Two
“Mom, do you want to borrow my skirt?”
Joan held up a skimpy piece of denim that was her all-time favorite.
“No thanks, sweetheart.”
Diana was standing in front of the mirror in her bathroom, wearing only her slip and bra.
“But, Mom, this skirt is the absolute!”
Diana sighed. “I appreciate the offer, sweetie, but it’s about four sizes too small. Besides, I have no intention of looking like Katy Perry.”
“But Cliff’s so handsome.”
Leave it to Joan to notice that.
This year Diana had seen a major transformation take hold of her elder daughter.
After one week of fifth grade, Joan had wanted her ears pierced and would have killed for fake nails.
The youngster argued that Diana was being completely unreasonable to make her wait until junior high before wearing makeup.
Everyone wore eye shadow and Diana must have been reared in the Middle Ages if she didn’t know that. Boys were quickly becoming all-important, too. Fifth grade! How times had changed.
“Are you going to wear your pearl earrings?”
Joan asked next.
The pair were Diana’s best and saved for only the most festive occasions. “I—I’m not sure.”
She wasn’t sure about anything. Shirley seemed convinced Diana was making the mistake of her life by having anything to do with Cliff.
Her neighbor claimed he was a notorious playboy who would end up breaking her fragile heart.
He was sophisticated, urbane and completely ruthless about using his polished good looks to get what he wanted from a woman, or so Shirley claimed.
Next she had admitted that she was half in love with him herself, but as Diana’s self-appointed guardian, Shirley couldn’t bear thinking what could happen to her friend in the hands of Cliff Howard.
After Shirley’s briefing, Diana was too curious to find out to consider canceling the date.
“Mom, the earrings,”
Joan repeated impatiently.
Her daughter’s shrill voice broke into Diana’s thoughts. “I don’t think so.”
“Do it, Mom.”
“But if I wear them now, I won’t have anything to razzle-dazzle Cliff with later.”
Joan chewed on the corner of her lower lip, grudgingly accepting her mother’s decision. “Right, but what about your hair?”
“What about it?”
Diana’s hair was styled the way she always wore it, parted on the side and feathered back away from her face.
Joan looked unsure. “You look so ordinary, like this is an everyday date or something.”
“I don’t think now would be the time to experiment with something different.”
“I suppose you’re right,”
Joan admitted reluctantly.
Diana checked her watch; she had plenty of time, but the way Joan kept suggesting changes wasn’t doing a whole lot for her self-confidence.
Maybe her daughter was right, and it was time to do something different with her hair and makeup.
But age thirty was upon her, and no matter how she parted her hair or applied her makeup, she wasn’t going to look like Stacey Q., Joan’s favorite female rock star.
Well, almost favorite. Stacey Q. ran a close second to Katy Perry.
When Diana came out of the bathroom, she discovered her daughter sorting through her closet. “I have what I’m going to wear on the bed.”
“But, Mom, black pants and a blouse are so boring.”
“The blouse is silk,”
she told her coaxingly.
“Men like black silk, not white.”
Diana preferred not to know where Joan had gotten that little tidbit of information. The child was amazing. While Diana slipped into the pants, Joan lay across the queen-size mattress and propped her chin up with her hands.
“You know who Cliff reminds me of?”
Joan asked with a dreamy look clouding her blue eyes.
“Who?”
“Christian Bale.”
“Who?”
Diana stopped dressing long enough to turn around and face her daughter.
“You know, the actor.”
Diana sighed. “I suppose he does faintly resemble him, but Cliff’s hair is dark.”
“Cliff’s hot stuff, Mom. He’s going to make your blood boil.”
“Joan, for heaven’s sake. The way things are going, I may never see him again after tonight.”
Alarmed, Joan bolted upright. “Why not?”
“Well, for one thing my clothes are boring, and for another I don’t look a thing like Katy Perry and my hair’s all wrong.”
“I didn’t say that,”
Joan returned defensively.
The doorbell chimed and Joan tore out of the room. “It’s him. I’ll get it.”
Diana let out an exasperated breath, squared her shoulders and did one last check in the mirror.
She’d dressed sensibly, hoping to be tactful enough to remind Cliff that she was a widow and a mother.
According to Shirley, Cliff had previously dated beauty queens, centerfolds and an occasional actress. Diana was “none of the above.”
Her reflection revealed round eyes and a falsely cheerful smile. Good enough, she decided as she reached for her sweater and placed it over her arm; nights still tended to be nippy in May.
Joan came rushing back to the bedroom. “He brought you flowers,”
she announced in a husky whisper. “Mom,”
she continued, placing her hand over her heart, “he’s so-o-o handsome.”
As Joan had claimed, Cliff stood inside the living room with a small bouquet of red roses and pink carnations. It had been so long since a man had given her flowers that Diana’s throat constricted and she couldn’t think of a single word to say.
He smiled, and the sun became brighter. Shirley was right. This man was too much for a mere widow.
“You look lovely.”
Somehow Diana managed a feeble thank-you.
“Mom’s got terrific legs,”
Joan inserted smoothly, standing between Diana and Cliff and glancing from one to the other. “I keep telling her that she ought to show them off more often.”
She slapped her hands against her sides. “But my mother never listens to me.”
Diana glared at her daughter but said nothing. “I’ll find a vase for these.”
As she left the room, Joan’s chatter drifted after her. Her daughter found it important that Cliff know she was much too old to have a babysitter. Katie was over at the Holidays’, but at eleven, Joan was far too mature to have anyone look after her.
“I thought you had baseball practice?”
Diana heard Cliff ask.
“Normally I do,”
Joan explained with a patient sigh, “but I skipped today because my mother needed me.”
Diana reappeared and Joan escorted the couple to the front door.
It was on the tip of Diana’s tongue to remind Joan of the house rules when she was alone, but one desperate glance begged her not to.
Diana grudgingly complied and said everything that was needed with one stern look.
“Have a good time,”
Joan said cheerfully, holding the front door open. “And, Cliff, you can bring Mom home late. She doesn’t have a curfew.”
“I’ll have her back before midnight,”
Cliff promised.
Joan nodded approvingly. “And don’t worry, Mom, I’ll take care of everything here.”
That was what concerned Diana most. She kissed Joan’s cheek and whispered, “Remember, bedtime is nine.”
Shirley would be over then to sit with the girls until Diana returned.
“Mom,”
Joan said under her breath, “you’re treating me like a child.”
Diana smiled apologetically. However, it would be just like her daughter to wait up half the night to hear the details of this date, and Diana couldn’t face Joan and Shirley together.
Cliff’s sports car was parked in front of the house.
It was a two-seater that Diana couldn’t identify.
Cool.
Very cool. He held open the door and helped her inside. She mumbled her thanks, feeling self-conscious and out of her element. Diana drove a ten-year-old SUV and wouldn’t know the difference between a BMW and an MGB.
Cliff joined her a moment later, inserted the key in the ignition and turned to her, smiling. “Is she always like that?”
“Always. I hope she didn’t embarrass you.”
“Not at all.”
He looked more amused than anything.
“I sometimes wonder if I’m going to survive motherhood,”
Diana commented, her hands clenching her purse.
“You seem to be doing an admirable job.”
“Thanks.”
But Cliff hadn’t seen her at her worst.
Katie called her the screaming meemie when she let loose.
Diana didn’t lose her cool often, but enough for the girls to know that the best thing for them to do was nod politely and agree to everything she shouted, no matter how unreasonable.
Cliff started the engine, doing his best to hold back his amusement.
This daughter of Diana’s was something else.
He’d been looking forward to seeing this widow all day. He continued to be confounded by the attraction he felt for her. True, she was pretty enough, but years older than the women he normally dated. Diana had to be close to his age.
Several times during the day, he’d discovered his thoughts drifting to her, wondering what she was doing and what catastrophe she was fearlessly facing now.
After he’d finished with her sink, he’d gone to the Holidays’ and drilled George, wanting to ferret out every detail about Diana he could.
Shirley arrived home then, and when she learned that he planned to take Diana to dinner, her disapproval had been tangible. She’d mumbled some dire warning about the wrath of God coming down upon his head if he ever hurt Diana.
However, it was never Cliff’s intent to hurt any woman.
He realized George and his other golfing friends credited him with the playboy image, but he wasn’t Hugh Hefner.
He wasn’t even close. Oh, there’d been a few relationships over the years, but very few. It was true that most women found him attractive, and it was also fair to say he liked variety. The truth was his reputation far outdistanced reality.
When Cliff had drilled his friend about Diana, George hadn’t been able to say enough good things about the young widow.
To escape Shirley’s threats, the two men had gone to the local pub and talked late into the night.
Cliff went away satisfied that he’d learned everything George knew about his next-door neighbor.
In the car seat, Diana clasped and unclasped her purse.
She was nervous.
She hadn’t felt this uptight since . . . never, she decided. A man had stepped out of the pages of Gentlemen’s Quarterly and into her life.
This shouldn’t be happening to her. Events like that were reserved for fairy tales and gossip magazines. Not widows whose money couldn’t stretch till the end of the month.
Diana wanted to stand Shirley up against a wall and shoot her for filling her with doubts.
One date! What possible damage could one dinner date do? The one and only time she was interested in finding out details about a man, and all Shirley could do was point out that Diana was headed down the road to destruction.
Shirley claimed lesser women crumbled under Cliff’s charm. He broke their hearts, but he hated to see them cry. Diana, according to Shirley, was too gentle natured to be hurt by this playboy.
Consequently Diana didn’t know anything more about Cliff than she had when he’d left her house the night before.
“How do you know George?”
she asked, breaking the silence.
“George and I golf together,”
Cliff explained.
George was a real sports fanatic.
“Do you play?”
Cliff asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
No time. She was the room mother for Katie’s second grade class, did volunteer work at the elementary school the girls attended, taught Sunday school and was heavily involved in Girl Scouts. “I used to play tennis, though,”
she added quickly. “Used to” being the operative expression. Every Thursday had been her morning on the court, but that was before Joan was born and . . . oh, good grief, that was eleven years ago. Where had all the years gone?
They arrived at the Chinese restaurant and were seated in a secluded booth. “This place isn’t high on atmosphere, but I promise you the food’s terrific,”
Cliff said.
Diana studied the menu, and her stomach growled just reading over the varied list of entrées. If the food tasted half as good as it sounded, she would be satisfied. “You needn’t worry,”
she said, “I’m easy to please. Anything that I don’t have to cook is fine by me.”
The waiter appeared, and they placed their order. Diana cradled a small teacup in both hands. “I know you fix leaky sinks in your spare time, but what do you normally do?”
“I’m an attorney.”
His gaze settled on her mouth. “Are you a working mother?”
Diana bit back a defensive reply. A man who had never been married wouldn’t appreciate the fact that every mother was a working mother. “Not outside the house,”
she explained simply. “I keep thinking I should find a part-time job, but I’m delaying it as long as possible.”
“What have you trained for?”
“Motherhood.”
Cliff grinned.
“I suppose that sounds old-fashioned. But you have to remember that Stan and I married only a few months after I graduated from community college. The first couple of years, while Stan worked for Boeing, I attended classes at the University of Washington, but I got pregnant with Joan and didn’t earn enough credits for a degree. At one time I’d hoped to enter the nursing profession, but that was years ago.”
Their hot-and-sour soup arrived. “Why don’t you do that now?”
Cliff wanted to know.
“I could,”
she admitted, and shrugged, “but I feel it’s too important to spend time with the girls. They still need me. I’m all they’ve got and I’d hate to be torn between attending Joan’s baseball games and doing homework, or squeezing in an additional night class.”
She paused and dipped her spoon in the thick soup. “Maybe that’s an excuse, but my children are the most important investment I have in this life. I want to be there for them.”
“What if your husband were alive?”
“Then I’d probably be in nursing school. The responsibilities of raising the girls would be shared.”
She hesitated. She doubted that Cliff would understand any of this—a bachelor wouldn’t. “To be honest, I’m not toying with the idea of getting a part-time job because I want one. Money is tight and it gets tighter every year. I suppose by the time Joan’s in junior high, the option will be taken away from me, but by then both girls will be better able to deal with my being away from home so much.”
“Joan seemed eager enough to have you leave tonight.”
Diana nodded, hiding a smile. “That’s because she thinks you look like Christian Bale.”
“I’m flattered.”
Diana noted that she didn’t need to explain to him that Christian Bale was an actor. “I hope you don’t find this rude, but how old are you, Cliff?”
Diana knew she was older. She had to be—if not in years, then experience.
“How old do you think?”
She shrugged. “Twenty-five, maybe twenty-six.”
“How old are you?”
A hundred and ten some days. Fifteen on others. “Thirty last September.”
His grin was almost boyish. “I’m thirty-one.”
The conversation turned then, and they discussed local politics. Although they took opposing points of view, Diana noted that he respected her opinions and didn’t try to sway her to his way of thinking. Cliff was far more liberal than Diana. Her views tended to be conservative.
From their conversation, she discovered other tidbits of information about him. He skied, and had a condo at Alpental on Snoqualmie Pass. His sailboat was docked at the Des Moines Marina and he enjoyed sailing, but didn’t get out often enough. He was allergic to strawberries.
Diana hated to see the evening end. It had been years since she’d had such a fun date. Cliff was easy to talk to, and she was astonished when she happened to notice the time. They’d been sitting in the booth talking for nearly three hours.
“How about a movie?”
he suggested on the way to the restaurant parking lot.
Regretfully Diana shook her head. “Sorry, Cliff, but it’s after ten. I should think about heading back.”
It looked for a moment as though he wanted to argue with her, but he changed his mind. Diana was sure that most of his dates didn’t need to rush home. More than likely they lingered over wine in front of a romantic fireplace, shared a few kisses and probably more. It was the “probably more”
that got her heart pumping. It would be a foolish mistake to let this relationship advance beyond friendship. All right, she admitted it. She was attracted to the man. Good grief, what red-blooded female wouldn’t be? But they lived in different worlds. Cliff was part of the swinging singles scene and she was like a modern-day Betsy Ross, doing needlepoint in her rocking chair in front of the television.
“You’re looking thoughtful,”
he said as they left the restaurant.
“I do?”
she murmured.
Once again he opened the car door for her, and she scooted inside as gracefully as she could manage. Again her fingers moved to the clasp on her purse. For some reason she was nervous again. She liked Cliff more than any man she’d dated since Stan’s death, but it went without saying that she wasn’t the woman for him.
Cliff pulled out of the parking lot and was soon on the freeway heading south. They chatted easily, and Diana could see where Cliff would make a good attorney. He could be persuasive when he wanted to be. Darn persuasive.
“That was my exit,”
she told him when he drove past it. She jerked her head over her shoulder as though it were possible for them to reverse their direction.
“I know.”
“Where are you taking me?”
She was more amused than irritated.
“If you must know, I want to kiss you and I wasn’t exactly thrilled to do it in front of an audience.”
As Joan had predicted it would, Diana’s blood reached the simmering point. A kiss would quickly accelerate it to the boiling stage.
“Joan and Katie will be in bed by now.”
He needn’t worry about them peeking through the living room drapes.
“I was thinking more of George and Shirley,”
Cliff told her.
Diana laughed; he was probably right. She could picture Shirley waiting by her front window, drapes parted, staring at the street.
Cliff took the next exit to the small community in the south end of Seattle called Des Moines. “I want you to see something,”
he explained.
“Your sailboat?”
“No,”
he said softly. “The stars.”
Romantic, too! She could resist anything but romance. It wasn’t fair that in a few hours he could narrow in on her weaknesses and break down all her well-constructed defenses.
There were several dozen cars in the huge parking lot. A wonderful seafood restaurant was an attraction that brought many out on a lovely spring evening.
Cliff parked as far away from the restaurant as he could. He turned off the ignition and climbed out of the car. By the time he was around to her side, Diana’s heart was pounding so hard it threatened to break her ribs.
With his arm draped around her shoulders, Cliff led her down onto the wharf. The night was lovely. A soft breeze drifted off the water and the scent of seaweed and salt mingled with the crisp air. The sky was blanketed in black velvet, and the sparkling stars dotted the heavens like diamonds.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
she said, experiencing the wonder of standing beneath a canopy of such splendor.
Cliff’s answer was to turn her in his arms. She looked up at him, and her hair fell away from her face. He raised his hands to touch her cheeks and stared down at her. His fingertips slowly glided over each feature. Such smooth skin, warm and silky, and eyes that could rip apart a man’s heart. Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers, denying himself the pleasure for as long as he could endure it.
Their mouths gently brushed against each other’s like rose petals caught in a breeze. Velvety smooth. Soft and warm. Infinitely gentle, but electric. Again he kissed her, only this time his mouth lingered, longer this time, much longer.
Diana felt her knees go weak and she swayed toward him, slipping her arms around his neck. A debilitating sensation overcame her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.
Cliff groaned and his grip tightened and moved to the back of her head. He slanted his mouth across hers, sampling once more the pure pleasure of her kiss. He’d been right; she tasted incredibly of sweet butterscotch. Hungrily, his lips devoured hers, again and again, unable to get enough of her. Diana felt the tears well in her eyes, and was at a loss to know where they came from or why. One slipped from the corner of her eye and rolled down the side of her face, leaving a shiny trail.
At first her tears were lost to him, he was so involved with the taste of her. When he realized she was crying, he stopped and drew away from her.
“Diana?”
he asked tenderly, concerned.
Embarrassed, she tucked her chin against her shoulder, not knowing what to say.
“Then why . . .”
“I don’t know. I am such an idiot.”
She jerked her hand across her face and smudged her carefully applied mascara. “I don’t know, Cliff. I honestly don’t know.”
He tried to hold her, but she wouldn’t let him.
“Because it was good,”
she offered as an explanation.
“The kiss?”
“Everything. You. The dinner. The stars.”
She sobbed once and held her hands over her face. “Everything.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with making the stars shine,”
he teased softly. Although she didn’t want him to hold her, Cliff kept his hands on her shoulders, seeking a way to comfort her.
Diana knew he was attempting to lighten the mood, but it didn’t help.
“Come on, let me take you home.”
This wasn’t what he wanted, but he didn’t know what else to do.
Miserable, she nodded.
“I have to admit this is the first time my kisses have caused a woman to weep.”
She attempted to laugh, but the sound that came out of her throat was like the creak of a rusty hinge. No doubt this was a switch for him. Women probably swooned at his feet. Tall, handsome, rich men were a rare species.
He draped his arm around her shoulders again as he led her back to his car. When he opened the door for her, he paused and pressed a finger under her chin, lifting her face so that she was forced to meet his gaze.
“It was just as good for me,”
he told her softly.
Diana longed to shout at him to stop.
All this wasn’t necessary.
The last thing she wanted was for him to sweep her off her feet, and already she was so dangerously close to tumbling that it rocked her to the bottom of her soul.
They weren’t right together.
Cliff was wonderful, too good to be true. His tastes leaned toward someone young and sleek, not a widow with two daughters whose lifetime goals were to grow up and succeed Katy Perry.
All the way back to the house, Diana mentally rehearsed what she planned to say at the door.
He’d ask her out again, and she’d tell him in hushed, regretful tones that she had to decline.
She had to! The option had been taken away from her the instant he’d pulled her into his arms.
Shirley was right—this man was more dangerous than fire!
Only Cliff didn’t give her the opportunity to refuse him. Like the perfect gentleman, he escorted her to the door, thanked her for a lovely evening, gently kissed her forehead and walked away.
Diana was grateful he hadn’t made her say it, but her heart pounded with regret. Cliff had realized there could be no future for them, and although she would have liked to find a way, it was impossible.
A week passed, a long, tedious week when life seemed to be an uphill battle.
Joan went through two packages of press-on nails, and they turned up in every conceivable corner of the house.
Katie’s allergies were acting up again, and Diana spent two dreary afternoons sitting in a doctor’s office waiting for the nurse to give Katie her shot.
Shirley was over daily for coffee and to reassure Diana that she’d made the right decision about not seeing Cliff again.
It seemed Cliff had recovered quickly and was said to be dating Dana Mattson, a local television talk show hostess.
Diana thought of Cliff fondly and wished him well.
In many ways she was grateful for their one evening together.
She’d felt more alive than at any other time since Stan’s death. She was grateful that he’d shown her the light, but now she didn’t know if she could be content with living in the shadows again.
The Thursday afternoon following their dinner, Diana planted marigolds along the edges of the flower bed in the backyard.
The huge old apple tree was in bloom and filled the air with the sweet scent of spring, but Diana was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice.
All day she’d been in a blue funk, depressed and irritable.
Every time she saw the wilted bouquet of roses and carnations in the center of the kitchen table, she felt faint stirrings of regret.
Friday there wouldn’t be any choice but to toss the flowers. It was silly to allow a lovely bouquet to mean so much.
After depositing her garden tools in the garage, she stepped into the bathroom to wash her hands.
Joan was standing on top of the toilet, leaning across the sink and staring in the mirror.
Her young mouth was twisted in a grimace.
“What are you doing?”
Diana demanded.
“I’m practicing so I look cool. See.”
She turned to face her mother, her mouth twisted in a sarcastic sneer that would have wilted daffodils.
“You look terrible.”
“Great. That’s exactly the look I’m going for.”
“Joan, sweetheart,”
she said with growing impatience, “I just put five hundred dollars down at the orthodontist’s so that you could have lovely, straight teeth.”
Joan stared at her blankly.
“Do you mean to tell me I’m spending thousands of dollars to straighten the teeth of a child who plans never to smile?”
“Boy, are you a grouch,”
Joan announced as she jumped down off the toilet. “What’s the matter, Mom, is Aunt Flo visiting?”
It took Diana a moment to make the connection with her monthly cycle. When she did, her knees started to shake. In an even, controlled voice, she turned toward her daughter. “When did you learn about Aunt Flo?”
“A year ago.”
“But . . .”
So much for the neat packet she’d mailed away for that so carefully explained everything in the simple terms that a fifth grader would understand.
“I figured you’d get around to telling me one of these days,”
Joan said, undisturbed.
“Oh, dear.”
Diana sat on the edge of the tub.
“It’s no big deal, Mom.”
“Who told you . . . when?”
Diana’s voice shook as she realized that her little girl wasn’t so little anymore. “Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Honestly, Mom, I would have, but you think a fifth grader is too young for panty hose.”
“You are!”
“See what I mean?”
Joan declared, shaking her head.
“Who told you?”
“The library . . .”
“The Kent library?”
Good grief, it wasn’t safe to take her daughter into the local library anymore.
“You see,”
Joan explained, “we had this discussion in fourth grade that sort of left me hanging, so I checked out a few books.”
“And the books told you everything?”
Joan nodded and started to speak, but was interrupted by her younger sister, who stuck her head in the bathroom door.
“I’m starved—what’s for dinner?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Katie placed her hands on her hips. “Is it going to be another one of those dinners?”
“Can’t you see we’re having a serious mother-daughter discussion here?”
Joan shouted. “Get lost, dog breath.”
“Joan!”
Diana cried, and quickly diverted an argument. “Don’t call your sister that. Katie, I’m hungry, too. Why don’t you check what’s in the refrigerator? I’m open for suggestions.”
“Okay,”
Katie cried eagerly, and hurried back into the kitchen.
“Are you mad?”
Joan asked in a subdued voice. “I didn’t tell you before, well, because . . . you know.”
“Because I won’t let you wear panty hose.”
Joan nodded. “You’ve got to remember, I’m growing up!”
Diana swiped the hair off her face. At this moment she didn’t need to be reminded of the fact her elder daughter was turning into a woman right before her eyes.
Katie had emptied half the contents of the refrigerator on top of the counter by the time Diana entered the kitchen. “Find anything interesting?”
“Nothing I’d seriously consider eating,”
Katie said. “Can we have Kentucky Fried Chicken tonight?”
“Not tonight, honey.”
“How about going to McDonald’s?”
“If we can’t afford KFC, we can’t afford McDonald’s.”
“TV dinners?”
Katie asked hopefully.
“Let me see what we’ve got.”
She opened the freezer door and glared inside, hoping against hope she’d somehow find three glorious flat boxes.
The doorbell chimed in the distance. “I’ll get it,”
Joan screamed, and nearly knocked over the kitchen chair in her rush to get to the front door first.
“Oh, hi.”
Joan’s voice drifted into the kitchen. “Mom, it’s for you.”
The list of possibilities ran through Diana’s mind. The paperboy, Shirley Holiday, the pastor. She rejected each one. Somehow she knew even before she came into the room who was at the door. She’d longed for and dreaded this moment.
“Hi,”
Cliff said, smiling broadly. “I was wondering if the three of you would like to go on a picnic with me.”
“Sure,”
Joan answered first, excited.
“Great,”
Katie chimed in.
Cliff’s gaze didn’t leave Diana’s. “It’s up to your mother.”