When the doorbell rings, everyone pops to attention and Ma hurries to the kitchen sink and washes her hands. She’s still drying her hands with the dishtowel when Dad answers the front door. We both lean into the hallway to see what’s happening.
“Oooo. Oh my,” my mom says as Elle steps inside. She has a big smile and is holding what looks like a pie.
Ma sets the dishtowel on the counter. “What a pretty lass she is.”
I’m too dumbstruck to respond. Elle’s hair is pulled off her face and looks smooth, not her usual wild and wavy. She’s also dressed like a librarian in a longer skirt, sweater, and flat, slipper-looking shoes. If I’d passed her in the street I’m not sure I’d have recognized her.
Patrick practically trips over his own feet to get over to her while Dad handles the introductions. Ma turns and winks at me before hurrying forward.
“Welcome to our home, Elle!” Ma announces halfway down the hall.
I can’t hear Elle’s exact response but she extends her free hand and shakes Ma’s with a sweet smile. I didn’t think she had it in her to be so demure.
Ma gestures to the couch and then takes the pie out of Elle’s hand so she can bring it to the kitchen. When she returns she holds it up close to my face.
“She. Baked. A. Pie,” she says like Elle just won a gold medal.
“I can see that.”
“She’s perfect for our Patrick!” After she sets the pie down she claps her hands together with a victorious smile.
I can’t help but give her a worried look. Has she lost her mind? “Because she baked a pie?”
“It’s not just that!”
“Then what?”
Ma practically swoons. I’ve never seen my mother like this.
“She’s just lovely, Paul.” She points into the living room. “And look, they’re hitting it off already.”
I glance at where she’s pointing. So now Patrick staring at Elle’s breasts while she talks to Dad indicates a sure-fire love connection. I roll my eyes.
“Don’t book the wedding venue yet, Ma.”
“Don’t be such a downer. She’s lovely and so sweet—and she baked that pie from scratch!”
“But you haven’t even talked to her yet. Talk about judging a book by its cover!”
“True, but I can tell she’s something special. And did you see the way Paddy looked at her. He’s smitten for sure.”
“How could that be when he doesn’t know anything about her yet? Didn’t you warn us to stay away from divorcees? What happened to all your rules?”
Ma puts her hands on her hips. “Paul Fredrick McNeill! If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous.”
I nod with a deadpan expression. “Yeah, wildly jealous. I wouldn’t stand a chance with a girl like Elle.”
Ma nods too eagerly. “You may be right. You are a bit of a rogue you know, and she’s a nice girl.”
I bite my tongue. There’s no use sullying Elle’s good impression with talk of Tinder hook-ups and a coffee table stacked with porn books pretending to be romance novels.
I look at the pow-wow still going on in the living room. The circle is wider now that Trisha has joined in. I turn to Ma. “So you think Patrick is going to win her heart with his thrilling stories from the world of accounting?”
“Stop!” she says as she grabs the dishcloth and snaps it at me, before joining the rest of the family.
I open a beer and linger in the kitchen a few minutes longer. I’m in no rush to join the Patrick hook-up party.
“Oh, Paulie,” Ma calls out as a summons.
I sigh, set down my beer, and surrender.
“Hi, Ms. Jacoby,” I say as I approach. Now that I’m seeing Elle up close it really rustles my jimmies. Is the get-up she’s wearing Irish Catholic family cosplay or something? She looks like she’s heading out to her job at the library. I’m holding back a snicker so hard that my lips are tingling.
She reaches out to shake my hand and when she does I realize I’ve never held her hand. Damn it’s strong but so soft at the same time.
“Hi, Paul Junior.”
Dad laughs. “Oh you don’t have to call him Junior, lass. We call him Paulie.”
She grins like she knows how much I’m not enjoying this. “Paulie. I like that. Hi, Paulie.”
“And what shall I call you? Is it Eleanor?”
She arches her brow with pursed lips. “No, Elle will be fine, thank you.”
Ma turns away from me. “And Patrick was just telling Elle about his promotion at work. Weren’t you, Paddy?”
He nods as his cheeks color. “I’ll be a senior manager now, just below being a junior director.”
Oh for fuck’s sake. Soon he’ll be the VP of senior mid-level bottom-feeder ass- kissers.
“Impressive,” Elle says in a breathy voice. “Why don’t you sit over next to me and tell me more about it.”
By the time we get to the meatloaf she’s mastered gazing at him like he’s the most interesting person in the world, while Ma and Dad keep mentioning his accomplishments to keep the conversation going.
Trisha, for once in her life, doesn’t say much, but the shit-eating grin she has watching me slowly get riled up is really pissing me off.
The family and Elle are drinking some pussy chardonnay that you couldn’t pay me to gargle with. When I go into the kitchen to get another beer, Trisha follows me in.
“What’s up, Paul Junior?”
I narrow my eyes. “Screw you.”
“What, are you pissed because there’s finally a skirt more interested in Patrick than you?”
“Yeah, I’m devastated.” I take a long swig of my beer and then wipe off my mouth on my sleeve. “Completely devastated.”
“It’s got to hurt. I mean she’s really cute.”
“You think?” I ask, studying Trisha. Maybe she’s gay too, and she and her husband Mikey are beards for each other. Talk about a marriage of convenience.
“Super cute. Have you ever seen Ma this amped up?”
“Not since Prince William and Kate got married.”
“Right!”
I decide to push the envelope. “So when they get married do you think they’ll live here with Ma and Dad . . . you know since Patrick still lives at home?”
“Good question. Maybe. But doesn’t she have a house or something? Weren’t you there recently helping Dad with a job?”
I slap my hand over my forehead. “What’s in that damn meatloaf? Are you people all high or something? I was joking Trisha! They’re not getting married!”
“How do you know? Daddy asked Ma to marry him on their first date.”
“That was decades ago, when they lived in a tiny village in Ireland where Dad could either marry Ma, or his second cousin. Times have changed, Trisha, or haven’t you noticed?”
“Jealous,” she says with a taunting expression.
“Shut up,” I growl.
“Jealous! Jealous!” She spins on her heel and goes back to the dining room with me following close behind.
I sink back into my dining room chair with a huff and dig into my meatloaf.
Taking a sip of her wine, Elle watches me over the edge of her glass I stare back and raise my eyebrows with a what-the-hell look.
When her eyes dart over to my mom and then my dad, and sees they’re both focused on their dinner, she looks back at me with a piercing intensity.
I take a long sip of beer as I glare back. She holds her gaze without blinking.
Game on, Elle. But damn, the woman has focus. My eyes start to water from the pressure and I turn to Ma as I blink.
“I like Elle’s outfit, don’t you, Ma? It’s much fancier than what she wears at home.”
“I do,” Ma says with a smile.
Elle gives me a dirty look with a headshake so subtle that I doubt anyone else notices.
“What do you mean exactly, Paul?” Patrick asks, his serious accountant expression on his face.
“Oh you know at her home she had those tight stretchy pants on and a little tank top on during my first visit to her place last week,” I say as I fill my spoon with a pile of buttered peas.
Patrick’s eyes widen as he glances at Elle and then looks down at his plate.
Elle’s cheeks color. “I was wearing my work-out outfit. And in fairness I wasn’t expecting anyone at the house just then.”