She won’t meet my eyes, and for the first time this evening, it occurs to me that I may have hurt her feelings, but coming a day later than planned.
“Did you invite Mitch because I didn’t drive over yesterday?” I ask, and she continues to avoid eye contact, which is answer enough. I sigh. “I’m sorry, Mom. That wasn’t very cool of me, and I should’ve sucked it up and made the drive anyway.”
She glances over at me and purses her lips before responding. “Thank you.”
I wait for her apology, but she doesn’t offer one. “Okay, but you know that I hate it when you invite random men to our get-togethers, right? I’ve always been very clear about that, and you never seem to respect it.”
Her shoulders tighten, and I can tell she’s about to get defensive again. She takes a deep breath, and I see some of the fight leave her. “I’m just looking out for you.”
I bite my tongue as she turns on her heel and makes her way back into the dining room.
One meal. I can get through one damn meal.
Nope.I’m going to lose my mind if I stay here much longer. Besides the one large glass of wine, I’ve resisted drinking any more. I want the option to escape if the need arises.
My mother continues to try to get us to talk about things she clearly thinks we’ll be compatible on. Mitch is still stumbling over his words, the wine making his nerves even worse instead of calming them. And I have a pounding headache that no painkiller can cure.
I inhale my food to get this dinner over with faster, but my mother is determined to drag it out as long as possible. She’d insisted the scalloped potatoes weren’t cooked all the way through and that they had to go back into the oven—even though I’d burnt my tongue on my first bite. She’d gone out to the garage after deciding the wine she’d grabbed didn’t pair well with turkey.
Her most recent attempt to make this the longest dinner in the history of the world is running to the kitchen to melt butter on the stove because the turkey is ‘too dry.’
I flex my fingers and grit my teeth as I try not to bite my mother’s head off. I thought that after our conversation earlier, she would back off a bit.
She sits down, scooting her chair closer to the table, and I silently beg whatever is out there to keep her in her seat and let us just finish this meal in something that even remotely resembles peace.
“So,” Mitch starts in between bites. “I’m assuming you’re not seeing anyone considering…” he trails off, but his eyes dart toward my mother.
Considering my mother is blatantly trying to whore me out on Thanksgiving?
“Oh, Summer hasn’t dated in ages,” my mother laughs. “Honestly, sometimes I think I’ll never become a grandmother.”
I throw my napkin down. “Okay, that’s it. I’m sorry, Mick, you’ve done nothing wrong. My mother is fully aware that I’m not looking to date anyone right now. No matter how worried she is about becoming a grandmother. I told her that I didn’t want to be set up with anyone before I got here, and she just doesn’t listen.” I push back from the table and stand. “Mother, I’m going upstairs to pack, and then I’m heading out early.”
“It’s Mitch,” he responds quietly, moving his food around his plate.
I freeze. “Oh God,” I groan, clenching my eyes shut so that I don’t have to watch as his face gradually turns a deep shade of red. “I am so sorry. I knew that. I swear, somewhere I really did know that, I’m just… upset,” I finish lamely.Your mother’s a nut job, but you’re officially an asshole.
“Summer—” my mother starts, but I cut her off.
“No. I’m not discussing this; you can spend the rest of Thanksgiving with Mitch. Try to convince him to give me another chance at a later date and see if that works for you. In the meantime, please don’t contact me until I reach out to you.”
She lets out a small, desperate puff of air. “Summer, please just?—”
“No,” I stop her for a second time. “I begged you not to do this before I came over here. Begged you, Mom. Why can’t you ever respect the fact that I don’t want to settle down right now?”
“You’re twenty-eight. Do you know how many of my friends’ children are already ‘settled down’ and married with kids of their own at your age?”
“When have I ever cared?” I shout, exasperated. “I know plenty of people my age who aren’t doing anything like that.” I sigh before taking a deep breath. “Look, I’m leaving. As I said, I’ll call you. Until then, just give me some space.”
I turn and practically run up the stairs to pack my bags before she can say another word, but I do hear Mitch call after me. “It was nice to meet you!”
20
ASHER
My mother throws openthe door, enveloping me in a huge hug before I have a chance to say hello. “Hi, Mom,” I laugh. “It smells delicious in here,” I add, sniffing the air.
Scents of turkey, seasoned vegetables, and pumpkin pie engulf the household. I can tell she’s been up before the sun to get everything done for lunch. Since I get the day off from work, I always promise to come over for what is supposed to be a laid-back Thanksgiving lunch. Mom always spends more time cooking than she lets on, and Dad spends the day watching the parade—never football. The whole ordeal usually lasts around two hours.
