"Isis, don't you think you're doing a little too much?" Mrs. Queen asked, her tone a mix of concern and disbelief. She watched her daughter intently as she grazed her hand while arranging flowers in a tall, glass vase.
"Mum, how is planning a romantic trip for my boyfriend doing too much?" Isis replied, her smile bright as she reached for more flowers from the pile on the table. She handed them to her mother with care, excitement radiating from her every move.
Mrs. Queen sighed, "Pfft! It's not the getaway I'm talking about. It's what you intend to do while you're there." Her voice carried a note of exasperation as she plucked a colorful flower from her daughter's hand and held it up for emphasis.
Isis tilted her head, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "Tell me, Mum, what's wrong with proposing to your man? I, for one, think it's the most romantic thing ever."
Mrs. Queen's eyes widened in shock, her composure slipping for a moment. "Huh?! That's not how things are supposed to work, Isis! It's not the order of things." She gestured animatedly, disbelief etched on her face. "Besides, what has he done to make you even think of marrying him?"
"Mum, come on," Isis said with a soft laugh, her voice warm with affection. She leaned against the table, picking up a spray bottle and spritzing the freshly arranged flowers. "Barry has been the best man I've ever known for ages now."
Mrs. Queen wasn't convinced. She crossed her arms and leaned forward slightly, fixing her with a sharp look. "How, exactly?" she pressed, her tone skeptical and probing.
"These flowers smell so good," Isis said, inhaling deeply with a soft smile. She hoped the compliment would distract her mother and put an end to the ongoing argument.
Mrs. Queen, however, was not so easily swayed. She raised an eyebrow, suspicion clear on her face. "Are you trying to change the topic?"
"Mum… can't you just let this rest?" Isis asked, her voice tinged with frustration. She turned away and walked over to the dining table, pulling out a chair and sitting down with a sigh.
But Mrs. Queen was determined not to back down. She followed her daughter and stood beside her, her arms crossed. "No. You tell me—what exactly has he done to deserve you getting married to him?" she demanded, her tone firm.
Isis sighed again, this time more deeply. "Well, for starters, he loves me. He loves me so much," she said, her voice soft yet certain.
"Lies!" Mrs. Queen shot back without hesitation, her words sharp and dismissive.
"Secondly," she continued, undeterred, "he doesn't cheat. We've been together for five years now, and not once has he cheated on me."
Mrs. Queen let out an incredulous laugh. "Then you must be blind as a bat, or you've chosen to ignore all the signs."
"What signs, Mum?" Isis asked, her eyes narrowing as if daring her mother to produce evidence against Barry. Her voice carried a tone of defiance, challenging the accusations.
Mrs. Queen frowned, shaking her head as she spoke. "That Casanova-looking boy… gosh! Even thinking about him makes my skin crawl." Her disgust was clear in her expression, her brows furrowing deeply. Without waiting for a response, she turned abruptly and walked to the refrigerator.
Isis watched as her mother opened the fridge, rummaging inside until she found what she was looking for: a bowl of dough she had prepared earlier. Mrs. Queen placed the bowl on the dining table with a thud, her actions decisive and firm, as though emphasizing her point without words.
"Mum, Barry isn't like that. You've just misunderstood him, that's all," Isis said, her voice calm but firm.
Mrs. Queen's eyes narrowed as she shook her head in disbelief. "Are you blind? When was the last time he even got you flowers—the least of all gifts? When was the last time he took you on a proper date? He doesn't do anything for you, and yet you want to marry him?"
Isis sighed deeply, brushing her hand through her hair. "Mum, I don't need flowers or gifts. I love Barry for who he is—for the way he treats and respects me. And, besides, you know I earn more than him."
Mrs. Queen threw her hands up in frustration. "That's exactly why you should leave him! He's not even making the effort. And who on earth proposes to a man? What if he rejects you, huh? What if he says no, and you embarrass yourself in front of everyone?"
She emphasized her point by thrusting her fist into the bowl of dough she was kneading, her fingers sinking into the soft mixture. Her movements were sharp, almost as if they mirrored her growing frustration.
Isis chuckled softly, her confidence unwavering. "He won't say no, Mum. In fact, he'll probably find it romantic."
"You know," her mother said softly, "I have a few friends with handsome, responsible sons. It wouldn't hurt to get to know one of them. You never know what might happen."
Isis sighed heavily, clearly irritated. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, avoiding her mother's gaze. "Mum, not this again," she said, her tone sharp. "You know how much I hate these conversations."
Mrs. Queen's smile faltered slightly, but she continued. "I'm only saying it for your own good—"
"And you know how it always ends," Isis interrupted. "Let's just drop it."
Mrs. Queen paused, turning her head to look at her daughter. Her expression was a mix of disappointment and concern. "I just don't want you to get your heart broken," she said, her voice softer but still resolute. "You're Isis Queen, one of the biggest fashion designers in town. Don't you think you deserve better? That Barry boy is just holding you back."
"Mum, he isn't holding me back," Isis said firmly, her voice steady. "I don't know why everyone finds it so hard to understand the bond we share."
Mrs. Queen sighed, shaking her head. "The only bond I see right now is a bond of deceit. And I just hope you don't end up getting hurt in the end."
With that, She picked up the bowl of dough and walked toward the kitchen, leaving her sitting alone at the dining table.
"Mum, come on! We're not done with this conversation," Isis said, raising her voice slightly, a playful tone edging her words.
"I need to prepare dinner!" Mrs. Queen shouted back from the kitchen.
Isis laughed softly to herself. She knew this was her mother's way of dropping the subject.
Just then, hee phone rang, She reached into her handbag, pulled out her phone, and glanced at the screen. The caller ID read, "CLIENT," reminding her of the ongoing wedding dress project she had been working on.
"Hello," she answered, her voice cheerful as she walked toward the dining table.
Her smile quickly faded as she listened to the voice on the other end. "You want the dress ready in a month's time?" she repeated, her tone shifting from friendly to surprised.
"Yes," the client confirmed. "The wedding date has been moved up. Is that acceptable to you?"
she hesitated, her mind racing as she calculated the extra effort and time this sudden change would demand. After a brief pause, she sighed. "I think I can make it work, but you'll have to pay extra," she replied, her voice steady and professional.
"Oh, sure, sure! That won't be a problem," the client said with in excitement.
"Alright, then. Bye," Isis said before ending the call.
Sliding her phone back into her handbag, she made her way to the kitchen where her mother was busy kneading dough. "Mum, I have to get going," Isis announced.
Mrs. Queen turned around, her hands still coated in flour. "Why aren't you staying for dinner?"
"I'd love to, but something urgent came up," she replied, her voice tinged with regret as she leaned against the doorway.
Mrs. Queen narrowed her eyes. "It's Barry again, isn't it?"
Isis chuckled and shook her head. "No, Mum, it isn't. It's a client. She just moved up her wedding date, and now I have to finish her dress in a month. I don't even have the fabric yet!" she explained, exasperation creeping into her tone.
Mrs. Queen smirked, wiping her hands on her apron. "Good! That's a sign from God to call off this ridiculous getaway proposal you're planning," she said, turning back to the dough.
Isis couldn't help but burst into laughter. Her mother's persistence was relentless, and yet it was one of the things she loved most about her. "Bye, Mum," she said, grabbing her handbag and heading toward the door.
The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the house. Mrs. Queen paused for a moment, glancing over her shoulder, then shook her head with a sigh. She returned to kneading the dough, her thoughts filled with both worry and love for her daughter.