The Matchmaker's Choice: A Lesbian Romance

For him to waggle those eyebrows at me. I remember

squealing with laughter so hard that one time I fell right off his

knee. One time, he even cracked a smile.

My parents’ deck is beautiful. It’s huge, borders a hot

tub, and has some pretty expensive patio furniture on it.

There’s an outdoor cooking center and behind that, a huge

pool and a massive strip of lawn. I think the backyard sold

them on the house, actually. Mom loves to be doing stuff

outside. Dad loves to grill, but more than that, he loves to sit

back here after dinner and smoke his pipe.

We sit down across from each other in the massive

patio chairs. The cushion beneath me is softer than any

outdoor furniture cushion has a right to be. Mom is obsessive

compulsive about those cushions. She’s always bringing them

in when it’s raining or too sunny. We live in Phoenix. It’s

always too sunny. I keep telling her that the fabric is meant to

withstand a crap load of direct sunlight, but she keeps telling

me that’s no excuse not to bring them in when they’re not in

use. It extends their life, she likes to point out. She obviously

expected that we’d head back here after dinner, because the

cushions were ready and waiting for us.

The one habit Mom was never able to get Dad to give

up is his pipe. It’s funny that I can’t stand the scent of

cigarettes or cigars, but I love the scent of Dad’s pipe. He

loves that thing. I’m not at all surprised to see him pull it out.

He lights it up and the fragrant smell of pipe tobacco floods

past me. It brings back memories of childhood. Of Christmas.

Of Thanksgiving. Of summer. All of those memories are good

memories. I had a great childhood. My dad worked hard and

my mom worked every bit as hard too, but there was always