Mister Fake Fiance

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay. So you want to see her now, is that it?”

“Yes. Before the party. I know both of you are coming, I just… I’m feeling impatient. Do you know Jan’s having morning sickness?” Her sigh bristles with envy. “She pukes every evening. It’s beautiful.” She’s now sniffling.

“I’m pretty sure Jan doesn’t think it’s beautiful.” Or Matt.

“Anyway, I’m coming next weekend. If you want anything special, just let me know. Or better yet, I can make it in your kitchen. And when you pick me up from the airport, don’t just come alone—bring Erin along. And let me know what she likes so I can bring the right present. Love you, hon!”

“Love you, Mom.” I hang up, then press my forehead with a corner of my phone.

“Everything okay?” Erin asks.

“Yes.” I lift my head and give her a reassuring smile.

She shuts the oven door. “You don’t sound completely okay.”

I sigh. “It was my mom. She’s visiting next weekend.” I say it with all the apology in my heart.

“She is?” Erin squeaks.

“She wants to see you. I couldn’t stop her. I’m sorry.”

“But why?” Erin’s voice has gone up two octaves.

“She can’t wait. She’s too excited.” I go to the counter and see that it’s empty. “Where’s the cobbler?”

“In the oven.” She gestures over her shoulder. “Didn’t you see me put it in?”

“It’s already in the oven?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I thought there were more steps!” Now I’m not going to get a chance to make sure it tastes okay.

“Well, there weren’t. Now we wait for half an hour.” She beams up at me. “If you want, we can watch something on Netflix like you wanted. Wait for the timer to go off.”

I force a smile and hope it looks genuine. We sit in front of the TV and watch something Erin picks from Netflix. I can’t concentrate, though. This must be how a defendant feels, waiting for the jury to return with a verdict.

An interminable amount of time passes. The ticking of the big clock on the wall, usually unnoticed, commands a very large amount of my attention.

Ding!

The instant the timer pings, Erin is off the couch and running to the kitchen. I follow, trying not to drag my feet too much.

She pulls the cobbler out of the oven. It smells fine, unlike the chocolate lava cake she brought. And it’s bubbling like it’s supposed to. The top is the perfect shade of golden brown.

Maybe…maybe this won’t be too bad.

She places the pan on the cooling rack and pulls out a big serving spoon and two forks from a drawer. I bring two small bowls out of the cabinet and place them on the counter.

Smiling, she scoops the bubbling cobbler into them.

“Do we have any ice cream?” I ask.

“Oh shoot. I forgot to order that. We don’t…unless you have some in the freezer?”

I shake my head. “It’s okay. It’s still going to be good.” I hope. And maybe it will be good. I was helping her most of the time. So what if I got a little distracted talking to Mom for a few moments?

Optimistic, I take a small bite, while Erin looks at me with an expectant smile.