"Cheap? Is that what you call being sensible about your finances?" I demanded. "Cheapcovered the expenses your scholarship didn't and allowed you to graduate from college loan-free."
He sighed dramatically. "You go to Knife & Fork all the time with clients."
"Yes, withclients. To impress them. I don't pay out of my own pocket for those meals. They’re a business expense."
"Well, we're trying to impress Blossom and her mother."
His logic was terribly flawed.
"You meanyou'retrying to impress them, with my money. What does Blossom's mother do?"
"She owns a store where she sells herbal supplements and stuff like that. There's also a yoga studio in the back of the store."
Great. She probably wouldn't appreciate a place like Knife & Fork. Probably didn't eat meat. "And Blossom?"
He hesitated, which meant I wouldn't like the answer.
"She's looking for a job in cybersecurity, and she's had some interviews."
Another red flag.
Once again, I was disappointed. Granted, my son got his foot in the door of the bank because of me, but that was beside the point. I had warned him years ago that any woman he married should have a job of some kind. I didn't care ifshe walked dogs part-time—which in some parts of the country could be lucrative. She needed to have a way to contribute to the household. Two incomes were better than one. Ask me how I know.
"Dad, relax. Blossom is a great girl, you'll see. She has time to find a job."
"True," I mumbled.
"She speaks highly of her mother, who she said is very chill. I think the two of you will get along great." He was smiling the entire time he talked.
"You hope," I said in a clipped voice.
Manuel laughed, as if I had said something funny. "I'm not worried."
I was worried enough for the two of us.
"Want to see a picture of her?" he asked, his voice sounding hopeful.
"Oh, now you want to share pictures. Sure. Let me see what this Blossom person looks like." I suddenly realized I sounded like a cranky old man and was probably putting a damper on his excitement.
I softened my words with a faint smile, and he whipped out his phone and showed me his Instagram page.
"There she is," he said, enlarging a photo of him and a young woman sitting on a blanket in the grass. He had an arm around her, and she was resting her head on his shoulder.
I eyed him sideways and wondered if he was letting his hormones cloud his judgment.
I scrolled through a few more photos. Going strictly by these pictures, he had chosen well. She was definitely a looker, with light brown skin and her hair cut into a short, curly Afro. Her most stunning feature was her eyes. They were big and bright with long lashes. I immediately understood why my son had fallen for her, which became a reason for concern. He mightbe thinking with the head in his pants and not the one on his shoulders.
"You have that look on your face," Manuel said.
"What look?"
"Your skeptical look."
I paused, wondering how to express my concerns without sounding condescending. "Look, I know you're an adult, but I can't help but wonder if you're moving a little fast. You haven't known this young woman very long."
"What happened to 'when you know, you know'? You said those exact words to me once," he said.
Internally, I sighed, tabling an argument that would probably get me nowhere. "Let's try to make the best of the meeting. I'll remain impartial and give your fiancée”—I grimaced at the word—"the benefit of the doubt."
