“Which reminds me… Mom seems pretty set on pairing you with Linda’s nephew. Ronnie.”
I groaned. “You heard that too?”
“Hard not to,” he said. “She said it like she was announcing a holiday.”
“Thanks for the warning, bro,” I muttered.
“This would be, what, the fourth blind date?” Mark asked, flipping a burger with unnecessary flair.
“Fifth,” I said dryly.
“Fifth,” he repeated, impressed. “You get a loyalty card for that? One more and you get a free coffee?”
“Don’t joke,” I said. “She’ll hear you and make it real.”
“Why don’t you just refuse?” Mark asked.
Chris snorted. “Because it’s Mom.”
Mark opened his mouth, then paused. “…Yeah, okay. Fair.”
Exactly. Saying no to my mother wasn’t impossible.
It just required a level of courage I generally reserved for things like running into a burning building or telling my dad his cooking needed salt.
Eventually, the food was ready, and we all migrated to the table like a herd with a singular purpose, eat everything before someone else did.
The conversation bounced around, easy and loud. We discussed pack news, then talked about our respective work.
Zack and Mark brought up their latest song. Chris argued with Jaime about whether Pampi needed a tiny sweater.
“She gets cold,” Chris insisted.
“She has fur,” Jaime said.
“She’s so small,” Chris said.
Pampi barked, which we all agreed settled nothing.
I did my best to stay in motion, talking, laughing, and offering to refill drinks. Anything that made me look busy enough to avoid a one-on-one conversation with my mother.
For a while, it worked. Then the universe remembered I’d been having a decent day.
I escaped to the kitchen under the noble pretense of helping with dishes. The dishwasher had was broken, so I rolled up my sleeves and started scrubbing.
Soap, water, and blissful silence. It lasted exactly thirty seconds.
“There you are. Finally got you alone.”
I closed my eyes for a brief, silent prayer. Then I turned, holding up a soapy finger like a shield.
“I know what you’re going to say,” I told her.
My mom leaned against the counter, smiling like she had all the time in the world. Which, to be fair, she did.
“You want me to go out with Ron Marshall,” I said.
“According to Linda, Ron’s a nice boy,” she said, as if that settled it. “Good looking, too.”
