Page 2 of I Wish He Would

But the more I look at them, I can’t unsee how much they look alike. They have the same shade of brown hair. Their faces are both a similar shape, and when they smile at each other, their lips lift in a similar fashion. The only difference is I can see the grays beginning to reappear at Susan’s roots like she’s due for her next color appointment. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before she sat down. Waitress, my butt. It’s clear as day now that they’re related.

That still doesn’t explain why he brought her on a date…with me.

What did I do to end up here? Patrice can’t seriously think I’d want to go out with a guy who’d bring his mom on a date. I’m sure I’ll be up all night reexamining the life choices that led me to this moment.

I glance over at Mike to get his reaction, and he’s staring at me with a pinched expression like he’s wondering why I haven’t responded to his mother yet. I take a steadying breath. Well, now I know why he picked a table with four chairs. I go ahead and mentally add two strikes to the cons column. I’ve had some real doozies of dates, but I can’t say I’ve ever had someone bring their mom to dinner with them before.

I force a smile. “Uh, it’s nice to meet you, too.”

A middle-aged woman in a simple black dress with a white apron tied around her waist approaches our table. “Good evening. My name is Tracy, and I’ll be serving you this evening.” She tells us about tonight’s specials, then asks, “Can I get you folks started off with something to drink?” She looks at me first, but Susan jumps in before I can open my mouth.

“I’ll have whatever red will pair best with your steak special tonight.”

The waitress looks at me again, but Mike speaks in a loud whisper to his mother. “What do you think I should get?”

I glance over at them as Susan places her hand on her son’s arm. “You’ve always loved apple juice.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing and look up at the waitress just in time to see her mouth twitch. It’s slight, but I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks this is absolutely comical. Also terrible, but at least I’ll be getting a good laugh out of tonight. Although, I’m still seriously considering disowning Patrice.

“I’ll have a lemonade, please,” I say.

“Regular, strawberry, or peach?” The waitress leans closer. “We make all our syrups and sauces in-house, so the flavored lemonades are to die for.”

“Peach sounds great, thanks.”

Mike grimaces. “I’m allergic to peaches.”

I blink rapidly. “Strawberry then.” I smile up at her. Poor Tracy didn’t know what she was getting into when she came into work tonight. To be fair, I didn’t know what I was getting into when I walked into this restaurant either.

Tracy smiles politely at me before turning to Mike. “And you, sir?”

“I’ll do the”—he glances at his mom again—“apple juice.”

“That typically comes in a plastic cup.”

I bite the inside of my cheek hard to rein in my laughter. I don’t know how our waitress is keeping a straight face right now while talking about sippy cups for an adult, but she could definitely get into acting school.

“Would you prefer it in a normal glass?” she asks.

“A wine glass.” Mike makes a weird sound between a scoff and a snort as if the question was ridiculous. “I’m not a child.”

Says the grown man ordering apple juice at a fancy steak house.

On a first date.

That he brought his mother to.

Tracy offers him a curt nod. “Would you like any appetizers? Might I suggest the crab cakes?”

Mike wrinkles his nose. “We don’t eat shellfish.” He spits out the words in a way that has me wondering what vendetta he has against crabs. It sounds personal.

“Right.” Tracy offers a tight smile. “I’ll go get your drinks.”

She shoots me an apologetic look before leaving me to my mother-son misery.

“Mom,” Mike hisses after an extended moment of awkward silence. “Should I ask her what she does for work?”

“That’s a great question, sweetie.”