“She loves Kevin,” Mom responds defensively. “Engagements don’t need to last long to be meaningful. It doesn’t take a long-term relationship to realize you’re with the love of your life. It’s time for you to grow up and find love too. Find the right person to spend the rest of your life with. One day I’ll die, and when I do, I want to go knowing my children are happy.”

“I’m happy, Mom,” I say, annoyed by the guilt trip. “You’re fifty-eight and healthy. Please, don’t start blackmailing me the way Grandma does to you.”

I tap on my desk, trying to keep my thoughts to myself. Women are unpredictable. I don’t claim to understand them, but there are a few things I’ve learned during my thirty-four years on this earth.

One, they take it upon themselves to try to fix us, whether we’re broken or not. Two, arguing with them is pointless. Three, they rarely take no for an answer.

Fighting with Mom is a losing battle 99.9% of the time, and she doesn’t understand the meaning of the word no.

Unless she’s the one saying it to us.

Most days, my own mother is my biggest adversary, but I adore the woman. Crystal Archer isn’t to be taken lightly.

“Everybody dies, Miller. I could die right now and what’s the last memory I’d take with me?” She pauses, and I take a big breath, staring out the window as I wait for her to hit me with the guilt trip. “You refusing to go to your sister’s wedding.”

Clumps of wet snow fall mindlessly down. Large snowdrifts cover the branches, buildings, and cars moving along the I-25 corridor. It’s just another day in Denver. A blinding sea of white against the asphalt. Leaving this cold city to enjoy a few days in tropical weather would be a smart move. Except I’d have to deal with my family for four long days.

“Milo, sweetie,” she calls me by the nickname she’s used for me since I was four. I hate it so much. “I’m worried about you. I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” I say, sighing. “I’ll be even happier if I can skip Lola’s wedding.”

“Are you dating again?” She doesn’t acknowledge my plea.

Am I dating?

Is she for real?

Fuck, why would I want to date? The last time I was in a relationship, it fucked me up seven ways to Sunday. Been there, done that. I have the fucking T-shirt to show for it.

Thank you, but no thank you.

“Because Kelly’s daughter is coming to the wedding. Remember her? Stacey Remington.”

“Mom, please don’t set me up.”

“She’s one of the bridesmaids.”

I don’t care who she is. Do not set me up!

“Mom, I already have a girlfriend,” I lie.