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“Linda,” I said warmly, letting the small woman pull me into a strong hug.
“Sweetheart. It’s been a while.”
“Did you get the updated spreadsheets I sent you?”
She patted my hand. “Yes, dear. Everything went right to the accountant. I’m so glad you helped me clean things up.”
Linda was a spry woman in her sixties, and she was the heart and soul behind the Lovewell Food Pantry. She had been running it and fighting the good fight against food insecurity since I was a kid.
I made brief introductions, and Linda’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, I’m so thrilled. Paz here is one of the good ones,” she proclaimed, beaming at me. “We were scraping by and in danger of closing, but this one swooped in like a superhero and saved the day.”
Parker frowned and looked from Linda to me and back again, confused.
“He helped me with everything. The grant applications, cleaning up the books. He even helped us invest and diversify so we can plan for the future.” She pulled me down and kissed my cheek. “He’s an angel.”
If the heat creeping up my neck was any indication, my face had turned crimson. Linda was a friend of my mom’s, and I’d helped her with a few small things, just to stabilize the financial end of things. Anybody would have done it.
After Linda found her friends, Parker turned to me. “Aren’t you full of surprises, Mr. Superhero?”
I shrugged and put my arm around her, telling myself I had to play up the relationship. But secretly, I liked it. A lot. “All in a day’s work.”
“Is your cape at the dry cleaners?” she asked as the smell of her shampoo flooded my senses.
“Of course. It’s cashmere. Very fancy.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
As the night wore on and I had a couple of beers, I became more comfortable with my fake girlfriend. Her touches and handholding and flirty smiles were easier to tolerate, and as we mingled, I pushed away the niggling guilt I carried over our ruse.
But then my mother spotted us.
Loraine Gagnon was out of control. She had channeled her grief after my father’s death into a relentless drive to get us all married off. The second Tucker and Goldie came into our lives and she discovered the joys of being a grandmother, there had been no going back. Remy was married now, which meant Adele and I were in her crosshairs.
My sister was smart enough to keep her dating life far from Lovewell, and if my mother even began to pry, Adele shut her down with a ruthless efficiency I admired.
So I knew, from the moment my siblings had talked me into this, that she would lose her mind over Parker.
“Let me look at you!” she exclaimed, grabbing Parker’s arms and holding her out. She gave her a thorough examination before pulling her into a tight hug. “Such a pleasure to meet you. I dropped by the other day but missed you.” The unspoken commentary washow dare my son bring home a girlfriend and not tell me first.
I averted my eyes. I had no doubt Mom was ready to hit me with one of her signature glares. She was of an average height with neatly trimmed gray hair and large brown eyes. She always wore her glasses around her neck on one of many beaded or jeweled chains that matched her outfit perfectly.
After Dad died, she had curled into herself, letting her grief overwhelm her. But things had vastly improved in the last year or so. She had bounced back, recapturing her status as one of those older women who never stopped moving. First by volunteering and gardening, and now by working at the elementary school with Alice. She was constantly on the go, visiting friends, baking banana bread, or engaging in any of a dozen projects.
It felt good to have my mom back but keeping up with her commentary on my love life had been exhausting.
“Have you met my grandchildren? They are the lights of my life.” She clutched the pendant around her neck engraved with their initials. They had given her for Mother’s Day. “Do you want children?” She wasn’t even trying to be cool now.
“Mom!” I looped an arm around Parker’s waist and tugged her close. “Please don’t interrogate my girlfriend.”
She scrunched her nose in a look of disgust. “I’m only having a little fun, Pascal. You’ve never brought a woman home before. Let a mother dream.”
“I’m not offended. Mrs. Gagnon,” Parker said in the most goody two shoes tone of voice.
“Please, dear, call me Loraine. You must come over for dinner. How about tomorrow?” She raised one expectant brow at me, daring me to defy her.
“She’s on a deadline, Mom,” I said gently. “Maybe next weekend.”
