Page 13 of Perfect Pairing
“That girl has a crush on you,” Leon said.
I scoffed. “She does not.”
“Oh, honey,” Lena said, placing her hand over mine on the table. “She absolutely does.”
“Well…” I trailed off, unsure how to navigate this shift in conversation. At last, I settled on, “She’s too young for me.”
“Have you given any thought to…romance lately?” Lena asked.
I inhaled so sharply, a piece of bread lodged in my throat, and I coughed roughly, trying to clear it from my windpipe. My eyes watered as I fought to regain my composure, and I lifted my glass to wash it away with some wine.
Not ideal, but it did the job.
“Why are you asking me about romance?”
Lena lifted a slender shoulder, attempting not to make a big deal of her trying to pry into my private life.
Had I somehow broadcasted my curiosity about Brie to her? Was this mother’s intuition at work?
“You’ve been single for an awfully long time, Ezra. Long before your marriage truly ended.”
“And?”
“And…we all need that companionship. Hansen could use a mother figure in his life.”
“He has you.”
Lena’s entire demeanor shifted, sadness clouding her peculiar golden eyes. “I don’t count.”
I averted my gaze as blood rushed to my cheeks. This conversation was so fucking uncomfortable for a number of reasons, and it took every ounce of self-control I had not to fly off the handle. I knew Lena’s concerns came from a good place, from that deep-seated maternal instinct that drove her to mother everyone around her.
But my romantic life—or lack thereof—wasn’t up for discussion.
“We’re doing just fine on our own,” I told her, leaving no room for argument.
I chanced a glance in her direction, and though she looked likeshe had more to say, she nodded curtly before returning to our discussion.
We spent a few tense hours going over everything we would need for the little popup food stand we’d put in the old Delatou family barn, and then I headed into work. The afternoon and evening passed in a flurry, and by nine p.m., I was home, sagging against the door in relief.
“Long day?” Dad asked from the living room as I strode through. His glasses were perched on the end of his nose, an old Harlan Coben novel clasped in his hands.
“You could say that,” I told him, continuing toward the fridge.
I withdrew a bottle of beer, twisted the top off, and guzzled as much as I could before pulling it away and gasping for air.
“What’s going on?”
I startled, not having heard him approach. “Just…” I turned to him, and he waited me out while I marshaled my thoughts. “How come you never moved on after Mom left?”
Surprise flicked across his face before his expression settled into determination and acceptance, as though he’d been waiting for the day I’d want to have this conversation. It was impossible not to draw the parallels between our situations, and after my earlier conversation with Lena, I was curious how alike we truly were.
“At first, between keeping a roof over our heads and keeping you alive, I just didn’t have time. But the longer I went without having a person to share my life with in that way, the more I realized I just…didn’t need it. I was content with just me and you.”
“Weren’t you angry?”
Iwas angry. Angry that Shannon had chosen drink and drugs over her son. Angry that we’d never loved each other to begin with. Angry that, like me, Hansen had to grow up without a mom.
“I was, but I got over it.”
