Chapter 6: Dinner With Mom

“Did you remember what I told you?” I patted Logan’s arm.

“Huh?” Logan snapped back, what did I just say?

His face reddened, distracted. “Sorry, could you repeat?”

I stared at him for a while. “My mom might interrogate you thoroughly, just answer honestly or improvise. If she asks private stuff, I’ll block her. Don’t worry. Now I’ll take you shopping.”

Logan said okay, then asked, “You just bring me home for dinner, what about later?”

I raised an eyebrow, retorted, “That’s not for you to worry about.”

Logan thought: Fair enough, you’re always so decisive, never drag things out.

We drove home at night.

My home is on the second floor. Logan looked up and saw my mom busy in the kitchen.

The house smelled of roasted chicken and fresh herbs, the kind of scent that made it feel like a home and not just a house.

In the car, I explained my family situation, told him not to say anything inappropriate.

“Mm, mm, got it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the tall boy in the passenger seat, seat pushed back as far as it would go, legs still bent, hands on his knees like a schoolboy listening to a teacher, looking pretty funny.

I laughed, “No need to be so nervous. Just acting.”

“Not nervous, not nervous.”

Saying he wasn’t nervous, he bumped his head getting out and didn’t even notice.

Of course, my mom was stunned when she saw Logan.

She slowly looked up, saw Logan’s signature shy smile. He called “Ma’am” and even bowed slightly.

My mom sighed, a little emotional, “Handsome, but too tall. If you have a kid, he’ll be so tall.”

She eyed Logan’s height, her mind already racing ahead to potential grandkids with NBA potential.

I looked at her. “Can we eat now?”

Logan sat next to me, barely started eating when my mom put down her fork.

Here it comes.

“Logan, where do you work?”

Logan replied, “Ma’am, I’m still in school, second-year grad student.”

So far, so normal.

I calmly ate.

“How many years apart are you and Autumn?”

Logan hesitated, couldn’t answer. I cut in, “Six years.”

Mom understood, didn’t care about age, thought for a while, muttered, “Your signs are compatible—Co–Star would approve.”

She was probably calculating our compatibility on some astrology app she loves.

“Where did you two meet? I never heard Autumn mention it.”

Time for Logan to improvise.

Logan steadied himself, glanced at me, bravely said, “Flagstaff, Arizona.”

“Flagstaff? Oh, I remember she volunteered there. So you met then? That’s a long time, three or four years, right?”

Logan glanced at me again, seeing I didn’t react, decided to go all in, since I said to be honest.

“Yes, we met then, but only started dating recently.”

My mom heard, tapped my bowl, “Had a boyfriend and didn’t tell me?”

I replied bluntly, “You keep pushing blind dates at me, when do I have time to tell you?”

Mom said, “Oh, reminds me of a poem, fits you two: ‘Stopped the carriage to love the maple woods at dusk, frost leaves redder than spring flowers.’” She taught literature for thirty years; quoting classical Chinese poetry is basically her love language.

“Pfft—” I choked on soup.

Logan hurriedly patted my shoulder, face completely red.

Unintentional words, meaningful to listeners.

I think my mom is really something.