"Tremont," Linden said.
My father walked into the room, took one look at the verbal food fight underway and turned right back around. Always predictable, my father. My parents were opposite sides of the same coin. She was outgoing and expressive. He could go days without speaking to anyone.
"Tripp," Ash said.
"Tron," Linden replied.
"Trotsky," Ash said.
"Now you're just being flaming a-holes," my mother said. She glanced to me with a sympathetic frown. "They were fine before you got here. They were talking about hockey."
"Hockey. The great uniter," I mumbled.
"Trader," Linden said.
That stopped my oldest brother. "What? Like, as in Joe?"
My date held up both hands as if attempting to keep the raptors at bay. "It is Troy," he said, sliding careful glances at my brothers before smiling at me. "Hi."
That single word packed many others in with it. There was "Holy shit, are they done yet?" and "What the actual fuck is happening?" and "Can this get worse? Please tell me it can't get worse."
"Hi," I replied, attempting to force a million apologies into that lame greeting.
"I'm Troy," he continued. "I didn't realize this was a family dinner and I thought, well"—he ran a hand down his face—"I thought you'd know about this. I thought I'd been talking to you. I'm sorry. This wasn't, I mean, it's not—"
"It's not your fault," I interrupted with more patience than I currently owned. "That's a fair assumption." I shot a mildly enraged glance at my mother before smiling at Troy. "Would you give us a minute?" I didn't wait for a response, instead yanking my mother into the hall bathroom and slamming the door behind us. "What the hell is going on?"
My mother seized this opportunity to tuck my hair behind my ears and rub a saliva-wet thumb over my chin. "I saw Troy on one of the apps and I liked his profile. He seemed like a good catch."
I rolled my hand in front of me, wanting more information. "Based on…what, exactly?"
She lifted a shoulder and then turned her attention to picking invisible things off my shirt. "Nice photos, nice bio, nice job. He likes dogs too."
"What does he do?" I asked.
"Real estate developer. He does very well for himself," she said with the type of self-satisfied head bob that told me I'd have to thank her for this injustice later.
"It's Sunday dinner," I started, "and you didn't mention we'd be having any guests today. Don't you think I would've pulled myself together a bit more if I'd known there was a dude coming to dinner?"
She glanced down at my tunic and leggings and then fingered the unwashed ends of my hair. "You're beautiful and perfect the way you are." She licked her thumb and ran it over my brows. "If he doesn't love you with a scraggly pedicure, then he's not the one."
I swallowed a sigh. "But I don't reveal the scraggly pedicure until date four or five, Mom. It's kind of like seeing each other first thing in the morning or acknowledging that everyone poops. It's not getting-to-know-you material."
She brought her hands to my shoulders with a tight smile. "Let's mix that schedule up a bit, shall we? Worst-case scenario, your brothers arm wrestle over the guy's name and he runs off like his hair's on fire."
"It would be awesome if there was something between respecting my schedule and my surprise date running from our home with his hair on fire." I gave her a manic grin. That I wasn't screaming at her was a victory. "So awesome."
"It's good to want," she replied with a shrug.
"So help me," I said, wagging a finger at her, "if I come for dinner someday to discover I'm a contestant onThe Bachelor, I will put you in an old folks' home when the time comes. Maybe sooner."
"You'd miss me too much." My mother opened the bathroom door and gestured to the hallway. "Come on, now. Let's not leave Tiberius—"
"Troy," I interrupted.
"Whatever," she murmured. "Let's not leave him out to dry. Your brothers, they can be real a-holes when they want to be."
"Speaking of which," I said, stopping outside the dining room. "You're welcome to direct any of this matchmaking energy toward them."
