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“Where’s it located?”
“Spring Valley,” she says, my heart sinking as she gives me the cross streets.
“Great,” I lie. “That’s not far from me.”
I was hoping for a little more distance than that.
I guess that means it’s time to escalate things with my fake girlfriend. It’s the only way I’m going to throw the scent off what I’m really doing.
We place our orders, and then my mom asks, “So what’s new with you, honey bear?”
I chuckle at the term of endearment. When there were four boys running around the house, my mom took to calling us all honey, honey bear, or sweet cheeks or else inevitably she’d say the wrong name. I may be thirty-six, but that doesn’t stop her from calling me that now anyway.
“I started seeing someone.” That’s not a lie.
My mom’s eyes light up as she sits up a little straighter, and then she leans forward and says conspiratorially, “Tell me everything.”
Even my dad looks sort of interested.
“Her name’s Samantha.” That is a lie. “She’s got black hair, blue eyes, and she’s a single mom and a nurse.” All of that’s true of the woman named Samantha.
“A single mom?” my mom repeats, ignoring the rest of the stuff I said.
“She’s doing an incredible job raising her seven-year-old son virtually on her own since her son only goes to his dad’s place every other weekend.” That could be either Sam or Jolene.
“Have you met the kid?” my dad asks.
I nod. “He did a camp with one of my tight ends and I happened to show up there.”
“Is that how you met her?” my mom asks.
Oh.
We haven’t discussed how we met, so I offer the truth instead of fabricating something else. I don’t want to pile lies on top of lies. “I actually first met her at a restaurant across the street from our practice facility.”
“How long have you been seeing her?” My mom is on point with the grilling today, and it’s another question I should’ve been prepared to answer.
“A few weeks. We just attended our first event together this past week.” I shrug. “It’s new, but it’s powerful.”
My mom rubs her hands together. “Ooh! Is this the one? Am I finally going to get grandbabies?”
“A seven-year-old isn’t exactly a baby, Missy,” my dad points out.
Jesus. This is heavy. I wasn’t expecting to have to field quite all this from my parents, though I’m not quite sure why I wasn’t expecting it. It’s natural they’d be curious about the new woman in my life, and I wish I had better answers than what I’m giving.
I guess it’s better to play it vague.
“I’ll plead the fifth on that front, Mom.”
She makes a sour face, but I’m not mentally prepared to answer these questions.
I shift topics to the upcoming season, something that feels much easier to talk about, and after lunch, they show me the new place.
It’s an eight-minute drive to my place, and I’m positive that’s what my mom liked about it.
I don’t want them that close. New York felt too close given what I’m doing behind their backs with the enemy, but I can’t exactly craft a reason to stop them from buying the place if it’s what they want.
I guess I just have to figure out a way to keep throwing them off the scent.
