Dear George Clooney: Please Marry My Mom - Plot & Excerpts
Rosie wasn’t in her bed. Eventually I forced myself to get up and tiptoed down to the kitchen. The house was empty. For a moment I was filled with panic, and a pile of irrational thoughts raced through my head: Aliens had taken Mom and Rosie in the middle of the night; Dudley was really a mass murderer, who’d killed them and stuffed the bodies somewhere; or, and in some ways this was the worst thought of all, they’d just got so fed up with me that they’d packed their bags and left to build a new life somewhere else. Before I could get to a full-on panic, I found the note on the kitchen table. Gone to cemetery with Rosie and Dudley. Might check out some yard sales afterward. Back later this aft. I have my cell. Love, Mom. The word “love” filled me with relief. I ate a bowl of cereal, then I rearranged all the food in the cupboards according to food group. Afterward I went upstairs and washed my hair, twice. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Normally I’d call Phoebe, and we’d rehash the evening in minute detail, but for the first time in seven years, we weren’t speaking.
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