“Oh, we’re just going out to dinner...” she starts, then pauses. When she turns to glance at me there’s a gleam in her eye, and I suddenly know what’s about to happen before the words have even left her mouth. “Ben, do you have plans tonight?”
And there it is.
I nearly dislocate my shoulder trying to muscle between them. “Mom, it’s Friday, I’m sure he’s bus—”
“I’m not busy at all, actually. I’m completely free,” he interjects. “How fortuitous!”
“Then youmustcome to dinner with us, I insist. I never get to meet any of Katie’s friends!”
He flashes me a shit-eating grin and I narrow my eyes, trying to conceal my mounting panic.
He shifts his gaze back to my mom. “Thanks so much for the invitation, but I couldn’t impose on your mother-daughter time. I’m sure Katie wants you all to herself.”
At least he gave me an out.
“You wouldn’t be imposing. We have all weekend! Tell him, Katie.” She looks at me expectantly as Ben presses his lips together, unable to hide his amusement.
I know my mom—she won’t let this go. “Ben, we’dlovefor you to join us,” I say as insincerely as possible.
He grins. “Thank yousomuch for including me, Katie Cat. Why don’t I just grab my stuff and meet you downstairs?” He winks at me before loping off down the hall.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, my mom clutches my arm in a death grip. “Katie, he isgorgeous!” Enthusiasm seeps from her every pore.
I give her somesettle downhands. “You can stop right there. We’re just friends. Actually, barely even that. More like frenemies.”
“Are youcrazy? Why?”
“Well, he’s a Republican, for one.”
She gasps in mock outrage. “The horror!”
“Itishorrible. We’re constantly butting heads. We don’t agree on anything. He’sforjust about everything I’magainst.”
I feel a niggling of self-doubt as soon as the words are out. I don’treallyknow where Ben stands on most issues; I’ve just assumed he touts the party line. In a position like his, he’d have to beat the drum.Right?
Whatever. Transitive property.
“Oh,pfft. Plenty of people have fallen in love across the aisle! Look at Matalin and Carville. Arnold and Maria. Joe and Mika!”
“If you’re going to make comments like this at dinner, I will disinvite him. I’ll do it right now.” I hold up my phone menacingly.
“Oh, lighten up. You’re too uptight.”
“I amnotuptight.”
“You need to live a little.”
“Are you going to say YOLO next?”
“We should get YOLO tattoos!” she shouts gleefully.
Sometimes I can’t tell when my mom is joking.
After a quick stop-off at home to drop my mom’s suitcase and change clothes, Ben meets us in the lobby of my building and the three of us head to the restaurant on foot. The first thing I notice is he’s changed into another green sweater—though this time it’s hunter green, not the same shirt-sweater I absolutely donotthink about when I’m lying in bed at night. Hekeeps pressing a hand to my back as we walk, and maybe it’s because I’m already nervous—or maybe it’s his woodland forest–cinnamon scent that knocks me over the head like a two-by-four—but this tiny, unexpected crumb of affection is throwing me totally off-balance.
But I quickly realize my anxiety is unfounded: Best Behavior Ben came to dinner. He regales us with tales of working on the tax plan, impersonating some of the high-maintenance personalities on the committee and lampooning their over-the-top demands. My mom hangs on his every word, and honestly, I can’t blame her—on the charming Richter scale, he’s running a magnitude 8.5. He’s laughing at all her jokes, drawing her out with questions about her life in New York and my childhood in Tennessee, praising my job performance and commitment to Senator Warner’s initiatives. He comes across as charismatic, thoughtful, and intelligent. It’s likeInvasion of the Body Snatchers.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s trying to impress my mom—and giving an Oscar-worthy performance, at that. I catch myself staring at him more than once, trying to make sense of this impostor in Ben’s body. Where are the insults? The barbs? It’s unnerving—because frankly, I’m starting to believe it too.
