Page 37 of Resisting the Grump

As it turned out, the notification was just Grace asking me how the date was, and I was halfway through responding when my mom called.

“Hi Mom.”

“Hi, honey. How you holding up?”

“Good.” Great.

“You captained the ship alright this week?”

I nodded. “I did, much to Grace’s relief.”

“I’m sorry we haven’t come in to try the prize-winning pie yet,” she said. “Putting in the new decking was a… more complicated job than we thought.”

“I can only imagine.” My parents had wildly different project management styles, and I was well accustomed to watching the hanging of a single picture frame become a full DIY adventure. Usually, the trouble stemmed from the fact that my mom was a measure twice, cut once kind of girl and my dad was a measure once, watch six YouTube videos, measure again for good measure, and then cut twice sort of builder. “But don’t worry. Something tells me that pie will be on the menu for the foreseeable.”

“Oh good. That will be a nice way to celebrate getting this job done.”

“How close are you guys?”

Silence filled the phone line, and I pictured my mom staring out the back window at the mess. “We’re choosing staining.”

“I thought you already did that.”

“Me, too, but your father got a bunch of samples so we could be doubly sure.”

“How many samples?”

“Let’s put it this way,” she said. “I could’ve died happy not knowing how many choices there were.”

“Why does he overcomplicate things like that?”

She sighed. “I like to pretend it’s because he enjoys spending time with me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Though I read an article recently that made me question if he’s neurodivergent in some way.”

I bit back a smile, forever amused by their fascination with each other’s quirks. My dad was the same, endlessly tolerant of my mom’s Christmas decorating disease and inability to resist those machines that press pennies into souvenir coins. They were weirdos on their own, no doubt, but together, they were wonderful.

“Anyway, I’m calling because I met someone I think you should go out with.”

My chest seized.

“You remember my friend, Meg? The one with the freckles whose son is a chiropractor?”

“I’m seeing someone,” I blurted.

“Oh?”

It wasn’t really a lie. If I only met Oliver once, it would be “saw.” But we’d met three times. That counts as seeing, right?

“Is it serious?”

“Yes and no.”

Her wide eyes were audible.

“I wouldn’t say it’s serious, but if he went out with someone else, I’d be disappointed.” I didn’t realize it was true until I said it. But it was. I liked Oliver Harrington, and I didn’t want to share him. On the contrary, I wanted to investigate his every appetite and satisfy every last one of them.

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