Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
My lips hook up on one side. “Productive. Yours?”
“Oh, fine, but I’m glad to have someone to talk to again.” She turns, the skirt swishing around her knees. “What do you think? Appropriate for dinner and meeting the parent?”
Perfect, I think. Almost too perfect.
Mom is going to love that dress. She’s a big fan of Old Hollywood, and the kind of vintage glamour that was en vogue when she was a girl.
“Solid choice,” I say aloud. “But you’re missing one important accessory. I realized on the way home that we have yet to acquire a ring.”
Her brow furrows lightly before smoothing as she catches my meaning. “Oh, yeah. No ring… But, you know, that could be a good thing. If I were a mom, and my son brought home a woman I’d never met, and they were already engaged…” She wrinkles her nose. “I might feel a little blindsided. Like, I’d been left out or something. I think an engagement is something a mom wants to see coming, at least a little bit. My mother certainly would have. She wouldn’t have cared how rich and sexy you are. She would have wanted to know you before you put a ring on it.”
I nod. “I came to the same conclusion. We’ll see how tonight goes and evaluate from there. We can’t afford to take things too slow, but timing is important.”
She smiles. “Look at us, working well as a team and agreeing and stuff. I think we’re going to rock this dinner.”
I offer her my arm. “Agreed.”
Twenty-five minutes later, we’re across the park and pulling up to my mother’s building on the Upper East Side.
She lives in a pre-war building on Fifth Avenue, the same apartment we rented when we fled my father nearly thirty years ago, back when a paralegal could afford a two-bedroom in this neighborhood. Thankfully, the unit was rent-controlled, ensuring we were able to stay put as prices sky-rocketed around us. By the time her rent rose to the point where it was becoming an issue, I was making more than enough to cover her expenses.
As usual, Abe, the doorman greets me by name, his eyes lighting up when he sees Elaina.
“Mr. Mendelssohn so good to see you,” he says with a big grin. “And who’s this vision in blue?”
Elaina smiles and extends her hand. “Elaina Murphy. Glad to meet you.”
“Able Singleton, but everyone calls me Abe,” he says, cradling her hand gently in both of his big ones. “A pleasure, a real pleasure, Elaina.” He nods my way. “I’ve known this one since he was a bean pole in baggy skate pants getting in trouble for riding his board in the office park across the street. Any questions about his character, I’m your man.”
She laughs, glancing at me out the corners of her eyes before saying, “Good to know. So, you can confirm that he’s a big softy under that heartless, captain of industry exterior?”
Abe chuckles, his dark eyes dancing with pleasure. “Yep. Total softy and a real family man. His mama never wants for anything, and that includes his time and attention.”
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to drag Elaina away from Abe and his too-generous view of me. Yes, I take care of my mother, but there is nothing “soft” about me, and Elaina would be foolish to believe otherwise.
“Speaking of time,” I say, settling my hand on the small of Elaina’s back. “We’re due upstairs.”
“Have a good night! And great to meet you Elaina, don’t be a stranger,” Abe says, beaming as we head toward the elevator bank.
Once the doors close behind us, Elaina whispers, “Don’t worry. I know you’re actually a very bad man. I haven’t forgotten.”
I narrow my eyes her way. “Are you patronizing me, Ms. Murphy?”
She blinks innocently. “Me? Never. Wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. M.” The doors open on the fifth floor, and we start down the hall, Elaina smoothing the front of her dress as we walk. At my mother’s door, she pulls in a deeper breath, letting it out slow. “Okay, I’m ready. We’re in love. You’re the best. And I’m determined to make a good impression on your mother. I’ve got this.”
Before I can assure her that she does indeed have it, the door opens, revealing my mother in the doorway. She’s thinner than the last time I saw her ten days ago, I notice with a pang, but she’s wearing her favorite peach pantsuit, and her green eyes are bright with anticipation.
“Welcome, welcome!” She smiles at Elaina as she extends an arm my way. I bend down to give her the usual, gentle hug, conscious as I always am these days of how fragile she’s become.
When I pull away, I motion to Elaina. “Mom, this is Elaina, my friend from Maine. Elaina, this is Margaret, my mother.”