1
Gavin
Truth—you will never, ever want to be set up with someone your mother claims is a perfect match.
My mother’s been on a set-up-her-son bender since my status shifted to single a few months ago, so I naturally presume when she calls me midday on a Wednesday that she’s persisting with that plan of attack.
I’m at work, so I step out of the booth of the recording studio owned by the indie label I work for. One of our bands is cranking on some new tunes. I swipe to answer the call.
“Hey, what’s up, Rose?”
“Gavin, I have exciting news!” It comes out like a song.
I decide to toy with her since, well, that’s always fun to do. “You bought ten new flower shops. No, that’s not it. You’ve decided to build the treehouse I begged for as a kid? Wait. Nope. Lady Gaga asked you to duet with her and wants me to produce it. Am I close? Either of those would be super cool.”
She laughs. “I’m quite content with my one flower shop. And I agree you never outgrow the love for a treehouse. But no. I’m excited because I’m throwing an engagement party for your sister.”
“Because she found somebody who wants to marry her? I know, it shocked me too,” I say, teasing.
“Gretchen’s very happy with Todd. And I’ve been thinking lately how wonderful it would be if you met someone who makes you as happy as Todd makes Gretchen. What do you think about that fantastic idea?” she asks in a tone that says she thinks it’s better than tiramisu, and Mom loves her espresso-drenched cakes as much as she loves matchmaking.
She’s been relentless since I was in high school. She’d call me during college, suggesting different women in the dorms. After I graduated, she’d attempt it with ladies in the neighborhood. The fact that she set up my sister with her financial planner—Mom’s financial planner—has only fueled her belief that she knows how to mix and match her kids.
“It’s great that Gretchen is so happy,” I say, attempting to steer the conversation.
“Isn’t it?” Mom asks, sighing happily. “And I just thought, love is in the air, so let’s grab it, bottle it, and make it work for you.”
She’s not only driven by her past success—singular. She’s also convinced I’m failing in life without a partner. Admittedly, I did wash a red sock with my whites a few weeks ago, but I don’t think that’s proof that it’s time for me to settle down.
And fine, my fridge only has mustard and beer inside it, but this is New York. No one has anything but condiments and booze in their homes.
I’m not interested in locking down my options. I had a steady girlfriend for several months until she took off recently. FOR ANOTHER GUY. Ergo, I’m not interested in commitments that might go up in flames.
I turn and pace the other way down the hall. “I don’t know if I’m really ready for a bottle of love, Mom. But that would make a fun title for a song.”
“Yes, tell one of your bands. Because love makes people happy. You think you’re not ready, but of course it’s time for you. Let me set you up. I’m so good at it. You know, I was an HR manager before I opened my flower shop.”
“I know, Rose. I was literally raised by you.”
“And being a former HR manager means I have excellent people skills,” she says, continuing to tout her setup abilities.
I stop outside the studio, gazing in through the glass at the engineer and my empty chair. I’m one of the managers here, and I need to get back in there and manage. “Your people skills are the best, Mom. But that doesn’t mean I want to be set up.” I need to be firm with her or she’ll never let it go.
She huffs. “How long are you going to be on this dating sabbatical?”
“Mom, I appreciate your efforts, but I don’t have a clock. I’m going to be on the sabbatical as long as I need to be on the sabbatical.”
“I understand, but I think it’s time for the sabbatical to end. And your sister’s engagement party would be a wonderful opportunity to say goodbye to your dating diet. I think Christine from Gretchen’s book club would be fantastic. She’s well-read. She’s perfect for you.”
I furrow my brow, surprised she mentioned Christine. But then I’m delighted because I can mess with my mom. “She never reads the book club books. She admitted that to me.”
“Hmm. How unusual.”
“No, it’s quite usual. A lot of people fake it through book club. But don’t you want to know how I know this?”
“Sure,” she says tentatively.
I stop in my tracks and drop the mic. “You set me up with her, oh, say, three years ago. It didn’t work out then.”