"Then ask Rona when she's having her fourth because I'm not marrying some girl just to have a trolling."
"That's not the only reason I want to see you settle down," his mother argued. "You've been alone for a while now. Don't you get lonely? Don't you want someone to talk to, to share your life with?"
Not really, but Clay knew he couldn't say that to her because she would smack him upside the head and, as she was also a troll, that smack would hurt like hell.
"Someday, yes. But not today."
His mother remained silent and he felt a shaft of hope dart through him. Maybe she would finally drop this subject for a while.
"You're right, of course," his mother said. "Why bother doing anything to make your old, ailing mother happy?"
Clay closed his eyes and let his head drop. Shit. The guilt trip. Something his mother excelled at.
There was no chance at all he was getting out of this without being set up on a blind date with one of his mother's friend's daughters, nieces, or cousins.
When Sydney Dugan resorted to guilt, she had something planned and you'd best go along with it or get flattened.
He couldn't just give up easily though. It wasn't in his nature. In fact, he was certain that stubbornness came from his mother.
"You're not sick, Mother. You're the picture of health."
"But I'm old?" she asked, arching a brow at him.
Shit, shit, shit. How did he always get himself in the hole without even picking up a shovel?
"Of course not!" he argued, abandoning the table leg he was sanding to go over to her. Clay took her by the shoulders and gave her kiss on each cheek. "Anyone who doesn't know us thinks you and Rona are sisters rather than mother and daughter."
His mother gave him a sharp look but seemed to abandon her irritation with him.
"That's a lovely thing to say, even if it's not true."
Actually, it was. Though they were trolls, they aged slowly. His mother was nearing her seventies and she still looked no older than forty.
"It is absolutely true," he stated, releasing her to go back to his table leg. Maybe he'd distracted her from the earlier conversation and she'd finally leave him in peace.
"Thank you." She sniffed. After a moment's pause, she said, "I know how much you despise my matchmaking attempts, so I've done something you should find less irritating."
"And what's that, Mother?" he asked absently, immersing himself in the grain and shape of the wood beneath his hand. He should have known better than to take his full attention away from his mother and her scheming.
"I've signed you up at Mystical Matchmakers. They specialize in fae and other immortal creatures. I've spoken to Dominique at length about you and she promised me that she would find you the most suitable female."
Clay froze in mid-motion and looked up at her. "You what?"
"I've signed you up with a matchmaker," his mother repeated, assuring him that he hadn't suddenly gone insane.
He tossed the sandpaper aside as fury filled him. He flexed his fingers and noticed the green tinge to his skin. Clay took several deep breaths, attempting to calm himself before he spoke. If he trolled out, his mom wouldn’t speak to him for a couple of weeks. Though, after this, he might not mind the silence.
"Tell me you're joking," he said.
His mother seemed oblivious to the fact that he was a hairsbreadth from trolling out. "It's for the best, dear. Dominique will be here at the house at one for your intake interview."
Without waiting for him to respond, she gathered her bag and strolled out of the woodshop to gather his two nieces and nephew.
"What the hell just happened?" he asked, but his tools had no response.
* * *
While Clay was tempted to leave the house for the rest of the day, he knew better. If he avoided this situation, his mother would just arrange things so that he had no way to escape. Such as at the next family gathering. With his sister, brother-in-law, and perhaps his aunts and uncles all watching.
