The Real Deal

That was the crisp, curious voice of a former attorney. I can tell in seconds. I turn to the voice.

“Mom,” April says, throwing her arms around a woman in navy pants and a white blouse, with silvery blond hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Wrinkles line her blue eyes, but she looks more weatherworn than old. She looks experienced and wise.

“My little puppy,” her mother says, practically tackle-hugging her daughter.

As April is consumed by motherly arms, I mouth little puppy behind her and smirk. She narrows her eyes in a do not ever repeat that way.

“Good to see you, Mom.”

“How are you? How is everything? How is work? Are you getting by? Do you need us to help?”

And I see what April means about her parents and her job.

“Work is great, Mom. I finished a commercial earlier this week.”

“A commercial! How exciting. I had no idea you could paint a commercial.”

“I paint people in commercials, Mom,” she says, clarifying.

“Right, of course. Be sure to tuck that money away, since you never know when you’ll get another job like that.”

April nods at me. Her mom jumps in. “And who do we have here? I’m Pamela Hamilton. And you are?”

She extends a hand and I shake. It’s showtime. “Theo Banks. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure to meet you, too.”

April straightens her shoulders, raises her chin. It’s like she’s filling herself up with self-confidence. “He’s my boyfriend,” April chimes in, loud and chipper.

Pamela keeps her eyes on me. “So I surmised.”

“We’ve been together for a little over one fabulous month,” April adds brightly, nearly stammering on the lie.

“One month, you say?” Pamela asks, like she’s cross-examining her and wondering why her daughter’s boyfriend hasn’t come up yet in conversation. But one month is a reasonable time for a new relationship to fly under the radar. A blush creeps across April’s cheeks, and I can see the wheels turning in her head—they’re saying, Oh shit, I need to act totally cool and casual and not try to sell the jury on him, because if I sell too hard, Mom will sniff out the truth like a bloodhound.

So I slide in to save her. I wrap an arm around her, tug her close, and drop a quick kiss on her cheek. “Six fantastic weeks, to be precise. I was ready to shout it from the rooftop the week we met, but April wanted to play it safe.”

Her mother clucks her tongue. “A month and a half is a solid start. Let’s see what happens after another month.”

I run my fingers through April’s hair possessively. It feels amazing, soft and silky. April trembles the slightest bit. “And I convinced April that now would be a good time to let everyone know we’re a thing.”

April nods several times, recovering. “We’re totally a thing.”

Pamela gives me a quick once-over, then seems content enough to segue. “Are you tired? Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”

Those hardly seem like the kinds of questions one needs to be warned about. They’re standard hostess inquiries. “I’m all good.”

“Me, too,” April says, then takes a step toward the door.

Pamela doesn’t move. Her heels dig into the floor, and she stares at me. “Theo, where did you go to college?”

April sighs. “Seriously?”

“This is an important question,” her mother says, leveling me with an intense I’m waiting stare.

Ah, that’s more like it, the old college question. But it’s answerable, too. I give my practiced reply. “School of Hard Knocks.”

“Ha ha.”

Yes, her mother actually says ha ha. It’s cute. Not in an I’m attracted to her mother way, because that would be the type of creepiness that sets off alarm bells. But in an I can see where April gets her sense of humor way.

“I went there, too. And then I got my graduate degree from the University of Learning the Hard Way,” her mom says.

I adopt a more serious expression and give her a truthful answer. “I went to state school in New York,” I say, naming the public university I put myself through.

Her mom nods, satisfied, it seems. “That’s a good school. I’m pleased to hear. And did you have a good train ride?”

A wild idea occurs to me. April doesn’t want her family to set her up with anyone who would tie her to her hometown. Maybe I need to give her mom exactly what she wants, and maybe that’ll help April, too. Perhaps April doesn’t need the bad boy. Maybe she needs someone they’ll like, and who’ll get them off her case. I don’t overthink my plan. I go for it. “It was great. April and I talked about politics, news, all the critical topics of the day. But that stuff probably bores you.”

Pamela’s eyes laser into me. “Are you kidding me? I love news and issues. Nobody ever wants to touch them, though.”

I make a gesture with my index finger as if I’ve just touched something hot, then follow it with a sizzling noise. “Like legalized marijuana and minimum wage?”

Pamela’s blue eyes shine, not just with happiness but possibly with glee. “I can chat all night about this. I firmly believe minimum wage should be higher, and I fully support legalizing marijuana, but only for medicinal reasons.”

“I like your stance. How about the death penalty?”

“A part of me is completely in support of it, when it comes to the most heinous crimes. You won’t see me batting an eye in those cases.”

April’s eyelids flutter, like she can’t quite process this conversation. She gawks at me, then her mom, as Pamela launches into a discussion about murder convictions overturned, before we segue into a quick debate on gun control. April nearly vibrates from shock. My fake girlfriend blinks, like she’s trying to process what’s going on before her very eyes as her mother discusses incendiary topics with her daughter’s beau.

After a few minutes in the tiny train station, Pamela smiles and clasps my arm. “This was fun. I can’t wait to chat even more with you.” Then she seems to realize that she has more questions for me. Her eyes linger on my tats, and I bet she’s thinking what most parents think—guys with ink are troublemakers. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

“Mom!” April chides, having successfully reattached her jaw.

April wasn’t kidding.

Her mom goes for it, so I do the same. I wrap an arm around April, yanking her close in my most possessive style. I don’t give her mom the rebel attitude. I don’t sling a question at her. I answer her in a way that a good attorney would, with something to keep her off-balance, and maybe with a little extra designed just to make a mother happy. “Married with two kids, and bringing them to visit their absolutely wonderful grandmother for the weekend.”

Her mom’s eyebrows knit. She’s not sure what to make of me. April’s expression morphs from shock to wonder to a strange sort of curiosity, like I’m not exactly what she expected either. Maybe Pamela thinks a guy like me can get April to move back home. Ha. Try again.

April squeezes her mom’s arm. “Mom, why don’t we head to the Sunnyside?”

“Let’s go, and we can discuss these grandchildren another time.” Her mother spins efficiently on her heel—I have a feeling her mother does everything efficiently, then nearly skips down the steps into the warm June night.

April nudges me, then playfully reprimands. “That was not a bad boy response.”

I drop my nose to her neck and drag it up to her ear. “Forgive me.” The sharp intake of air tells me I’m forgiven.

She swats me.

I laugh. “You said you wanted me because my ad was funny, not because you wanted me to do all those things.”

“Fine. Fine. I just didn’t expect she’d be eating out of the palm of your hand in ten seconds.”

I lower my voice to a bare whisper. “But if she thought I was bad news, she might push you to marry the poodle man. I can be a jerk tomorrow, if you want?”

She shakes her head, then whispers once more. “I even told you to just smile and nod, but you had to go and win her over right away.”

I laugh loudly. “Sorry, cupcake. I didn’t hear that. I was distracted by you.”

She arches one eyebrow. “What on earth were you distracted by?”