Page 14 of Reel Love

“Yes. Well, Harry’s single and self-employed as an art teacher. Did you know that? And she just started hosting outdoor painting classes in the cove every weekend. It’s called plein air painting. It means outdoors in French.”

“I know, Mom. I took French. Remember?”

“I know. I didn’t, as you well know. But I can pick things up here and there, like plein air. Which, to be fair, sounds like plain air. So, it’s logical. If only all French were logical. I’d be a whiz at it.”

“I’m sure you would,” I smile at her.

She wouldn’t. Mom has one of the most American accents I’ve ever heard. Even when she says things like burrito or salsa, she’s so obviously not Mexican. She says sahl-zah and breeto. We’ve tried to correct her. I mean, we live in California. Mexican food is as common as burgers and salads out here. Overhalf our state speaks Spanish. My mom is clearly not in that half.

And it didn’t pass by me that Mom mentioned Harry’s marital status. Mom always has to throw in when any female is single if she’s talking to me or my brother. Mom can be discussing the most irrelevant fact about a woman, and she’ll slip the detail of how this particular young woman is unattached. Like,Oh, did you know Susan Stearns fell while she was hiking the back side of the island? She’s single. And she sprained her ankle. If she’s feeling extra pushy, she might add,Poor Susan, she’ll have to recover all alone. It’s so much better when you have your person to go through life with.

“I’m just glad Harry can support herself with her art,” Mom says. “It’s hard on these single women, you know. And she’s just so pretty. And talented. Sweet too.”

There you have it. The push.

“That’s great for Harry. I’m glad she’s making a living with her art.”

“Well, I want you to come to Harry’s class.”

It’s not the oddest request my mother has ever made of me—not by a long shot.

“Because …?”

“Because nothing. Can’t a mom want her son to spend an afternoon outdoors with her?”

“She can. But you are not just any mom, and I think you’re up to something.”

Mom puts her hand to her chest and makes an overly dramatic face. “Moi, up to something? You wound me.”

“I’m sure. And you are definitely up to something. I just don’t know what yet.”

“But you’ll come? Saturday?”

“Sure. Why not?”

I follow Mom into the kitchen. She pours me tea and we spend the rest of the visit on the porch. She paints and I watch her while I sip my tea. I pull out my phone and openPlay on Words. Might as well start a game even if SaturdayIslandGirl isn’t online. I can leave a board open for her to respond to and then we’ll finish the game later. It’s not as fun playing that way, waiting for her to play and answering with my own move. I far prefer when we’re online together for hours, bantering and trash talking.

I initiate a game, am dealt tiles, and lay down the word EAGLET. It’s not a strong start: seven points for a six-letter word, but I can play off a lot of those letters if I get the right tiles.

To my surprise, SaturdayIslandGirl responds right away.

A midday game? Okay, then. I’ll slay you in the sunlight as well as I do at night.

“Well, hello there,” I say out loud without thinking.

“Hello to you, too,” Mom says from her stool by the easel. “Who’s that?”

“Who’s who?”

“Whoever got you to speak in that tone of voice.”

“Oh. It’s nothing. Just a gamer. Online.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment in Mom’s voice is palpable. Poor woman wants daughters-in-law, a son-in-law, grandkids and all the chaos of extended family running around her at all times. The three of us have failed her utterly so far.

SaturdayIslandGirl uses the G in EAGLET and adds E-Y-S-E-R-S, making GEYSERS.

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