Page 124 of Phishing for Love
We finish the meal, and Aaron tells my mom it’s the best lasagna he’s ever eaten. Mom beams, basking in the compliment. When he insists on helping her clear the table, I can tell from her misty-eyed expression she’s already picturing the grandchildren she’s hoping Aaron and I will one day produce, a von Trapp family troop of dark-haired, blue-eyed boys and girls cavorting on green hills.
After they disappear into the kitchen, Grandma’s eyes fall to half-mast and Dad and Lisset withdraw to the far end of the table to work on some math problems she’s having trouble grasping.
I turn to Kate. “What’s going on? Why do you keep looking at Aaron?”
Her brow furrows. “It seems serious between the two of you.”
“It is. Or at least I think so. I really like him.”
Her frown deepens. “Why have you told us not to ask him any personal questions?”
“He doesn’t like to talk about his family or his past.”
She stares at me incredulously. “You don’t think that’s a red flag?”
I could point out that she refuses to talk about certain aspects of her past, but I don’t. I don’t want to ruin family lunch.
“Do you know anything about his family?” Kate demands.
“Not much.”
“So it’s ‘serious’—” She does sarcastic air quotes.“—but you hardly know anything about him.”
“He’ll tell me about his family when he’s ready.”
Kate taps her fingers on the table. “How long have you known Aaron?”
At least I’ve confirmed where Lisset’s gleaned her interrogative skills. I let out a heavy sigh. “Since May.”
“It’s September now,” she says slowly, as if I’m just not getting it. “Four months you’ve known him, and yet his family and his past remain a mystery. It’s not right he’s so secretive.”
“We only started dating two weeks ago, Kate,” I say, forcing the words past the knot in my throat. “Give us time.”
Translation: Please don’t do or say something to wreck this for me.
Kate’s face softens. “Your Pollyanna outlook will be your undoing.”
I notice my grandmother sitting silently, watching the two of us. “Grandma, help me out here.”
She regards me for a long moment. Finally, she says, “Kate’s right.”
I blink at her in shock, but I’m unable to follow up with her because Aaron returns with my mom and retakes his seat. My chest is tight wondering how far Kate will push this. She’ll insist she’s doing it out of concern for me, that she has my best interests at heart, but I wish she wouldn’t feel compelled to interfere in my life.
With nerves filling my stomach, I place my napkin on the table and half-rise from my chair. “Mom, lunch was lovely, but I’m pretty tired, so we should probably get going.”
“Noooooo, Auntie Tess!” wails Lisset.
“We haven’t had dessert yet!” Mom interjects, scandalized. “Of course, you can’t leave.”
Aaron stares at me with a quizzical frown, sensing something is off, but clearly conflicted between wanting to appease me and not wanting to be rude to my folks. “Let’s stay for dessert,” he coaxes.
Seeing my mom’s devastated look, I fall back into my seat. This is a battle I have no chance of winning.
Mom places a pecan and pear tart I recognize from Beth’s Bakery on the table. She dishes us each a slice, along with a dollop of whipped cream. Kate, the little she-devil, waits until we’re nicely sweetened up before she turns to Aaron and asks, “What about your parents, Aaron? Do they live nearby?”
Aaron’s fork pauses midair. “No,” he answers shortly.
I glare at her.Enough.
