A Mother's Wish: Wanted: Perfect Partner / Father's Day. Debbie Macomber

Brenda explained.

      “And exactly what are the two of you working on? I haven’t seen you all evening.” Generally, when Brenda stayed over, which was at least one night of every weekend, the two of them were up until all hours playing music, watching television or DVDs. The house had been suspiciously quiet all evening. Come to think of it, they’d been spending a lot of time in Lindsey’s bedroom of late. Far too much time.

      The girls glanced at each other before answering.

      “You tell her,” Brenda urged, “she’s your mother.”

      “I know.” Lindsey brushed back the long strands of hair. “But it might be a little easier coming from you.”

      “Lindsey?” Meg was more curious than ever now.

      “You’d better sit down, Mom.” Lindsey took Meg by the hand and guided her to the bed.

      Meg sat on the edge. Both girls stood in front of her and each seemed to be waiting for the other to speak first.

      “You’re such an attractive woman,” Lindsey began.

      Meg frowned. This sounded like a setup to her, and the best way to handle that was to get straight to the point. “You need money? How much, and for what?”

      With her usual flair for the dramatic, Lindsey rolled her eyes. “I don’t need any money. I meant what I said—you’re beautiful.”

      “It’s true,” Brenda piped up. “And you’re only thirty-seven.”

      “I am?” Meg had to think about that. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

      “You’re still so young.”

      “I wouldn’t go that far … “

      “You’ve still got it, Mrs. Remington,” Brenda cut in, her voice intense. “You’re young and pretty and single, and you’ve got it.” Her fist flew through the air and punctuated the comment.

      “Got what?” Meg was beginning to feel a bit confused.

      “You’re not in bad shape, either,” Lindsey commented, resting her chin on one hand.

      Meg sucked in her stomach, feeling pleased with the girls’ assessment.

      “Of course you’d look even better if you lost ten pounds,” her daughter said thoughtfully.

      Ten pounds. Meg breathed again and her stomach pouched out. Those ten pounds had first made their appearance when Meg was pregnant with Lindsey nearly sixteen years earlier. She was downright proud of having maintained her post-pregnancy weight for all these years.

      “Ten pounds isn’t too much to lose,” Brenda said confidently.

      “It won’t be hard at all—especially with the two of us helping you.”

      Meg stared into their eager, expectant faces. “Why is it so important for me to lose ten pounds? I happen to like the way I look.”

      “There’s more.”

      Meg glanced from one girl to the other. “More? What is that supposed to mean?”

      “You need to be physically fit. Think about it, Mom. When’s the last time you ran an eight-minute mile?”

      Meg didn’t need to consider that at all—she already knew the answer. “Never.” She’d jogged around the track during high school, only because it was required of her. The lowest grade she’d ever received was in phys ed.

      “See?” Lindsey said to Brenda.

      “We’ll work with her,” Brenda answered. “But we’ll have to start soon.”

      Lindsey crossed her arms and carefully scrutinized Meg. “About your clothes, Mom.”

      “My clothes?” Meg cried, still astonished that her daughter wanted her to run an eight-minute mile. She owned a bookstore, for heaven’s sake. In the eight years since she’d bought out Mr. Olsen, not once had she been required to run for anything.

      “I want to know what’s going on here,” Meg said. “Now.”

      “I promise we’ll answer all your questions in a minute,” Brenda explained. “Please be patient, Mrs. Remington.”

      Lindsey sighed. “Mom, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but when it comes to your clothes, well … you need help.”

      “Help?” And to think Meg had been dressing herself for the past thirty-some years. Until now, no one had bothered to tell her what a poor job she’d done.

      “I’m here to see you don’t ever wear high-waisted jeans again,” Lindsey said, as though pledging her life to a crusade. “They’re called mom jeans,” she whispered.

      “So you two are official members of the fashion police?” Meg asked. Apparently they’d issued an APB on her!

      Lindsey and Brenda giggled.

      “That’s what it sounds like.”

      “We’re here to help you,” Brenda said in loving tones.

      “We’re here to keep you from committing those fashion sins.”

      “What sins?” Meg should’ve known. “Do you mind telling me what this little heart-to-heart is all about?”

      “You, Mom,” Lindsey said, in a voice that suggested the answer should’ve been obvious.

      “Why now? Why me?”

      “Why not?” Lindsey responded.

      Meg started to get up, but Lindsey directed her back onto the bed. “We aren’t finished yet. We’re just getting to the good part.”

      “Honey, I appreciate what you’re doing, but … “

      “Sit down, Mom,” Lindsey said in stern tones. “I haven’t told you the most important thing yet.”

      Meg held up both hands. “Okay, okay.”

      “Like we already said, you’re still young,” Brenda began.

      Lindsey smiled sweetly. “You could have more children if you wanted and—”

      “Now wait a minute!” Meg cried.

      “What we’re really saying is that you’re quite attractive.”

      “Or I could be,” Meg amended, “with a little assistance from the two of you.”

      “Not all that much,” Brenda added sympathetically. “We just want to get you started on the right track.”

      “I see,” Meg muttered.

      “Together,” Lindsey said, slipping her arm around Brenda’s waist and beaming a proud smile, “we’re going to find you a husband.”

      “A husband.” Meg’s feet went out from under her and she slipped off the bed and landed with a solid whack on the carpet.

      Lindsey and Brenda each grabbed one arm and pulled her off the floor. “Are you all right?” Lindsey asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

      “You should’ve been more subtle,” Brenda said accusingly. “There was no need to blurt it out like that.”

      Meg rubbed her rear end and sat back down on the bed. “What makes either of you think I want a husband?” she demanded angrily. She’d already been through one bad marriage and she wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

      “When’s the last time you went out on a date?” Lindsey asked.

      “I don’t remember,” Meg snapped. “What does it matter, anyway?”

      “Mother, it’s clear to me you aren’t thinking about the future.”

      “The future? What