I thought I was against dating. After I tried online dating and it failed, I figured I was content devoting all my attention to building my business. Happy to be hustling like no eco-designer has hustled before.
But from the way my stomach flips at his words, it’s clear I’m not against fake dating Ford Devon.
“Yes,” I say.
I was never saying no.
19
KISS ENGINEER
FORD
This fake date makes perfect sense. I’m already taking Skylar to the opening of the board game store. The gala next month is simply an extension of our plus-one-ing.
But I’m aware that my mother is a bulldozer. Sure, Skylar has handled her with nothing but theaplombiestaplomb. Still, I need to make sure Skylar’s okay with this new twist. It’s one thing for her to agree to a fake date with Mom managing my life over arugula salad. It’s another for Skylar to honestly want to go.
Trouble is, after I pay the bill and we walk out of the café, Mom—surprise, surprise—commandeers the convo. With a furrow in her brow, she sets a hand on my arm, looking up at me under the awning of an illustration of the owner’s tan Chihuahua she named the café after. “How long do you think it’ll take to catch an Uber and get to the airport at this time of day?”
Right. She has a return flight at five. It’s two-thirty now. And I wouldn’t be a good son if I just let her catch an Uber. “I can take you,” I tell her, “but I also have to drop Skylar off because she has an appointment.” I do trafficmath, but I’m not sure my chauffeur services will work for both women. The time it takes to dart over to Hayes Valley to drop off Skylar, then get Mom to the airport, will mean cutting it close for Mom’s flight.
I grit my teeth, annoyed that I have to choose between being a good son and a good neighbor.
Skylar steps in and says, “I’ll just catch a bus back to my place. It’s not a problem.”
My mother lifts a hand, her diamond ring glinting in the autumn sun as she waves us off. “Don’t let me get in the way. You two need to figure out how this whole dating thing is going to work,” she says, like she’s been plotting this for a long time. And honestly, she probably has. She brandishes her phone like it’s a prize. “I’m a pro with Uber after this morning.”
“Mom, I’m driving you,” I cut in. It’s about the principle now. She rappels into my life like a CIA agent, then exits at her whim. I’m driving her because, one, I need to wrest control from her, and two, well, she’s my mom, and as much of a bull in a china shop as she is, I love her. But I also don’t want to leave Skylar in the lurch.
I raise a wait-a-minute finger and step away from them to open my Uber app and order a Green ride for Skylar. When I’m done, I say, “There’ll be an Uber for you in a few minutes.”
Skylar’s smile is warm and genuine. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
Mom fights off a cat-like grin.
A few minutes later, a car in the same model as mine pulls up, and Skylar arches a brow at the electric vehicle. “Nice choice,” she says.
I give her a nod, one that says,I get it.I feel the same.
She slides into the plush back seat and waves as thedriver pulls out of the lot. I watch her until the red car slips onto the road and out of sight.
I turn back to Mom. “Ready for the airport?”
She’s staring at me, arms crossed, lips twitching like she just swept the high-roller table in Monte Carlo.
“What?” I ask.
“Fake date,” she says with an arch of her brow. “Hardly.”
She’s seen right through me, but I push back. I have to. “Itisa fake date. You literally just set it up. I’m doing it for you,” I insist. But am I too insistent?
She squeezes my arm, nodding in solidarity. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.”
The woman knows me too well. “Mom, did you want a ride?”
“I did offer to take an Uber,” she points out.
“And if I’d let you take one, I never would’ve heard the end of it.”
