Townsend can’t recall the last time he invited a girl to have a meal with his family—college maybe? Or perhaps they met that Ballet Austin company dancer he dated for a bit in his mid-twenties. He really can’t remember—but he knows that he’ll remember this, the first time his mom met Talia, forever. Of course, he’ll only remember it because it’s already going so exceptionally poorly.
Mother invited them to brunch at Foothill Grille—the members-only dining room at Verano Country Club—to belatedly celebrate Townsend’s thirty-fourth birthday. Despite the casual dress code (it’s clubhouse fare, after all), his mom insisted on wearing one of her fussy retro skirt suits, complete with painful-looking pointed-toe pumps and an impractically small alligator leather purse. When they first sat down at the table, Talia joked that she must not be able to fit much more than her phone and ChapStick in that bag. In response, Mother said it was a Mini Kelly, and from the look on Talia’s face, Townsend could tell this didn’t make any more sense to her than it did to him. That, at least, made him smile. He loves that Talia isn’t fashion obsessed like other girls he’s dated and that she doesn’t pretend to know about things she doesn’t. Talia is confident. She is real.
A month has passed since they got back together, and already, Townsend feels like another person. Inspired by Talia’s regular Pilates classes, he’s taken up running again for the first time since he trained for the Austin Marathon back in 2019. He’s cut back even more on alcohol, and he’s started drinking chamomile tea with Talia before bed rather than ending his nights with a glass of scotch. He’s waking up earlier, singing in the shower, smiling at strangers on the street, leaving money in tip jars everywhere he goes—and it’s all because of Talia.
Best of all, he’s no longer afraid of his phone. There haven’t been any threatening messages in weeks, not after he made it clear that things were over. He feels proud of the simple, efficient way he handled things—just like his father used to dispense with employees who weren’t performing. Without trying too hard, Townsend can convince himself that the whole interlude never even happened. It was just a nightmare he can only remember now in patchy fragments.
As the new and improved Townsend, he hadn’t intended to be late to brunch. Talia just looked so good in her little floral minidress when he picked her up this morning that he insisted on having her right then and there. But when they arrived at the country club at quarter past (they’d been expected at ten), his mom’s annoyance was palpable. Also evident: her distaste for the short little dress Townsend found so sexy. As Mother looked his girlfriend up and down with casual dismissiveness, Townsend wondered if he should have suggested Talia change into something with a longer hemline. Or perhaps he should have suggested Talia not join them at all.
The hostess sat them at their usual table in the back, a secluded spot overlooking the pool. After getting settled and ordering (lox bagel sandwiches for him and Talia, Greek yogurt for his mom, greyhounds with Tito’s and grapefruit juice for all), Mother turns to Talia with a tight-lipped smile.
“Talia,” she says, “remind me what it is you do?” Townsend knows he never told his mom about Talia’s job—or about their previousrelationship and why it ended—so this overfamiliarity is strange. A tactic for getting Talia to drop her guard, he figures.
“I’m a machine learning engineer at Cuff.” Talia pauses, and then adds, “Cuff is a dating app.” Her cloth napkin still sits on her plate, wrapped around her silverware, and Townsend wills her to spread it on her lap. He knows she didn’t spend her weekends in etiquette class from the age of ten like he did, but still, she should know the basics by now. His snobbery annoys him; Mother is getting in his head.
“And what does machine learning entail?”
“Basically, I work with the artificial intelligence team to develop the AI-enabled features on the app. That can range from building millisecond real-time predictions at scale, to automating the ML-model life cycle, to building support for generative AI models.”
“My goodness.” Mother sips her water, being careful not to leave lipstick stains on her glass. “Isn’t that interesting.” He knows Mother doesn’t understand what any of that means, and even if she did, she’d hardly find it interesting. The woman still uses an ancient iPhone 6 and has told Townsend many times during the creation of AutoInTune that, while she’s proud of him, she can only handle so much of his “computer talk.”
“A lot of my job revolves around ensuring our AI system complies with data privacy laws and ethical AI development. AI is scary to a lot of people, just because it’s a largely unregulated business technology, which naturally leads to privacy concerns.” Talia must be nervous; she’s talking too much. Townsend needs to bail her out.
“She’s kind of a genius, if you can’t tell.” He places his hand softly on the back of Talia’s neck, and she leans into it, looking grateful and a little exhausted.
“Where did you go to school?”
“Auburn University.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Yes, you have, Mom,” Townsend says. “It’s one of the largest universities in the South.”
“It’s in Alabama,” Talia adds.
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right outside Opelika.” Townsend cringes at the use ofma’am; Mother finds certain Southern traditions affectatious, despite growing up in Austin herself.
“I believe there’s a Greater Lee County Chapter of the NLJC. Is that right?”
“I’m not ...” Talia trails off, seemingly at a loss.
“It’s the National League of Junior Cotillions,” Townsend tells her. “Mom, Talia didn’t do cotillion.”
“I see.” Mother pointedly eyes the napkin still sitting on Talia’s plate. Taking the hint, Talia unrolls it and spreads it on her lap, the tips of her ears burning pink. Fortunately, the server appears with their drinks, giving Townsend the opportunity to change the subject.
“Speaking of cotillion,” he says, “Mom, do you remember my friend Brett Livingston? He’s a St. Augustine guy, and we did cotillion together.”
“The doctor, yes?”
“He didn’t actually finish med school. He decided to join his dad’s company instead. But yes, him.”
“A shame,” Mother says.
Townsend ignores this. “Well, his brother is a venture capitalist at Silicon Hills Venture Partners, and I have a meeting with him to talk about expanding my platform.”
“Your what?”
