Page 67 of If the Ring Fits

I nod to myself with this new resolution and resume testing my toys. I’ve already individuated a few key functionalities missing and ways to improve the teaching experience, making it more fun. And I’m only 15 to 20 per cent bitter that this brilliant strategy was Adrian’s selfless suggestion.

The following evening, I stare at Rosa’s neatly penned instructions—reheat at 375°F for fifteen minutes—as my mind races ahead to tonight’s impending introduction. I’m about to meet Adrian’s mom. My soon-to-be mother-in-law. The woman who birthed the man I’m about to marry… for purely financial reasons.

With a sigh, I slide the tray of lasagna into the oven, setting the timer. Just as I straighten up, my phone buzzes to life, Adrian’s name flashing across the screen. My traitorous heart leaps in my chest. Fucker of an organ.

“Hey,” I answer, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

“Hey yourself,” he replies, his voice a warm caress that sends tingles dancing down my spine. “Listen, I’m really sorry but I’m stuck at the office. I won’t make it back before Mom arrives.”

“Oh.” My stomach performs an Olympic-worthy gymnastics routine. “So… I’ll be meeting her alone?”

“I feel terrible springing this on you. I know it’s awkward.” He pauses and I can picture him rubbing the back of his neck, his brow furrowed with concern. “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Oh, totally.” I lean against the kitchen counter for support. “I mean, what’s there to be nervous about? It’s just the woman who carried you in her womb for nine months, who loves you more than anyone else in the world, and who you recently informed that I, a complete stranger, will marry you for your money. No biggie!”

Adrian lets out a surprised laugh and the rich sound wraps around me like a boa constrictor. “Rowena, I promise it won’tbe that bad. Mom’s pretty cool about the whole thing. She gets it.”

“Right. Of course she does.” I nod vigorously even though he can’t see me. “I don’t know why I should be worried. We’ll be braiding each other’s hair and gabbing about boy bands in no time.”

“I’m sure. You only got one detail wrong.” His tone is wry but I can hear the smile in his voice. “With my mom, it’s more likely that she’ll try to dye your hair some weird color and discuss that time shemeta rock star in the seventies.”

“And by ‘met’ you mean…”

“Things a son shouldn’t know about his mother.”

I laugh.

“But you’ll see, it’s like she lost thirty years overnight when my father passed, she’s a completely different person now from the woman I knew growing up.”

There’s so much affection in his voice that I’m actually jealous of his mother. Could I sink any lower? But after what he told me about how his father was, I can also hear the small tangle of regret and guilt mixed in, so I try to lighten the mood with a joke. “Any woman who partied with rock stars in the seventies and lived to tell the tale has my utter respect.”

“Onerock star,” Adrian specifies. “That I know of.”

The line goes quiet on his side and the awkwardness of us not having spoken in over a week creeps back in. I break the stillness with a hesitant cough. “Well, I should go… get ready for my future mother-in-law’s arrival and all that. See you when you get here?”

“Count on it.” Another weighted pause. “And Rowena? Thank you for doing this. It means a lot to me. I have to go, see you in a few.”

The line goes dead and I lower the phone, staring at thedarkened screen. Adrian’s words linger in my mind as I struggle to ignore the pesky fluttering in my chest.

The oven timer startles me out of my slippery thoughts awhile later. I grab a potholder and extract the bubbling lasagna, savoring the heavenly aroma of melted cheese and Italian spices. At least Rosa’s culinary skills will allow me to eat all my stupid feelings tonight.

I’m just setting the garlic bread on the counter when the doorbell chimes, sending my heart racing into overdrive. I smooth my hair, breathing in and out slowly, and march to the front door.

When I swing it open, I’m stunned into momentary silence. The woman standing on the threshold is nothing like the matronly grandmother I’d imagined. Adrian’s mom is tall and slender with a bob of straight hair, the top half a pearly natural white and the bottom half dyed midnight black. Her outfit is simple but stylish and she’s rocking this vintage-chic vibe with a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her head and wearing tight black pants and boots.

“You must be Rowena,” she says, her tone friendly. “I’m Claire, Adrian’s mother.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” I manage, stepping back to let her inside. “Adrian is still at the office, but he should get home soon. Can I get you something to drink in the meantime?”

Claire’s assessing gaze sweeps over me, and I fight the urge to fidget like an errant schoolgirl. “A glass of water, thank you. The air conditioning in the car parched me.”

I smile. “Yeah. Sometimes I think Sam is preparing us for the next ice age. I’ve started carrying a cardigan just for our rides.”

As I pour her water with unsteady hands, I can feel theweight of Claire’s stare between my shoulder blades. The urge to fill the silence is overwhelming.

“I hope the ride was otherwise comfortable,” I say inanely, handing her the glass.

“Yes, Adrian’s cars are so fancy. I’ll never get used to it.” Claire takes a sip, her eyes never leaving mine. “And I wouldn’t have missed this engagement party for the world. It’s not every day one’s only son gets married.”

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