Page 52 of The Love Destroyers

“Howinteresting,” Mother says.

“Is it interesting?” Anthony asks, shifting my attention to him. His mouth has a wry twist, and he’s wearing a sweater Rosie must have bought for him, because it has two whole colors in it and neither of them are black or gray. He still has the trimmed beard he grew just before meeting her, but his looksaren’t the only aspect of him she’s changed. Before Rosie, he was sullen and discontent. Restless. Consumed by remorse. Now…

I have to admit that marriage has changed him for the better. He’s smiled more in the last three months than the rest of his life combined.

Rosie gives my mother an impish look and asks, “How’s that app working for you? Anthony had fun working on the notifications for you the other day. He flinches every time he sees a cell phone. I think he has dating app PTSD.”

“I can confirm that I do,” Anthony says, helping himself to a roll. They’re delicious, probably because no one in this house made them.

“Yes, I suppose he did see some interesting photos,” my mother says with a snort. “Those men were awfully proud of themselves, aren’t they? Even when there’s no call for it. If you’ve seen one phallus, you’ve seen them all. They all look the same. But I’ve deleted the app.”

I nearly drop my fork.

“Aw, really?” Rosie asks, frowning. “I was hoping we could all get a little tipsy and spend a few hours going through it and making dates.”

“Yeah, that was never going to happen,” Anthony says, although I doubt him. I think he’d do just about anything his wife asked.

“Mom,” I say. “Why’d you delete it? Are you interested in someone?”

“We’ll see,” she says primly. “There’s something to be said for doing things the old-fashioned way.”

“What about Chuck?” I ask, deciding to go for gold.

“Ooh, good one, Emma,” Rosie says. “Why bother with NoBlueBillsRequired and those other dick-pic-happy guys when you have a silver fox who cooks. Remember that crème brûlée from the other night?”

My mother actually gets a little flustered as she rearranged her napkin and then says, “Yes, well, he’s coming here on Friday to teach me how to make it.”

Anthony drops his fork. “You’re going to cook?”

“I’m sure it’s very simple,” she says frostily.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” I put in. I may not cook or bake much myself, but I find the shows relaxing sometimes. Crème brûlée is not a beginner dessert.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rosie says, excited. “It’s a pretext to get him alone in the house.”

“Really, Rosie,” my mother says. “You make me sound like a predator.”

“There’ll be no need for predation,” Rosie replies. “He’s into you. He kept talking to you all night. No one could get a word in.”

“We’ll see.” My mother looks pleased, though, as she sips her wine. Then she turns her laser-like focus on me. “Emma, dear, I’m sure you’ll have something to say about all of this. I know you’d prefer it if I let everything shrivel up and started walking around with a cat on a leash.”

Anthony makes a pained noise, but my eyes are fixed on my mother’s, even though I’m very aware of Shadow’s leash in my hand.

“No, Mom, I just want you to be happy. Chuck seems like a good guy. If you like him, I think you should give him a shot.”

Her eyes widen.

“But, you know, it goes without saying that I don’t think you should drive off to Vegas and get married.”

“No, dear,” she says wryly. “It would be a terribly long drive. I’d fly first class. Now, I’ve booked several spa treatments for you for Friday. Take the time to relax while our friends get everything arranged for Operation Love Destroyers.”

“Are you sending her away early so you can spend all day preparing for your date?” Rosie gushes. “This is giving me life, I swear. Will you tell us everything?”

Anthony’s eyes widen in panic, and my mother gives a Mona Lisa smile as she picks up her wine and takes a sip. “Is my son keeping you so bored that you need to find excitement in such things?”

Before they leave, Anthony pulls me aside, telling me he wants to take a look at the hole in the wall of our father’s office. My mother is all too happy for him to do it, because she’s hoping one of the other men in our lives will take care of it so we don’t have to wait for Seamus to get better. I’m tempted to try taking care of it myself, but I have to admit I have less upper arm strength than the task requires.

Of course, Anthony barely looks at hole in the wall once he gets me in there.

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