Right now, I’d endure any amount of sibling rivalry for someone else to share my parents’ focus when it comes to my love life.
“I found this article today,” Mom says. “About how to make the leap from girlfriend to wife. It’s very insightful.”
As if getting married is as simple as jumping the right pieces on a checkerboard. Or even remotely appropriate to discuss right now. As far as she knows, Reed and I have been dating for a handful of weeks.
“Aren’t you going to the Botanic Gardens today?” They send me their itinerary every day so I’ll always know where they are “just in case I need them.”
“It’s still early yet, don’t worry.” Mom is awfully blasé for seven-thirty in the morning Sydney time. “It’s about the simplescience of attraction. Get Reed addicted to you so he’ll never look at another woman.”
I sink as low as I can in the driver’s seat of my car. She called as I pulled into the grocery store parking lot, and of course I answered. Her quick check-in morphed into a series of tips on why the way I load the dishwasher isn’t as efficient as how she does it. Now she’s advising me to make Reedaddictedto me while I overheat with the windows down.
“We haven’t been dating very long. Maybe we should pump the brakes on the wife talk.”
Mom’s tittering laugh echoes through the car. I’ve got her on speaker, my phone stuck to my dash with grippy suction cups. We stopped doing video calls after my dad walked by in the background in only his underpants one too many times.
“I’m trying to help you get this one across the finish line, Rosie,” she says. “We need to turn your bad luck around.Iknow you’re a sweet little bean, but there must besomethingyou could improve with your dating pursuits.”
Every guy who dumped me in my twenties flashes through my mind in a parade of questionable exes. Despite my extensive experience with breakups, I still don’t know what caused them. Timing? Weird vibes? Chronic bad breath I’m painfully unaware of? Nobody offered constructive criticism or filled out a satisfaction survey.
Ew. No. That’s a gross thought.
The bottom line is, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. If I want a relationship to last, I need to make some kind of change, I just have no clue what. And that’s why, despite my misgivings, I peel my phone off the dash to read the article Mom sends over. Every little bit helps, right?
According to this, I need to make myself smell like Reed’s favorite food so he’ll have a Pavlovian pleasure response whenever he sees me. Apparently, dipping myself in eau de Delish’s double bacon burger will get Reed to want to marry me.
I can kind of see it, honestly.
“I’m at the grocery store. We can talk more about tricking men into commitment with their favorite smells later, okay?”
“It’s not all about smells,” she says. “Smiling makes you more appealing, too. Are you making sure he knows you like him?”
“I don’t think smiling is a problem.” That one’s been ingrained in me since birth.
“It also said physical touch releases a bonding hormone. Do you think you’re touching Reed enough?”
“Mother.” The last thing I want is to start receiving texts reminding me to touch my boyfriend.
Fake boyfriend. Just pretend, totally not real boyfriend. Who my mother wants me totouchmore. Ugh.
“All right. But before I go, Dad wanted me to tell you not to run the air conditioning so much. Eighty degrees is a perfectly comfortable temperature.”
I suppress a groan. “I thought you were going to delete the thermostat app.”
“He enjoys checking on the house to see what’s going on. It’s almost like we’re still there with you.”
Ha.Almost.
We hang up, and I finally drag myself into the grocery store, where I’m pleasantly cocooned in cool, recycled air. It’s slammed on Sundays, but sometimes I can’t avoid it. The Thai food Reed left in my fridge will tide me over for a few days, but I’m out of basics like eggs and chocolate chips.
I don’t know what I’m making for breakfast tomorrow, but I need cookies tonight.
I snake through the aisles, my cart’s one wobbly wheel singing to me the whole time. My mom’s voice blends in with the squeaks, telling me all the things I should change about myself to keep a man. I’m a little out of practice at running this particular gauntlet. It’s been a few years since I really liked a guy, and over a year since I dated anyone at all. I thought knowing I’m seeing someone would soothe their need to constantly offer advice, butinstead, it’s cranked their obsession with my romantic life up to frantic levels.
I turn down the bread aisle and find the core of my current romantic life standing in front of me. Reed’s staring at the condiment selection like he’s trying to intimidate the sauces into submission. I suppose it’s good to know his frown really is permanent and not isolated to the coffee shop.
Or just when he’s around me.
“What did those condiments ever do to you?” I ask when I get closer.
