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My mother sat back in her chair, preening slightly, my deficiencies temporarily forgotten. That was Paige, always the peacemaker. I shot her a grateful look, and she sent me an apologetic smile.
It was always like this, going home for family dinner: Use the right fork, talk about inoffensive topics like the weather and diets and the resurgence of pastels in spring skirts, and always remember to duck before Mom hurls a cannonball of hurt you.
Honestly, if she’d been a general in The War Between the States, the entire union army would’ve given up and gone home in despair before a single shot was fired, and probably spent the rest of their lives crying on their wives’ shoulders about how impossible it was to win her approval.
Which is all to say that if the food weren’t so delicious, and if I wouldn’t have major guilt about leaving Paige to fend for herself, I’d have thrown myself out the plantation-style windows at one of these dinners at least five years ago, if not earlier.
My mother interrupted my ruminations with a question tailor-made to prove my point.
“Is that how you’re wearing your hair now, dear?”
Well, obviously, Mom. “Yes.”
“But it looks so nice when you wear it back from your face,” she said with a frown. “Is loose hair really considered professional these days? Honestly, Allison. And besides, you don’t want men to think you’re not ready to settle down.”
“Really?” I said in as neutral a tone as I could manage, which was not exactly up to the standard of, say, Switzerland. It was hard to stay neutral when all I seemed to remember were constant judgy comments about how I needed bangs to hide my overlarge forehead, and how buns made men think you had accepted your fate as an old maid. “I’ll think about that.”
What I was going to think about was getting a hot pink mohawk, or shaving my initials into the side of my head, or maybe working on some dreads. Sure, it’d be professional suicide, but wouldn’t the look on my mom’s face be worth it.
Yes, yes, it would.
“So, meet any boys lately?” she asked, with a smile so pained and bright I could tell that she was already prepared for my usual answer.
“No, Mom,” I said, ladling more asparagus onto my plate. Maybe if I kept eating I could finish all the food on the table myself, and then there would be no more reason for me to stay in this house. “And I’ve been out of high school for six years, so I’m dating men these days. They came highly recommended from a trusted source.”
Paige hid her smile behind a lavender napkin embossed with a cursive B.
My mother sighed as if I was put on this earth solely to frustrate her. “Very well, Allison, have you met any men lately?”
“All sorts,” I said cheerfully, deliberately misunderstanding her just to see that moment of shock in her expression. “Men, they’re everywhere! Did you know they make up fifty percent of the population? Who knew?”
Mother gritted her teeth, making a sound in the back of her throat that bore a remarkable resemblance to a tiger’s warning growl. “I take it from your immature remarks that you haven’t actually gone out on a date in quite some time.”
Well, wasn’t she perceptive. I stabbed at the asparagus, and briefly entertained the idea of asking her if she’d consider opening up her own psychic hotline: Mrs. Bartlett gazes into the past, present, and future! Her eyes see all—and she is incredibly disappointed in you!
“I go on plenty of dates,” I said instead, going for a reasonable, middle-of-the-road, we’re-all-adults-here-so-let-me-just-bring-up-some-facts voice. “I went on a date with Josh from Accounting just last month.”
“One date.” Her voice was flatter than the entire state of Kansas.
I resisted the urge to swig my entire glass of white wine like a medieval warrior, and daintily sipped from it instead. “Well, he spent the entire evening talking about his golf game and how women have ruined his life, so you know, I took that as a clue to leave him alone to enjoy the rest of his life with his true soul mate, himself.”
My mother’s lips thinned in disapproval so great it could probably have been seen from space. “Did you even think about taking up golf? It helps to have common interests.”
“The sport I have hated with a burning passion since I was fourteen?” I said, sweet as cotton candy. “Gosh, no, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. How could I have been so foolish?”
Mom’s lips compressed into yet a thinner line. Pretty soon they were going to vanish entirely. “I know you think I’m being unreasonable, dear, but men have very high-pressure lives. It’s on us ladies to accommodate them and smooth away their cares, in exchange for the security they provide us. And if you don’t start reevaluating your standards, before you know it—”
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