“Darling, you can’t believe how crazy busy I’ve been this week!” Mom’s voice is excited, but not manically so, which is a relief.

It’s a deliciously sunny Friday afternoon. I’m driving south to go shopping after dropping off all the print collateral for the fundraiser at my friend’s. Luna and her team at the Hummingbird Flower Farm will go early to handle setting up the event décor, including all of the graphics I designed for the silent auction.

“How are your window displays coming along for the Fourth of July?” I ask as I turn back onto the ubiquitously hilly tree-lined road that will take me to Silverdale. I’m on my way to find hair dye, makeup, and tights to match the crazy short mini-dress Rune insists I wear for the fundraiser.

Good grief, he’s being picky about this outfit. He refuses to let me wear jeans underneath it, even though the dress is not meant for someone as tall as I am. It barely covers my ass. But since there are no images to be found of the famous Pattie Boyd wearing jeans under a dress (who I now know is the muse of three legendary rock songs after all of my online research and discussions with my dad), Rune insists I don’t, either. He says it would ruin the vibe.

He’s thrilled I’m dying my hair and going all out on the makeup. We’ve had no less than three conversations about it and numerous back-and-forth texts. I didn’t realize straight men could be as addicted to Pinterest as Rune is. You’d think we're planning to make a music video tomorrow night, not simply attend a fundraiser.

We will, however, probably be wearing two of the most fabulous outfits at the event. I will also likely have the most handsome date. I have nothing to complain about except that Jack broke my heart by ditching me and is coming with Amy Pennington. Ah, life.

“They’ll be the most stunning windows Ventura has ever seen,” Mom is saying brightly. I realize I haven’t been paying attention at all to her explicit descriptions of what’s in the works, “I’m brainstorming the final details with a lovely macchiato. I’m right down the street from the second store while your father finishes taking the before photos.”

“Second store?” I ask, confused; Syd’s partner Bill and his mom only have one bike shop now (they used to own three).

“Your sister came up with the most brilliant idea,” Mom says, “she’s organized a group of artists and merchants to put up a temporary summer pop-up shop in a gorgeous old building on Main Street that lost its tenant a couple of months ago.”

“That is brilliant,” I agree and then say encouragingly, “Your display will be too. Are you having fun?” I ask as I pull into the shopping area with all the stores I think I’ll need to visit today.

My sister, dad, and I handle Mom with such care because she’s on the bipolar spectrum. It’s a new-ish diagnosis but managing her moods with kid gloves is an old habit.

“A total blast; I’m my element,” she tells me, “I imagine it was like that when you started drawing again during the pandemic.”

“Yes, a bit. But I had to learn to tell a story well with images. I hadn’t understood that before,” I admit.

“It’s always about telling a story,” Mom says, “every window, every party, every outfit, it’s all storytelling just like a book or a movie. Speaking of which, what will you and Jack be wearing tomorrow night? What marvelous pieces have you pulled out from Theo’s collection?”

“I’m going as Pattie Boyd,” I say, “I’m on my way to buy more dramatic makeup.”

“With your long legs, that will be perfect!” she exclaims, “I love it. If memory serves, your hair’s quite a bit more ash than Pattie’s, but it’s long enough now.”

“I’m going to dye it a more golden blonde.”

“Way to commit,” she says approvingly, “Now, how about Jack? Is he going as George Harrison?”

“No. Jack’s coming straight from a photo shoot at the house of our wealthy single new board member Amy Pennington, so we’ll meet him there.”

“We?”

“I’ve asked Rune Borstad to come with me to finish our table. Jack has decided he needs to sit with the same wealthy new board member.”

“Oh no, the daughter of tech billionaire Arnold Pennington?” Mom asks.

“Exactly,” I sigh.

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry, but I’m sure it’s only a temporary thing.” Mom loves Jack, and Jack loves Mom. But then all of my dates and boyfriends have loved Mom, “so, who’s Rune?” She asks.

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“Asher Dillion,” I clarify, “Strangely enough, he’s my neighbor again for a couple of months.”

“What marvelous serendipity,” Mom laughs, “brilliant, sweetheart; a fake date might be the very thing to spark Jack’s jealousy. It’s a good thing Asher's still so in the closet.”

“Closet? I don’t think Asher's gay, Mom,” I say a little defensively. And why does she insist on using his stage name? For a second, I’m mentally in the middle of the trail a few days ago. My insides twitch at the memory of being sprawled across Rune while he stared at my mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart, of course he is. Franklin spotted it immediately all those years at our Christmas party. Gaydar, you know,” Mom says soothingly, “Franklin told me Hollywood’s still not quite evolved enough to let the young male actors they set up as teen heartthrobs for girls to be out. That story Pamela told us about him out partying with a new young woman every night is more proof. Obviously, it’s a cover.”

“I guess so,” I say, deciding not to argue. You have to pick your battles carefully with Mom. She lives to win arguments. It’s not like Rune and I will start dating or anything.

“Anyway, Asher doted on you, just like Franklin doted on me. I’m sure he’s happy to help. Jack will be none the wiser.”

“I hope not,” I say as neutrally as I can. I’m not happy that Franklin and Mom have ever discussed Rune, even if it was years ago. For some reason, it makes my skin crawl. Plus, I’m bummed to be reminded of that disastrous Christmas party.

“So, did you have a chance to ask Asher about having Pamela handle his social media?” Mom asks.

“Oh, right,” I stammer. Crap. “I did. Asher's social media accounts are all dormant right now. He’s a bit anti-social media at the moment,” I fib.

“Well, tell him I understand. I do, but needs must, darling. Pamela has been working wonders for her clients, and I could really use her help. Please do what you can to change his mind,” she encourages me, “Oh, here’s your father. I must run, sweetheart. Make sure to send us pics of your outfits.”

I get out of the car and slam the door harder than necessary. I’ve got to remember to tell Rune about Pamela Lyon’s weird social media request, and how I lied for him.

Am I being pig-headed to think he isn’t gay? Is that just my ego? Or maybe he’s bi? That could explain Franklin’s gaydar and Rune running around Europe and Canada breaking hearts. Yes, I did a little more online snooping. Rune has quite a track record.

Whatever the case, I now dislike Franklin Haus more than ever. I march grumpily into the health food store to look for less toxic and environmentally damaging hair coloring options. On my phone’s Pinterest app, I open the folder dedicated to Pattie Boyd. Holding an image of her, I compare it to the different warm blonde hair coloring options to find the closest match.

I wish my mom hadn’t reminded me about the night Rune met Franklin. It’s the massive fly in the ointment of what was otherwise a perfect evening. It was literally one of the best nights of my life and one of my worst.

I pay for my hair coloring and walk back into the bright, breezy late afternoon. My dark gray mood is so at odds with the clear warm day, and the other shoppers delighted to be out enjoying the sunshine. Rain won’t come again until Sunday night; tomorrow is supposed to be glorious.

I’m so grumpy now I pull up Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off on my phone and put one earphone in as I stalk across the parking lot towards the beauty store.

The holiday season 2001 was a magical time for fantasy films; both Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings made their debuts. I was fourteen, and Rune was thirteen. Usually, we didn’t see each other during the school year, but we stayed in touch. That year, however, we schemed.

Rune convinced his mom to drive him to Santa Monica so we could go to Lord of the Rings together the same night as my parents’ annual Christmas party. Theo always attended, so Astrid had someone to hang out with. Of course, she and my mom knew each other. My mom had spent plenty of time here with her grandmother while growing up, but Mom and Astrid didn’t seem to have much in common.

The movie was beyond perfect. Rune and I walked the blocks from the Third Street Promenade back to my house afterward, chatting nonstop as we shared our favorite scenes. Ironically, it was probably my best date ever. Technically, it wasn’t a date; it was only friends hanging out. But I had a secret plan to make the evening romantic. I hoped some strategically placed mistletoe would lead to Rune giving me my first kiss and maybe his, too.

Almost twenty years later, it’s still embarrassing to contemplate how such a great start had such a disastrous finish. I walk up and down the aisles of the beauty store, bopping along to Taylor, doing my best to take her advice. I’m searching for a light matte pink lipstick like the one Pattie favored and the eye shadow, black mascara, and black eye pencil I’ll need to pull off her dramatic Cleopatra-esque look.

There was no way I would attempt to kiss Rune first back then. It would just be too forward and weird. So I’d tucked mistletoe into the places we’d most likely sneak off to to escape the grownups. I figured my dad’s office was the safest bet. I was on cloud nine as we entered my family’s lovely little craftsman bungalow, artfully decorated under my mother’s exacting eye.

Unfortunately, as Rune and I finished filling our plates from the elaborate buffet my parents had laid out, I saw my dad and Franklin Haus go into my dad’s office before we could.

Franklin was a staple in my childhood. He and my mom stayed close friends, though he was a famous film director (briefly) and then a producer. He was undoubtedly generous; he invited my parents on vacations and took my mom to premiers and parties for years. That didn’t mean I liked him. I was jealous of how my mom would drop everything when Franklin called.

I pulled Rune into Plan B, a former closet my parents had turned into a reading alcove. I’d stuck another piece of mistletoe on the top shelf of books and made sure I was sitting in the chair under it.

We were so wrapped up in our continued movie conversation we ate slowly. When Franklin appeared, I was just getting the nerve up to mention the mistletoe over my head.

“I hear you two have been off watching the first Lord of the Rings film tonight,” Franklin said chummily, leaning in the doorway. He was impeccably dressed, as always in a midnight blue suit. Like my mom, like Theo, he always wore vintage, “Do I need to go see it?”