Page 86 of Play Along With Me
"Jake!"
I turn to see my parents approaching, my mother waving as if I might somehow miss her despite being ten feet away.
"We're early," my father explains unnecessarily.
"I wanted to make sure we got a good table," my mother adds. "One where we can all hear the pianist but still have a conversation. And not too close to the kitchen. And with good lighting so the photos come out well."
Photos. Of course there will be more photos. My mother has apparently appointed herself official documentarian of a relationship that doesn't actually exist.
"Mom," I say firmly, "please try to dial it back tonight. You're coming on a little strong."
"Strong?" she repeats, sounding genuinely confused. "I'm just being supportive."
"The Instagram post with the 'future family members' hashtag crossed several lines," I remind her. "Audrey's being incredibly good-natured about all this, but there are boundaries."
"Oh, Audrey doesn't mind," my mother dismisses with a wave. "She has a wonderful sense of humor. That's what makes her so perfect for you. Jessica was always so serious about everything. Just like you're being right now."
My father, sensing the familiar territory of a conversation that could quickly devolve into another Jessica versus Audreycomparison, intervenes smoothly. "We'll be on our best behavior, son. Won't we, Patricia?"
"Of course," my mother agrees, though her definition of "best behavior" differs significantly from most people's. "I just want to spend more time with her before we leave. It's not every day our son finds someone who makes him smile like that."
Before I can respond, I spot Audrey approaching from down the block. Even from a distance, there's something about her that draws the eye—not conventional model beauty, but a vibrant energy that makes her seem more alive than everyone around her. She's wearing a simple blue dress that makes her eyes look even more striking than usual, her hair loose around her shoulders.
Something tightens in my chest at the sight of her. This is getting dangerous.
"There she is!" my mother exclaims, waving enthusiastically.
Audrey notices us and waves back, a smile spreading across her face that somehow both calms and accelerates my heartbeat simultaneously.
"Hi," she says when she reaches us, slightly breathless. "Sorry if I'm late. My car decided today was a great day to make a new and terrifying rattling sound, so I had to take the T."
"You're right on time," I assure her. Then, without thinking, I lean in and kiss her cheek—a gesture that wasn't part of our previous interactions but somehow feels natural in the moment.
Audrey's eyes widen slightly in surprise, but she recovers quickly, her hand coming up to rest briefly on my arm. "Glad I made it. I've been looking forward to Italian food all day. And photo albums, of course."
My mother beams, patting her oversized purse significantly. "I brought the good ones. All Jake's hockey tournaments from ages five to twelve, plus some adorable bath time photos from when he was a toddler."
"Mom," I groan, imagining the few nudes in the bunch. Audrey has no business seeing downstairs.
"What? You were cute! Those chunky little thighs!"
Audrey's barely contained laughter doesn't help matters. "Chunky thighs, huh? This evening just got even more promising."
My father, taking pity on me, ushers us toward the restaurant entrance. "Let's head in before Patricia describes any more of Jake's baby attributes in public."
The maître d' leads us to a corner table near the piano but partially secluded by a decorative wine rack—perfect for conversation while still enjoying the music. It's the kind of table they save for regulars or special occasions, making me suspect my mother called ahead with specific requests. Nothing would surprise me at this point.
As we settle in, I find myself pulling out Audrey's chair automatically, my hand resting briefly on the small of her back as she sits. These small touches have become surprisingly easy, natural extensions of our pretend relationship that no longer feel like conscious acts for my parents' benefit.
"So," my mother begins the moment we're seated, "Audrey, I tagged you in my Instagram post! I hope you didn't mind. I just had to share what a lovely time we had."
Audrey, to her credit, doesn't miss a beat. "It was quite the social media debut for our relationship. I've never beenhashtagged as a 'future family member' before. Moving quickly there, Patricia."
My father chokes slightly on his water. "Patricia, we talked about this."
"It was just a little hashtag," my mother defends. "People use those all the time. They don't mean anything."
"Your cousin Marge called to ask if she needed to save the date for a summer wedding," my father points out dryly.
