“That sounds horrible,” Eli assured her, walking over to give her a kiss on the cheek. She put her spoon down, she was stirring something on the stove, and lifted her arms for the person she loved most in the world.
He bent and hugged her tight, eliciting a grunt, and she was beaming when he let her go. Then it was my turn to give her the same kiss on the cheek and hug her. I didn’t squeeze her so hard; ours was a more gentle interaction. I loved on her the way I had my own mother.
“Everyone, this is my son, Eli.” She always sounded so proud. “And this is my dear friend Celso Harrington, the famous dancer.”
There were four women about Barbara’s age and three who were younger, late twenties or early thirties, I was thinking.
“Oh, Barbie,” one of the ladies said, her smile bordering on a leer as she joined us in the kitchen, extending her hand to Eli. “Your son is so handsome.”
As they shook, she called her daughter Rachel over to meet Eli. It happened a lot with his mother’s friends who had single daughters; they all wanted to meet the federal marshal. Some of the women were excited to be introduced to him. Many were not. Some mothers wanted their daughters married and pregnant. Others did not. It was clear Rachel’s mother was thinking that being married to a marshal might be a good thing. Plus, seeing how lovely Rachel was, her and Eli’s kids would be gorgeous.
The problem was, for any plans to move forward, Eli had to be receptive to that idea. At the moment, he was hungry and tired, which was a horrible combination. His smile was pained, and he excused himself after a moment to look through the refrigerator.
“Sit down,” Barbara ordered her son, gesturing at the barstools with the wooden spoon in her hand. “Cel, honey, I have that muhammara dip and chopped veggies he likes in the second drawer. Would you get that out for me?”
In her house, everything revolved around her son, and guests, friends, and family were all supposed to cater to him on her order. He was so spoiled, but I couldn’t talk, as my mother had been the same way. It made sense to me and was somehow comforting. Like mothers and sons, how it was all supposed to be.
I knew the kitchen well and put out the cut vegetables and dip after first making Eli his own plate. That pleased his mother.
Moments later the dogs bounded into the kitchen, having been outside, I was guessing, and swarmed Eli. He crouched down to greet them all, just as another woman, tall, willowy, face flushed from the wind, came in complaining that the little monster bit her.
“Oh,” she said, happily surprised from the expression on her face. “Eli, what are you doing here?”
“Hi,” he greeted her, like he knew exactly who she was, holding Grendel, petting him as the murderous animal growled low at the other women in the kitchen. “This is my mom’s place. I just stopped by to say hello.”
“Are you kidding?” She seemed so pleased. “Barbie’s your mom?”
He nodded.
“Such a small world,” Barbara said kindly, eyeing her son. “Gwen is the director of the outreach center where I volunteer.”
“Fun,” Eli said, shooting me a look I knew.
Excusing myself, I left the kitchen and walked down the hall, admiring the gilded chandeliers, custom millwork, the drapes that complemented the furniture and rugs, and the high polish on the hardwood floors. Once I reached the grand foyer, I called his cell phone.
“Kohn,” he answered like I was one of the guys from work.
“You have no earthly idea who that woman is,” I accused.
“That’s correct.”
It had been months since he’d been on a date, and I knew that because if he wasn’t at work, he was with me. And that wasn’t to say that we didn’t go do things with his friends or mine, but we were together when we did that.
I said, “You’re mad that we didn’t just skip this and get the burgers and go to your place.”
“Also correct.”
“Maybe I should just make my apologies and head home.”
“That’s not advisable. I should go with you.”
“You’re tired and hungry. You should probably just stay here in your suite and––”
“You need me to come in?” he asked quickly.
I grunted. “None of this is fooling your mother. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m aware. Yes.”