“Now, I know, but they really are concerned for your happiness,” she continues. I don’t like where this is going, but I’m powerless to stop her from saying everything she came here to say and we both know it. “If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s just no good for a man to be in his thirties and not married. You ought to have a family by now. Don’t you want that? A wife, some sweet babies?”
“I’ve got quite a bit of family already,” I point out, and Mrs. Buckley gives a little huff and arm-squeeze at my non-answer.
“You poor thing,” she says. “Anyway, when I heard your parents’ prayer request, I said, Lord, what can I do to help Gideon find himself someone who’ll love him just as he is? Because here’s a sweet young man who deserves exactly that.”
Everything I’m thinking is far too impolite to say aloud.
“And then, do you know,” Mrs. Buckley says. “The Lord laid it on my heart to invite you to dinner this Friday. Laura will be home from college for the weekend and I know she’d love to see you.”
At the end of her sentence her eyes flick to something above my head, and before I can turn to look, Andi’s hand is on my shoulder.
“Hi!” She says before I even open my mouth. Fuck, am I supposed to stand now?
“Hello,” Mrs. Buckley says.
“Andi, this is—Mrs. Buckley,” I manage, before this can get any further without me. “Mrs. Buckley, this is Andi Sullivan.”
“Deanna, please,” she says, so I guess she does have a first name.
“Lovely to meet you.”
“Thank you so much for the offer, but I’m actually busy Friday,” I say, politely as I can manage.
“Oh?” Mrs. Buckley—Deanna feels too weird—says. “Saturday, then.”
“I can’t then, either,” I say, apologetically as I can.
“Well, aren’t you mister popular?” Mrs. Buckley says, smile wide and not particularly sincere.
“Very popular,” Andi pipes up, giving Mrs. Buckley a smile so pure and angelic I expect a beam of light to fall directly on her. “He’s practically got a waiting list.”
“I see,” says Mrs. Buckley.
“The prayer requests must be working,” Andi goes on. There’s practically a halo around her head now. “His parents will be so relieved.”
It occurs to me, at last, that I failed to mention that Andi and I are dating. Christ, I’m bad at this.
“Hey, um, babe,” I say, and look up at her. I’ve never called her babe before. She looks appropriately skeptical. “Do you still want to—do that thing? Before we head out?”
It would probably be easier to simply point at her and shout girlfriend!
“Oh, definitely, babe,” she says. “That thing sounds great.”
Across the table, Mrs. Buckley’s face is pleasantly neutral, which could mean absolutely anything. I stand, my chair scraping back, grab my coffee cup, and drain it.
“Nice to see you,” I tell her, because I have to say something.
“Absolutely lovely!” Andi gushes. Her smile’s a little dangerous. “Tell Gideon’s parents I say hi.”
“Have a wonderful day,” Mrs. Buckley says, and Andi and I leave the coffee shop.
“So,” she says, when we’re a ways down the block and there’s no chance of being overheard. “Does this mean your parents know we’re dating or don’t know we’re dating?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I say. “This isn’t the first time they’ve put in that prayer request, though they backed off a little over the fall. They might have been putting one in for Sadie and remembered me at the last minute, or maybe someone told them.”
It’s not a secret that we’re dating, obviously, but I haven’t actually had a conversation with my parents about it. I don’t think I want to hear anything they might say.
“You know, I almost admire the sheer…” Andi waves one hand through the air, like she’s looking for a word. “Passive-aggressive audacity? Of it. Because that was honestly pretty effective and they didn’t have to make any direct statements whatsoever.”
This sort of shit is practically rote by now. Putting in a prayer that I’ll get a date is essentially a request for the Mrs. Deanna Buckleys of the world to set me up with their daughters—who I doubt want to be set up with me, either—without admitting that anything in their family is imperfect.
They might also think there’s a chance I can be seduced away from Andi, bless their hearts.
“How bad is this gonna be?” she asks, suddenly serious and quiet. “I know Sadie’s miserable.”
I shrug with a nonchalance I don’t quite feel, because it’s easy to know that I shouldn’t mind my parents’ disapproval about this and another thing entirely not to feel it like a lead weight in my gut.
“However they feel is their problem,” I tell her, which isn’t completely true, but I like the way it sounds. “Anyway, what are you doing Friday?”
That gets a lifted eyebrow and a smirk, just like I was hoping for.
“I thought you were busy.”
“There’s a roller derby match in Blythe,” I say, and her eyebrows shoot up. “Want to go?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ANDI
“Oh,” Gideon says when I walk into the foyer where he’s waiting with my uncle Frank, making small talk. He clears his throat. “You look nice.”
“Thanks,” I say, and smooth my dress against one thigh and probably blush because I did, in fact, take an hour and a half to get ready for this roller derby group date. “So do you.”
“Thank you,” Gideon says, sort of stiff and formal, probably because he’s standing there with my uncle and waiting for me and this all feels more than a little like we’re sixteen and going to a school dance together. “Ready?”
“Ten p.m. and not a minute later,” Frank tells Gideon, because he thinks he’s a comedian. “And you, should I be letting you wear that out of the house?”
I roll my eyes at him, fondly, because I’m in my thirties and this isn’t even the shortest dress I own, though it’s close.
“Okay. Thank you,” I tell him. “Don’t wait up.”
“Are they leaving?” Lucia calls, somewhere inside the house.
“Go,” I whisper to Gideon, because any chance of making a quick escape is fading.
He clears his throat, looks slightly nervous, and nods at Frank like he’s fighting the urge to call him sir.
“Bye,” I whisper, and then Lucia comes through the door from the kitchen.
“Look at you two!” she says, all ebullience and reading glasses around a chain on her neck. Gideon’s in jeans and a flannel shirt, his coat open, and I’ve got on a short-ish green dress, black tights, and flat knee-high boots. “Wait, wait. I need a picture.”
“Someone’s waiting for us in the car,” I tell her, tugging at Gideon, who seems torn between duty and flight.
“It’ll only take a minute,” Lucia says, her phone already out. “Stand there and smile. Get closer, I thought this was a date.”