“Dinner smells good.”
He glanced at her and smiled. “I made baked ziti.” Every weekend, he chose a childhood favorite to make for her, always hoping it would bond them somehow, or at least spur his mother to cook again, something she’d loved doing. So far, neither had happened. “While I finish broiling the garlic bread, will you set the table and put your flowers in a vase?”
“Sure.”
She did what he requested, while he slid the bread under the broiler to give it a quick bake to crisp the edges. Once that was done, they both made their own plates, she poured them each a glass of iced tea, and they sat down at the table together.
“How was work this past week?” he asked, grateful that her part-time job at a local nursery forced her to get out of the house and be around people. She took care of watering the plants and flowers, keeping them alive and making them look pretty until they were bought. The position was perfect for her.
“It was busy.” She pushed her pasta around on her plate before taking a small bite. “I saw Patty Henderson. She came into the nursery to buy some succulents. It’s been years since I’ve seen her.”
“Yes, it has been.”
Eric stared at his mother’s face, trying to figure out how she really felt about seeing a woman who’d once been one of her closest, dearest friends, before Trish’s death, but her expression revealed nothing. Within the first six months of his sister’s passing, his mother had closed herself off from everyone, to the point that even her best friends stopped calling and no longer came by the house because she refused to see or talk to them. Instead, she’d wallowed in her pain and grief alone, and those friendships had never recovered from being cut off.
“How is Patty?” he asked, to keep the conversation flowing.
“She looked well.” Absently, Ginny picked at her garlic bread, her appetite already gone. “She asked if I’d like to go to lunch sometime.”
Eric glanced up from his ziti, feeling a glimmer of hope and trying not to push too hard at this new and positive olive branch Patty had extended. “And what did you say?”
“That . . .I . . . ummm, wasn’t sure.” His mother’s eyes met his, and he felt punched in the gut by the loneliness he saw there, along with the desire to reconnect with a friend warring with the fear of getting close to anyone ever again. “After all these years, I’m afraid it would be so awkward.”
Initially, he knew it probably would be a little uncomfortable, until someone broke the ice and their old friendship kicked back into gear. “Mom, she wouldn’t have asked you to lunch if she genuinely didn’t want to see and talk to you outside of the nursery.”
Ginny fiddled with her fork. “She gave me her phone number, but I just don’t know.”
“You should think about it.” He reached out and gently squeezed her hand and was surprised when he felt her fingers tighten ever so slightly around his. “Patty was your best friend.”
His mother nodded, that sadness still lingering, and Eric wasn’t going to push the issue. Any decision his mother made had to be of her own volition.
He finished off his garlic bread and wiped his buttery fingers on his napkin. “So, I wanted to let you know that I won’t be by next Sunday with dinner. I’ll be out of town for the weekend.”
“Where are you going?” she asked, mildly curious.
“To Santa Barbara with a friend to visit her family for the Fourth of July weekend.”
A tiny spark of interest lit her eyes. “Her?”
The fact that his mother had jumped on the pronoun made him smile. “Yes. A woman. Her name is Evie and we’re just . . . friends.” He wasn’t sure how to label their non-relationship, and the whole fake boyfriend situation was too complicated to explain to his mother, who didn’t understand much about social media or apps or dating trends these days.
“And you’re meeting her family?” she asked, making Eric aware of just how much his mother had paid attention to this particular conversation. “Is it serious?”
Again, he kept things simple. “Yes, I’m meeting her family, and no, it’s not serious.”
“Oh,” she said quietly.
Was she disappointed? He couldn’t tell. They’d never discussed his love life, and he’d certainly never brought a woman home to meet his mom. For one thing, no female had ever made him want to introduce her to his mother, and secondly, he didn’t want his mom reading more into a relationship than the hookup situation it always was. Bottom line, his mother did not need to know about or meet the women he casually slept with.
Eric ate the last bite of ziti on his plate, and recognizing the signs that his mother was finished eating as well, he picked up their dishes and carried them to the sink. They fell into the same old routine . . . he loaded the plates and silverware into the dishwasher, and she put away the leftovers. They finished about the same time, and he turned around to face her while drying off his hands.