“Oh good, you’re back,” she said, eyeing the beers but not commenting on the timing. “We were just wrapping up.”
People started shifting into goodbye mode. There were hugs, half-finished conversations, promises to meet again soon.
Zack kissed Mark on the cheek. Chris slung an arm around Jaime’s shoulders. Pampi barked at absolutely nothing, just to stay relevant.
I hovered at the edges, helping where I could, handing off containers, stacking chairs. Eventually, the yard emptied out.
Cars pulled away one by one until it was just me, my parents, and the aftermath of a successful barbecue. My mom looked around, assessing the damage.
“Dane, can you help clean up?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.”
We moved into the kitchen together, falling into an easy rhythm. For a while, we worked in comfortable silence. Which, with my mom, never lasted long.
“I hope you know,” she said finally, not looking at me, “I only push because I care.”
There it was. I glanced over at her. She was focused on a plate, scrubbing a spot that didn’t seem particularly stubborn.
“I know,” I said.
She nodded, like she’d expected that answer but needed to hear it anyway.
“I just want you to be happy,” she added. “To have someone. Someone who looks out for you. Who you can come home to.”
I leaned against the counter, drying my hands.
“I get that,” I said. “Really, I do.”
And I did. Under all the matchmaking schemes and questionable blind dates, it came from a place that was good.
“I just,” I hesitated, searching for the right words. “I need to figure that out on my own.”
She finally looked at me then.
“I’m not saying I don’t want that,” I went on. “The whole someone thing. I just don’t think being set up with Linda’s nephew is the way it’s going to happen.”
A corner of her mouth twitched. “You haven’t even given Ron a chance.”
“Ron’s probably very nice. That’s not the issue.”
“The issue is?” she asked.
“I want it to be my choice,” I said simply.
She studied me for a moment, really looked, like she was trying to decide if this was one of my usual deflections or something more solid.
“And if your choice takes a long time?” she asked.
I thought about the empty yard earlier. About that imagined future that had pressed in too close. Then I thought about a pair of warm brown eyes going wide across a café table.
“I’m okay with that,” I said.
She sighed, setting the plate down.
“You’re stubborn,” she said.
“Runs in the family,” I reminded her.
