off for the other.

“Make sure you call first. One or both of them will most likely be naked and trying to make you another grandchild,” she complains with a sigh, grabbing a bag of sugar cones from under the counter and refilling their dispenser on the wall that’s gotten low. “I’ve seen my future brother-in-law’s bare ass running away one too many times at this point. No more unexpected visits, ever.”

I chuckle and shake my head at my hypocritical daughter.

“Do you know how many times I’ve walked into this ice cream stand to find you in a compromising position with Shepherd?” I remind her, taking the empty plastic bag from her hand when she’s finished with the cones and walking it over to the garbage can.

“Right, and you broke one of the shelves in the walk-in freezer when you brought a guy back here after hours,” Wren counters with a snort, grabbing a wet rag from the sink and wiping down the front counter. “We all have issues.”

Me and my girls are close. Being a young, single mother and having to fill the role of both parents, I have always been open and honest with them about everything, and we have always talked about everything. Some people probably think we overshare with each other, but it’s scary as hell raising not just one but two girls alone. I would much rather they tell me everything than keep me out of their lives and tell me nothing.

Plus, I’m fifty-four years old, and my girls are in their thirties. I don’t really care what anyone thinks about my relationship with them or how I live my life. I cared in my twenties. I cared in my thirties. I even cared for a little bit in my forties. But now, I’m too busy dealing with hot flashes, suddenly wanting to cry one minute and then flip a table the next, and forgetting what I just walked into the room to grab as soon as I got there. I don’t have time to care if Debbie down at the golf cart gas station doesn’t think my daughter should tell me she’ll be late coming into work because she needs to recover from morning sex with her fiancé.

Mind your business, Debbie.

“You also need to tell Birdie if you’re bringing a plus-one to the wedding before her head explodes, thinking the caterer will completely run out of food if she doesn’t tell them about this one single plate,” Wren reminds me, turning away to take a customer’s order who just walked up to the window.

My skin suddenly gets hot and sticky in the air-conditioned ice cream stand, and I can’t even blame it on a hot flash. This is 100 percent brought on by panic. The same panic I’ve felt every time Birdie has asked me if I’m bringing a guest to her wedding, and the same reason I’ve suddenly got an annoying voice in my head, questioning my happiness.

“It’s not like you don’t have your choice of men to pick from. And I use the term men loosely, considering the last one still lived at home with his mommy, and instead of kissing you goodnight, he asked if you’d make a video with him for social media.” Wren snorts as she grabs a Styrofoam bowl and starts filling it with ice cream for a hot fudge sundae.

I grab a towel from the counter next to me and chuck it right at the back of her head. “I’ll have you know his mother was a lovely woman who gave me lots of encouragement when it took me seven tries to get that dance right,” I argue. “And then we realized we went to girl scout camp together on the mainland when we were nine. You know, since we’re the same age and all, and well… the date pretty much crashed and burned at that point.”

It’s true; I date a lot. And those dates usually happen with men who are closer to my daughters’ ages than my own. The one benefit of being a young mother is that you’re still young when your kids move out. Like I was really going to just sit around feeling sorry for myself with an empty nest and not go out. I wanted to live my life, do whatever and whoever I wanted, and have all the fun I didn’t get to have when I was younger while I was busy making sure my girls grew up well-rounded human beings and running my own business.

Giving up on the idea of my own happily ever after when the girls’ dad walked away, I’ve had quite a fine time dating nothing but younger men. I like their energy, and I like that they’re always up for trying new things. They’re scared of commitment, they don’t ask any questions when you want all the lights off before you get naked, and they just want to have fun. And I really like that I can kick them to the curb before anyone develops any feelings or gets attached, then not feel an ounce of guilt over it.

They’re young. They’ll bounce back quickly. And they still have their whole lives ahead of them to date plenty more women. Women who will always wonder how their man learned to do that thing with his tongue. I really am doing a wonderful service for womankind if you think about it.

Regardless of what the voice in my head is trying to tell me, I am perfectly happy living my life this way. Or at least I was until it came time to make Birdie’s guest list a few months ago, and I suddenly started questioning all my life choices. The idea of going alone is depressing as hell. But I’m not going to drag a random date to the classy wedding of my second-born at the Summersweet Island Golf Course and have to look at this person I don’t know or care about in wedding album photos for the rest of my life. I do have some standards.

After all these years of being a strong, single, independent woman who has successfully raised two amazing daughters alone and assisted in raising the equally amazing Emily and Tess, I’m suddenly sad that I don’t have a plus-one. I want to cry at the thought of going to such a momentous occasion for my daughter with no one special to share it with. With no one’s hand to squeeze the first time I see Birdie in her gown with her hair and makeup done and my mother’s veil on her head, giving me the strength not to completely break down in tears. With no one’s arm wrapped securely around me, holding me up when my daughter officially walks away from me and down the aisle for someone else to take care of.

I’m surrounded by all of these wonderful human beings I’ve watched grow into adults, and I’m witnessing how blissfully happy they are having men in their lives who adore them, and it’s hit me that I’m the only one still alone. I’m the only one with nobody to go home to at the end of the night. Single, carefree Laura Bennett, that’s me! Except it doesn’t feel very good being this person anymore.

I’ve had an empty nest since Birdie went to college and wanted to have her freedom and independence, even though she went to school locally. My home is rarely empty with such a big family and with people stopping by at all hours. But when it is empty, I’ve never been bothered by the quiet or having my alone time. I don’t know why being by myself is suddenly freaking me out after all this time, and I don’t like it one bit.

“Here’s a brand-new idea,” Wren says, turning back to face me after handing the customer their sundae and giving them their change. “Instead of bringing some random, young guy to the wedding who calls everyone ‘bruh’ and owns ten Nirvana T-shirts even though he wouldn’t be able to name one Nirvana song if his life depended on it, how about you bring an actual adult. Someone with a 401K, who can do math in his head without the calculator app on his phone, who doesn’t get all of his world event knowledge by checking to see what hashtag is trending, and who can read cursive handwriting. Someone with potential, who you have things in common with and could maybe see yourself falling in love with.”

Butterflies start flapping around in a panic in my stomach, even though my daughter just basically insulted me and my dating choices. Pressing my hand against it, I shake my head at Wren as she walks by me to go to the industrial fridge against the back wall to put away the milk she grabbed for a shake.

“Yeah, not gonna happen.” I laugh uncomfortably. “You know I don’t do love. I’m too old for that nonsense anyway. I much prefer quick, meaningless sex with a man whose name I don’t have to worry about remembering the next morning. Love is definitely not on the menu.”

And this is why you aren’t happy with your life anymore, even though you say you are.

Wren rolls her eyes at me, and I roll my eyes at the stupid voice in my head. When she nudges her chin at me as she shuts the fridge door, indicating there’s a customer at the window behind me, I’m thankful this conversation is put on hold for a moment. Turning around, I paste a big smile on my face.

“Welcome to the Dip and Twist. What can I get you?”

“Not quite sure I want anything, now that I know love isn’t on the menu.”