Page 14 of Phishing for Love
After handing him a pastrami and mustard sandwich, his favorite, I lean back in my chair and take a sip of the tea, soaking up my happy place.
“Anything interesting happening at work?” Mom asks, gesturing for me to hold out my arms.
“A new guy started today.” I set my tea down and extend my arms. She smears a thick layer of aloe vera on my scratches.
“Which department?” Dad asks around a mouthful of sandwich.
“He’s a consultant who’ll be handling our cybersecurity.” I’m purposefully vague on the details, especially the part about the cat video.
“What’s his name?” Grandma asks.
“Aaron.”
“Strong name.” Grandma’s eyes, the exact shade of green as mine, settle on me speculatively. “How old is he?”
“Thirty-one.” Where Mevia gets all her information from is still a mystery to me.
“Is he handsome?” Grandma asks.
I shrug as casually as I can. “I suppose.”
My mom straightens in her chair, transitioning into high-alert mode. She reminds me of a hunting dog sniffing the air, sensing something on the breeze. “What else do you know about him?”
“Not much. He seems to like his privacy.”
Grandma nods in approval. “A man who keeps to himself. Commendable. Can’t stand blabbermouths. Like Google.”
It’s an odd comparison, but when you have an obsessive feud with a machine, I imagine that’ll always be your reference point. More importantly, I have to dissuade Grandma from the worrying pedestal she’s placed Aaron on. “I find himextremelyaggravating.”
Mom and Grandma exchange a loaded look, while my dad continues eating, oblivious to the undercurrents.
“Stop it, you two,” I admonish them. “This Aaron guy is only here for six months. And I’m seeing Nathan.”
Dad looks up from his plate. “You’ve been seeing him for a whole year and the man hasn’t put a ring on your finger.”
“We’re taking it slow,” I tell him, for what feels like the hundredth time. He opens his mouth and I hold up a finger. “Uh-uh, no sentence that begins with ‘In my day.’”
His mouth clamps shut.
Mom pats my knee. “Nathan’s a good man. Solid and reliable.”
My grandmother raises her eyebrows. “I just wish that solid and reliable man had a sense of humor.”
Dad stabs a finger in the air. “Exactly my feelings, Deanna!”
“I’m sure he’s working on it,” my mom says.
Dad lets out a disbelieving grunt. “If he doesn’t have a sense of humor now, it’s not going to magically show up one day. Humor doesn’t work like that.”
“Is it because he doesn’t laugh at your dad jokes?” I ask. “Because not even Kate laughs at them.”
A weighted silence settles on us, courtesy of the grenade I’ve inadvertently tossed into the conversation. None of us say out loud what we’re all thinking—that Kate doesn’t laugh at much anymore.
Finally, my dad says, “Remember thatFriendsepisode we all watched here? Your boyfriend didn’t laugh once.”
Friendsis the screen equivalent of comfort food in our family. Even though it’s an old series, its comedy doesn’t date and to be confronted by someone who’s completely indifferent to our favorite series has left my folks at a loss for words.
I’m unable to mount a defense on Nathan’s behalf. To be honest, I’m still struggling to understand it myself. How can anyone not laugh atFriends? But that one question leads to others and that’s not a good thing, because it starts to feel as though something nameless is gaining a foothold in me.
