I don’t fantasize about getting engaged and planning my “special day,” but I must admit to some cognitive dissonance as I watch my mom revel in the role of blushing bride while I’m wearing an oversized black T-shirt with a toothpaste stain down the front.
Also, I’m a little envious that she can pull off a dress with an open back and no supportive undergarments.
My mother’s love life blossomed when the world shut down. Shewouldmeet with a financial adviser over Zoom, fall in love, and subsequently have actual chemistry in person. (I would obviously be too ashamed to show anyone my financial records and then have to face them in real life.)
Dating a slightly younger person shifted my mom’s entire mindset. She and Perry attend events all over the city, try new restaurants, spontaneously go away for long weekends.
While I wouldn’t say I have a close relationship with Perry, we get along pretty well. Actually, I suspect that they would very much like to spend a day decluttering the office, but they’re polite enough not to say so. Perry is responsible (again, professional financial adviser), organized, dependable: basically the opposite of my dad.
We load the garment bag into the car and drive over to Nordstrom to complete the other mission of the day. She’s insisted on buying me a new dress for the occasion.
“You can’t wear black to your mother’s wedding,” she says, pulling into the shopping center parking structure. “It’ll looklike you’re making a passive-aggressive statement.”
“Almost everything I own is black,” I say. “It’ll look weirder if I show up in floral chiffon.”
“I think a floral would look beautiful for a summer wedding. Perry is wearing this amazing butter yellow suit with a cropped vest.”
I draw out a picture in my mind of what they’ll look like in their coordinating summer colors: my mom in her elegant, perfectly fitted gown next to Perry with their immaculate undercut and tailored vest. It’s probably my duty as a family member to work with their color palette.
Twenty minutes later, she’s hustling me into the dressing room, three pastel dresses draped over her forearm.
“Say, what do you think of Nick?” Before I can reply, she continues, speaking loudly through the dressing room door. “He seems like such a nice man, right?”
“Sure.” I pull my T-shirt over my head, noting that I should have worn a different bra for this. “I mean, he did make a lot of noise with his apartment updates—”
“Men today can be so unreliable. There’s so much on Nick’s plate with his job and his daughter. He told me that he only took one day off this month. And it was so he could move!”
“And what does he do that’s so demanding?” I take the first floral dress off the hanger, waiting for her to explain that he’s an on-call vet at a twenty-four-hour clinic or an air traffic controller.
“He manages the Chili’s on 3rd Avenue.”
“Chili’s?” Had I been properly hydrating, I would’ve done a spit take. “He’s toiling away at Chili’s?”
“He’s the general manager. It’s a hard job.”
“I work in a restaurant.” I step into tiers of floral chiffon. “I know what’s involved.” And my mom never seems all thatimpressed when I work late.
“But he’s in charge of the whole business. He seems very responsible.” There’s an upward lilt to her voice. A sort of implied ellipsis. “He’d be a great catch for someone. Do you think he’s seeing anyone?” she asks with overly casual inflection.
“How would I know?” I can tell I hate this dress before I zip itup.
“You and Romily were over at his apartment. What did you talk about?”
“HisStar Trekwaffle iron,” I reply.
“Well, do you think he’s good-looking?”
I freeze. Suddenly I have a suspicion about why she’s launched a PR campaign on this man’s behalf.
“ ‘Good-looking’?”
“I wouldn’t say he’s…traditionally handsome, but do you think he has an interesting face? Would a typical woman swipe right on him?”
Is this why she put out all that food the other day?
“I’m not going to date your neighbor, Mom.”
“Oh please, Sam.” She lets out a laugh. “Obviously not for you. I was thinking about my friend Christina’s daughter.”
