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“What’s my situation?”
“Your anti-social situation. You don’t ever talk about wanting a relationship with a boy,” she says, leaning closer to me and flicking her eyes to Marjorie. “Are you sure you like boys? It’s OK if you don’t. I’m a hip mom, and we can find you a nice lesbian who has a tongue ring and can…”
“Mom, I like boys!” I say through gritted teeth. “I just don’t want a relationship right now. I’m young. I want to finish my education first. I just started the semester and don’t have time for this shit. What’s wrong with that?”
“You haven’t had a boyfriend since Trent in ninth grade. Sure, there was that guy in college that took your virginity because you wanted to see what all the fuss was about, but that doesn’t count as a boyfriend.”
“Believe me, that Trent shit show was enough for a decade, and I have another year before the statute of limitations runs out on being pissed about that.”
She flattens the paper in front of me, and I bend over to read it. “It’s a cuffing season speed dating event. I took the liberty of signing up for both of us,” she says. “It’s over in Lemont, so you can meet some new men and not worry about running into someone from high school.”
“How do you even know what cuffing season is? You’re old.”
Mom reddens and purses her lips. “You’re only as old as you feel, and I feel twenty-eight. I’m going, and I know what cuffing season is.”
“Explain it, then,” I say, not really believing my late Generation X mother knows about cuffing season.
“It’s when you really don’t want a relationship but want companionship through the colder months and holidays. You start dating in October to hit the Halloween parties, go as plus ones to Thanksgiving and Christmas parties, cuddle up in January, celebrate Valentine’s Day, and then break up the day after with a handshake and fond memories.”
I stare at her a second. “Did you Google it or something?”
“Urban Dictionary.”
I push away from the counter and grab two romance books from the return cart to scan them back into the system. “Leave me out of this. If you go, you’ll go by yourself.”
“Savannah, this is perfect for you. You can choose a cuffing season partner without having to worry about any strings after Valentine’s Day. He won’t interfere in finishing your degree next year. It’ll be perfect to get you some dating experience, meet a new person, get out of the house, and maybe even,” she leans over the counter and drops her voice, “have some nice sex.”
“Please stop. Can you leave? I have to get some work done.”
She straightens and pulls her shoulders back. “Savannah Smart, I’m not leaving this library counter until you agree to go to this speed dating event and give these men a try. I’ll continue to stand here and lament your lack of sex life to every patron that comes to check out a book.”
“Are you blackmailing me?”
“I sure am. Besides, I need someone to go with,” she whines, her eyes pleading.
Mom’s friends are all married women with teens and preteens, still in the stage where their lives are too busy with soccer games and keeping their husbands happy between PTO bake sales and work project meetings. She’s popular with the local singles, but they’re few and far between. Her good girlfriends don’t get out much, other than one glass of wine or a fire pit in their driveway.
“I’m your daughter. Not your wing woman.”
“Bullshit. You’re both.”
The system beeps with acceptance of the romance books, and I walk to the reshelving cart. “I’ve got to reshelve some books, but I still don’t see what’s in it for me if I go to this event.”
“Besides meeting a man that can be your fake boyfriend for a few months?”
“Yes, I need something besides that,” I say, crossing my arms.
Mom bites her lip and looks at the clock, probably thinking she’s late for her weekly massage or something equally as pampering. “Fine, but the deal needs bigger stakes.”
“Bigger stakes than me having an unwanted boyfriend for the next five months?”
“If we do this, we’re doing it right.”
“What’s the deal?” I ask. “I also want to negotiate a few points.”
Mom steps closer to me until I can smell her vanilla body wash and notice the small wrinkles starting around her eyes I would never dare mention. “You have to go to this event and find a man, any man that’s passable, and spend the next five months as his cuffing season partner. The whole five months, Savannah! No breaking it off if he has a hole in his sock or something small after a month,” she says. “If you do that, I will do two things.”
“And what are those two things?” I ask. I’m suddenly very interested.
