the deity for throwing him under the bus.
“Then, curse away!” she answered with a grandiose wave of her hands.
Georgie glanced down the street toward her shop. It looked like the same neighborhood, but this version of her mother must have fallen through the space-time continuum.
“Could you define psychic energist, Mom?” she asked, not knowing where else to start.
“Of course! Cornelia Lieblingsschatz set me up with her.”
Georgie’s brows knit together. “Why would the wedding frau set you up with a psychic energist?”
Her mother went all Namaste and pressed her hands together. “Cornelia, in all her vast wedding wisdom, saw that Bobby, Hector, and I have a gift.”
“For?” Georgie asked, stretching out the word.
Her mother’s features grew somber. “For perceiving and identifying psychic energy given off by wedding favors.”
Georgie watched Mrs. Yoga-Fabulous-Psychic-Energy-Vanderdinkle for a beat, then two.
Maybe her mother had eaten a tray of pot brownies?
No! She hadn’t touched carbs since 2003.
“Mom, what does that mean for those of us not psychically gifted?” she pressed, still totally at a loss.
Before her mother could reply, a voice coming from behind answered.
“It means your mother and I have been visiting every candle shop in the city.”
Georgie turned to find Howard Vanderdinkle, striding toward them.
“Howard, dear, it’s more than just the candles,” her mother chided.
“Right! There have been the chocolate shops and the nurseries with the potted succulents,” her stepfather answered with the hint of a wry grin pulling at the corners of his lips.
She watched him closely. Despite the man being her stepfather, she didn’t know him that well. But she sure as hell never imagined the business-minded venture capitalist frequenting shops with scented candles and house plants.
“Potted succulents?” Georgie repeated, trying to get back to whatever crazy track she’d landed on. This conversation had passed twilight zone zany and had gone straight to Willy Wonka weird.
“Yes, I have a gift for communing with them…and cacti. But we didn’t want anyone to get pricked, so I’m focusing my energy on those fuzzy succulents,” her mom answered as if her response sounded even a fraction close to normal.
Georgie nodded, unsure if there was a proper response when learning your parent communicated psychically with plants, chocolate, and candles.
She decided to switch gears.
“Mr. Tuesday and I are out for a little stroll.”
Lorraine took a step toward her and moved her hands around.
“Yes, I’m getting that energy off you. I sense you need to walk,” she answered, nodding to Howard.
“How about you go tackle the candles, honey, and I’ll join Georgie on her walk,” the man offered.
Her mother did the weird hand thing again. “Yes, I can feel your energy pulling toward Georgiana. I’ll meet you at the Prius in twenty minutes,” she said, then flitted, actually flitted, into the candle shop.
“Mom’s being driven around in a Prius?” she asked, still watching her mother flit and flow through the shop’s window.
Howard suppressed a grin. “No, your mother is driving a Prius.”
Georgie gasped. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope, she’s got them in six colors to match whatever her aura is that day,” he replied, unable to hold back a chuckle.
Georgie’s eyes widened. “Wow, the Denver Wedding Frau—”
“Knows how to handle a motivated mother-of-the-bride?” Howard finished.
Georgie gave her stepfather a teasing grin. “I had a different adjective in mind, but we can go with motivated. But I thought everything with the favors was done?”
“Cornelia has your mother double-checking the energy. That’s what we’re doing today,” Howard replied with that wry expression.
“That frau doesn’t miss a beat,” Georgie answered.
“She certainly doesn’t,” he agreed with a knowing twist to his lips.
It was odd he called the wedding frau by her first name, but she dismissed the thought as Howard gestured for them to start walking, and she fell into step with a man she’d never joined for a stroll before. Sure, when she was a kid, she’d gone places with Howard, but her mother was always there, too.
They walked a few blocks in silence before Howard spoke.
“I owe you an apology, Georgiana,” the man said, stopping her in her tracks.
“An apology for what?”
“For not making more of an effort to get to know you when you were growing up,” Howard said, clasping his hands behind his back as they continued down the sidewalk. “I worked a lot, especially when your mother and I first married. But you and I never got to spend much time together, did we?”
“You were always kind to me, Howard,” she answered, working to keep the surprise from her voice.
“But we’ve never talked, really talked, have we?” he mused.
The man was