Walking through the bar, Tristan eyed his mother, who was seated at a small table, martini glass in front of her. She wore a tailored peach colored skirt suit, not a hair out of place, rings on her fingers and diamond earrings in her ears. One manicured fingernail tapped on the screen of her phone.
Tristan sat across from her. “Mother, I didn’t expect to see you. I’m pleased that you decided to come for the wedding.”
“There will be no wedding,” Althea said flatly.
“Um, it’s all set for tomorrow, booked and paid for.”
“It’s a ludicrous travesty of reality. You will not marry…some man,” she spluttered.
“I’m gay, Mother. It’s not like I would marry a woman.”
“You destroyed your relationship with Felicity. It held such promise.”
“Felicity and I went to the gala to appease you and her pa
